Then my mind went down one of those… calling it a fantasy feels wrong because the word fantasy suggests a pleasant occurrence and thinking of something that you are looking forward to or desire. But this was not that. I started to imagine Kerrass’ funeral. I had no idea where the closest Witcher was to act as family and I started to make plans.

I started to think that I would get Ariadne to speak to Yennefer who would either know more about that sort of thing or who would know where to lay her hands on a Witcher in order to ask the relevant questions.

But then it occurred to me that we were his family now and my mind went on a brief excursion towards having Kerrass interred at the family crypt up near Oxenfurt.

Which is clearly ludicrous.

Or I could have a tomb built near Angraal which was far more likely. But then it occurred to me to wonder whether or not Kerrass would prefer to be burned on a pyre. Then I started to wonder if he’d ever actually told me what he wanted. Then I started to imagine the conversation and wonder if it had actually happened or whether or not I was making it up.

Someone coughed in the crowd.

The two men still hadn’t moved in that time but as I watched, Sir Alain’s left hand came off the hilt of his sword and he held a hand out with a single index finger raised. As if to say “One moment.”

Kerrass nodded and relaxed, letting his sword fall to his side.

Alain turned to Palmerin and held his hands out. Again, it could not have been more eloquent. “Oh come on.” He was saying. “You expect us to fight in these conditions?”

Palmerin nodded in response, advancing to stand between the two fighters. Alain swung his sword through the air to make the air whistle in his frustration. Kerrass did not look too much better. He rocked his head from side to side and stretched a bit as Palmerin spoke.

“I would ask you.” Palmerin shouted. “To keep yourself quiet. If you cannot contain your coughs or your sneezes I demand that you remove yourself from this place or I will have you removed. If you are sick, you should not have come to this place of honour and you disgrace yourself and the two men here in doing so. Be silent.”

The crowd rippled a bit at that and shifted uneasily. My guess was that they did not enjoy being spoken to like that but there were also people that were glaring around themselves in solidarity with what Palmerin was saying.

“Gentlemen.” Palmerin was still stood between them both. “Make yourselves ready. Witcher Kerrass?”

Kerrass jumped up and down a bit, rotated his right arm at the shoulder before nodding.

“Lord Moineau?”

Alain had also done some stretches while listening to Palmerin, swung his sword through the air again with a grimace of distaste at the audience.

Then he nodded.

“Then return to your stances and I will call the begin when I am satisfied.”

They both nodded and took up their positions.

Palmerin was scowling as he returned to stand next to D’Alambourd and I.

There was another pause before Palmerin called out “Begin.”

I returned to what I had been thinking about before with astonishing speed. Now I realised that I would have to speak to Princess Dorme. I would have to tell her that Kerrass had died and how he had got into that position. It was going to break her heart. A heart that was already pretty shattered as it was.

Dear Flame, this might just be the thing that finishes her off.

Something shifted in the crowd, just a feeling more than anything. The quiet became that little bit more anticipatory. People were leaning forward. There was a sense of withheld breath.

Palmerin’s ceremonial armour rattled a bit as he leant forward. D’Alambourd did the opposite as he leant backwards slightly and I looked at the two combatants in an effort to see if I could see what these other two had.

It took me a while.

Sir Alain’s mouth had turned upwards in a slight smile. It was not the practised smirk that he normally used and had employed earlier. This was the beginning of a satisfied smile, a craftsman that knew that his work was nearly over and that it was going to be a good…. Sword or whatever it was. It was the smile of a hunter lining up a particularly good spear thrust when the boar charges.

I looked over at Kerrass to see if there was any change in him. He was sweating. Yes, as I’ve said before, Witchers do indeed sweat. It is, however, odourless. Kerrass smells of the potions that he takes, the food that he eats and the environment that he moves through. Something to do with the mutations that he has been subject to on the grounds that you can’t sneak up to a monster if you stink of body odour.

As I watched him, I also realised that his sword was trembling slightly. Not very much, just the tell-tale little shiver of a weapon that is being held too tightly.

Finally, Kerrass moved. It was not an attack, or a dodge or a feint. He changed stances. He lifted his sword into the high stance which some fighters refer to as the stance of the Eagle’s strike. Sword held high and ready to be brought back down onto the enemy’s head as they came closer. But also, his weight shifted a little bit further onto his back leg that was coiled and waiting to spring forward should the opportunity of an attack present itself.

The crowd literally gasped as though that was a major event. And I suppose it was. It was the gasp of a crowd watching a high end Gwent game where the first card has been played and thus, the opening strategy is starting.

Gazes, including mine, swung over to Alain to see how he was going to react to that. He was frowning in concentration now, the smile was more of a grimace.

But then he shifted, bringing his right foot back so that now his left foot was pointing towards Kerrass with the right acting as the spring and the base for his weight. The sword was held in a parallel position to his leg. On a downward diagonal with the hilt by his side and the point next to his foot.

And then both men became motionless again.

The air became thick, there were no noises now. No-one coughed, shifted their weight or breathed deeply. The entire crowd was on edge as they waited for something else to happen. It even felt as though people were afraid to blink in case they missed something. Something that I found a little ridiculous until.

I didn’t see it. They moved too fast for me to see what was happening. I saw the first move which was when Alain jerked forward in a feint and Kerrass leapt forward to bring his sword down.

Then there was a series of movements, including one small kiss of metal, that were too fast for me to follow and then Kerrass was staggering backwards while Alain stood there with his sword held firm at the end of a strike. It was a pose, holding the ending. I can’t remember the name of the strike but it was an upwards diagonal strike from Alain’s bottom right towards his top left. He held the stance for a couple of breaths before smiling and stepping backwards, rolling his shoulders as he went.

Kerrass, for his part, had retreated until he found his balance. Then he paced for a little bit, and whipped his sword backwards and forwards in two fast and large strikes.

I have seen this behaviour many times. It is the behaviour of a man who realises that he needs to raise his game a little if he is going to take on his opponent. I have even had this kind of mannerism levelled at me. It often makes me feel better before a certain realisation comes in that the other man wasn’t fighting at their best before now.

Alain took a couple of steps backwards before lifting his sword into the high stance that Kerrass had used earlier.

What happened in that initial flurry?

All I can tell you is what I pieced together later with Palmerin and D’Alambourd. But this is by no means the entirety of the story and we all agreed that the speed with which the two men fought was eye hurtingly fast.

We all agreed that Kerrass had fallen for Sir Alain’s feint and had leapt forward to strike at Alain’s head. Alain had read the move and brought his own sword round in a similar vertical strike that knocked Kerrass’ sword away. Which was the time that steel had met steel. Kerrass had read this move in turn and spun in a pirouette to bring his sword round, using the spin to build up speed and strength. But he hadn’t been fast enough. And Alain was now inside and underneath Kerrass’ line of striking.

Alain ducked under Kerrass’ blow and in rising from his movement he brought his sword up in the rising diagonal strike. Having nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, Kerrass had realised that he was committed to the strike and needed to hurl himself backwards from Alain’s strike. It was uncoordinated and clumsy as defensive movements go and he was clearly furious that he had been pushed off balance in such a way.

Alain just waited, ready, and Kerrass walked right into it.

One of the first rules of combat is to not get angry in a fight. This is true, anger can distract and can convince you of untruths that you were not ready for. But the real truth of the matter is that you should not lose your temper in a fight and become uncontrolled. Anger can be a great focuser. It can distract you from injuries, it can remind you of a focus that would otherwise be lost.

And anger can focus your mind to an incredible degree. As can hatred for that matter and that was the thing that we had all forgotten when it came to Alain and Kerrass.

Kerrass hated this man.

He came on and this was the part of the fight that was more what I would expect from a fight between Kerrass and other men. Kerrass attacked, fiercely and decisively. I would love to be able to give you a blow by blow description of what happened but I am woefully unqualified to do that. Apart from anything else, the two men were far too fast, far too skilled for me to properly accept anything that was going on. They just moved.

It was… astonishing to watch. I found myself wanting to cheer them on. As though this was an acrobatic display rather than two men desperately trying to kill each other.

I think… I think that Alain was a bit taken aback by it. His victory in the first exchange gave him a little bit of overconfidence and as a result, he kind of forgot who he was dealing with. I saw two moments where he tried to change from being the man that was defending to being the man that was attacking but Kerrass saw both and was able to counter and turn the movements back into an attack.

I saw Alain try to strike out with the pommel to drive Kerrass back but Kerrass flowed round the blow like smoke, still attacking. I saw Alain strike out with his legs in an effort to trip the Witcher but Kerrass was too mobile to allow such tricks to work.

Kerrass just rained blows down on Alain’s defence and in the end, there was the moment where Alain gave up trying to attack and just worked on ensuring that Kerrass couldn’t strike out at him. As a ploy, I’m not sure about it. If he was a lesser swordsman than he actually was, it wouldn’t have worked.

There is a truth that says that if you want to defend, you need to attack. Or that the only good defence is a good offence. This is true. And in a duel, the danger is that, yes. In constantly attacking, your attacker is wearing himself out, but defending takes work as well. Blocks and parries are not easy. Sooner or later your arms get numb and then your parries and strikes start to get sloppy. From there… Well, I’m sure that you get the picture.

But here there was an added wrinkle. In only focusing on defence, Alain was frustrating Kerrass’ efforts. In not falling for the false openings in Kerrass’ defence, in not moving for the attack, he was able to defend against the strikes, ignore the feints and the stratagems.

And all the time, Kerrass was getting angrier and angrier. He is a disciplined fighter and it was taking time. But gradually, it was clear that Kerrass was beginning to be a bit wilder with his strikes, depending on strength rather than speed or skill. There were strikes that were over committed and carried Kerrass’ blade out of position. And all the time that this was happening, Alain’s smile was getting wider and wider.

Again, I wish I could give you a blow by blow account. But I do not have the skill for that. It was bewilderingly fast and it wasn’t until long after the event, when the emotional impact of what happened had started to lessen, that I was able to get an assessment of it all from people who know about these kinds of things.

Lord Palmerin’s assessment was that Alain had never fought someone like Kerrass before and as such, was learning the technique that was being used. In the same way that a good card player will go and watch an opponent that they know that they will be facing in the near future, Alain was watching Kerrass fight in order to get to grips with what he was doing.

It couldn’t last. Of course it couldn’t. Sooner or later one or other of the two men was going to make a mistake. Alain’s defences were going to slip and Kerrass was going to get through, or Kerrass was going to get tired and overextend in some kind of catastrophic way that would mean that it would be ridiculous for Alain not to attack and carve Kerrass a new hole somewhere.

So what gave?

One of the problems with these kinds of graveyards is that all of it is a graveyard. The places are literally paved with memorial stones. Sometimes the bodies can’t be accommodated and before the tunnels underneath had been carved out, people would get rid of the body and just pay for there to be a stone somewhere. And then when more space was needed, the older, poorer stones would be removed and would be placed on the ground. Then years of foot traffic, weather and mud build up to make the floor look level when it isn’t really.

People will debate the ending of this first period for a while yet. People on Kerrass’ side will claim that what happened was an accident. Just one of those unknowable things that happens in a fight. In the same way that people say, “A man might be ill,” or “something will break,” or “a man might slip on a loose bit of ground.”

Well in this case, Kerrass tripped on an exposed piece of gravestone. It happens. History is full of examples of this kind of thing happening and it can happen to the best swordsman in the world.

Here, it happened to Kerrass and he went forward, over compensated to keep from falling on Alain’s sword and fell backwards.

People on Alain’s side claim that it was a ploy. That Alain led Kerrass onto the exposed headstone. That he knew the graveyard intricately, indeed, he had fought there before, so there was no reason to suppose that he wouldn’t know where that stone was and what would happen. I can’t answer for that. Both sides are true, and both sides are false. It might even be a mixture of the two.

As a historian, all I can say is that, in the future, this is the kind of thing that people like me get all excited about arguing over. As a man that was there, removing all emotional response from it. I could not tell you the truth of the matter. I certainly couldn’t find the paving slab later when I went looking for it.

But Kerrass fell and rolled desperately to avoid the falling sword of Alain that he was sure must be coming.

But it didn’t. Alain certainly advanced and held his sword out, pointing at Kerrass’ chest and neck as Kerrass realised what was happening. The meaning of the gesture couldn’t have been clearer. “I could have killed you then.” He was saying. “But I have chosen not to.”

Both men were breathing heavily as Alain raised his hand and moved his sword aside so that it was no longer as threatening.

“Time for a rest I think and for you to recover from your fall.”

He grinned and turned away.

“Two minutes gentlemen.” Palmerin called.

I dashed over to Kerrass and pulled a waterskin from my belt to give to him. He was towelling his face dry with his over cloak as I approached.

“Cheeky fucker.” He said as I approached but there was absolutely no energy to the insult.

“How are you holding up?” I asked as he took the water from me.

“I’ve been happier.” He admitted as he took some of the water and splashed his face with it. “He’s good Freddie. Really fucking good.”

“Talk to me about it.” I said. “Think it through.” I looked over at Alain’s side of the small arena where Alain was laughing at something that one of his friends had said. D’Alambourd was smiling but there was a pale, drawn look to the smile.

“He’s fast, strong and his breath control is excellent.” Kerrass said. “For every exchange where I come off as the better, he is coming back at me with two or three exchanges won. And every time he wins one of those exchanges he fails to capitalise it.”

“I saw that.” I said. “I think he’s doing it to wind you up.”

“He’s succeeding. His guard feels almost impenetrable.”

“Almost?”

Kerrass considered his own words.

“I could get him.” he said. “Or at least, I think I could get him, presuming the gaps are not ruses to lure me in. But I could get him. But there is no way that I could get him without leaving myself open to another attack from him. And I mean wide open. To a deadly degree for arguably negligible returns.”

He sighed and looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. “I think I might have made a mistake here Freddie. This is your appointed moment where you can say “I told you so.” There may not be another moment where you can do it.”

“I would never do that.” I told him. “Anyone who would use a time like this to say something like that does not deserve the title of friend.” I took a deep breath. “I can go over there. I can offer an apology.”

Kerrass was already shaking his head but I carried on anyway.

“Or you could yield and declare him the better…”

“No Freddie.”

“Why not Kerrass?” I pleaded. “You yourself admit that this time might be the time that someone gets you.”

“Because that would be giving up.” He said quietly. “You of all people know what that would mean to me. Today might be the day that I meet my Goddess for the final time and when I do so I will be able to look her in the eye and say that I never gave up. Even when it meant my death.”

There was a retort on my lips. An insult but I held it back at the last second, again because I rather thought it would be unnecessarily cruel. I very nearly told him that he had given up when it came to Princess Dorn. But if I had done that, I might have killed him before he next crossed swords with Alain. Or I might have driven him to let me apologise or any of the other routes out of it for him.

Truth be told, the fact that that might have been a possibility never occurred to me. In the right there and right then of the matter. I didn’t want to say that because it would have been cruel. And I didn’t want our last interaction to have been a cruel one.

“Time Gentlemen. Return to your places please.” Palmering called.

“Oh Goddess Freddie. What do I do?”

I had no idea what to say. He wouldn’t yield, he wouldn’t apologise. And he was asking me for advice when it came to combat?

“Keep the pressure up.” I told him. “Push him, keep pushing him. Eventually he will make a mistake. Remember that you are a Witcher and your stamina will be better than his. So keep up the pressure, eventually he will break.”

Kerrass nodded.

“And remember that you have another rest yourself.” I reminded him. “Remember that and don’t forget to use it and failing all else, remember that even as we speak, Knights are racing towards finding the proof that we need to arrest him. So play for time.”

Kerrass nodded again, but there was no longer any putting it off. He walked forward to his place where Alain was waiting for him.

“Gentlemen, Salute?”

The same gestures were repeated before. A salute towards the seconds and Palmerin, and then towards each other.

“And begin.”

The two men entered their mid stances. But this time, the delay before the fighting started was not as long. Kerrass barely spent any time in the mid stance before he drew himself back into a guard position. Blade held vertically, hilt down by his waist, left hand crossing the belly to keep the grip.

Alain smiled at this and lowered the point of his sword towards the ground. And then we waited, and as we waited, Alain’s smirk widened and Kerrass’ frown deepened. But we were not waiting as long. I had time to notice that the sun was setting and the shadows were lengthening in the graveyard. Time to wonder what Syanna and the rest were up to and how far they were from being able to solve this entire thing.

But then there was movement.

Alain feinted forward and Kerrass ignored it. Not even flinching.

It was the time honoured movement of the bully where he will jerk towards his intended target hoping to cause a flinch.

But Kerrass didn’t play that game. A group of Alain’s supporters laughed. Because there are always people that will laugh at that sort of thing. Alain smiled with them and then Kerrass was on him.

And at first, it looked as though Kerrass was doing quite well, raining blows down on the other man’s guard. In the first part of the fight, the sounds of weapons crashing together had actually been much rarer. But now they came together more and more frequently as Alain found himself retreating backwards to make room for himself.

Kerrass had extended his right hand down the blade, thus shortening the blade length as he closed the distance and Alain was desperately trying to fend him off. The smirk began to leech from Alain’s face as I slowly began to feel the first flutterings of hope in my chest.

Then Kerrass made a mistake. He decided to switch things up.

Up until this point, he had just been marching towards Alain, To be sure he was feinting and dodging from left to right. But there was little footwork in the movement. There were no spins, turns or pirouettes. But Kerrass had decided that he wasn’t going to get past Alain’s guard that way so he decided to switch tactics.

Now in theory, this might be the right thing to do. After all, the commonly held definition of madness is to do the same thing over and over again and expect different results. But he had been pressuring Alain, driving him backwards and down.

And then he started to come with the turns and the spins and the other things that are intrinsic to the Witcher’s style of fighting, especially with the Feline school style of swordsmanship. But I think that was a mistake looking back.

Alain had studied this. Indeed, he had spent part of that first exchange watching Kerrass perform all of these movements. So that when Kerrass started making these movements again Alain knew exactly where Kerrass was going to be. He knew exactly what movements came next, what followed what and so on.

So Kerrass found that as he spun round in an effort to attack from a position that Alain would not have anticipated, he would find that Alain was not where he was supposed to be and instead there was a highly accurate thrust or strike coming in at an angle. Forcing Kerrass back onto the defensive.

It happened three times. The first was when Kerrass, rather smugly I thought if you can ascribe smugness to a movement, spun in place and brought the blade down except Alain had sidestepped the strike completely and just came back with the most simple of horizontal strikes out of some training journal, forcing Kerrass to carry the spin on and out of the way.

Another was where there was another spin. And as part of that spin there was a point where the sword was coming around Kerrass’ back. The sword was out of reach in a normal fight but Alain had read this movement as well and as such, parried the blade when Kerrass’ grip on the weapon was at its weakest. Kerrass didn’t drop it but it did knock the sword aside, taking time to recover while Kerrass also had to duck underneath Alain’s strike.

The third was the mistake that caused the fight to even up again. I don’t know why he did it. I can only assume that it was some kind of conditioning thing. There is even a part of me that suggests that it might have been an error that Alain forced him into. An exchange of strikes and parries that forced Kerrass sword into certain positions which meant that he reflexively leapt into a flying spin.

And one of the things about spinning in the air, or making any kind of leaping attack is that once you are committed, there is nowhere else to go. You have to finish the move and as Kerrass’ sword came round, for just a split second, I could see his face and for that fraction of a heartbeat, I could see that he had realised his mistake.

Alain rose from a crouched position and brought his sword up with a strength that he had not used before and struck out at Kerrass sword which, in turn, forced Kerrass off balance and Alain attacked.

I had thought that Alain had been going quickly before, but now he was like a force of nature and it was Kerrass that was being pushed back. Alain was no longer smiling or smirking. There was just an intense frown of concentration as he pushed and pushed, lunging and striking with a focus that I found intimidating even though it wasn’t me that was being attacked.

Kerrass bared his teeth as he struggled to defend himself. Frantically keeping his enemies blade from being able to lash out at his own. And from nowhere, Kerrass managed to find some more speed and his own speed rose to match Alain’s.

Many times I have said that watching a real fight is not like watching a dance. And it’s not. But it can be beautiful. I might even have appreciated it if I couldn’t see the anger and the pain of it all registering on Kerrass’ face. Slowly, very slowly I saw that grimace of anger and frustration beginning to firm up into a realisation. And then, slowly, shift into an expression of despair.

“Oh no Kerrass.” I pleaded. But it was too late. Kerrass saw the gap and he went for it. He made it too.

And so came the second moment in this fight that people will be arguing about for years to come. When the history of those few days in Toussaint gets discussed, as well as what led to Kerrass’ slip in the ground, there will also be a discussion about who drew the first blood.

Kerrass went forward, committing to a strike at Alain’s leg but as he had predicted he left himself open to Alain’s counterattack.

Blood sprung from Alain’s leg as the counterattack sped towards Kerrass who was desperately trying to get out of reach from Alain’s coming blade. He was quick but it was an impossible movement. There was no way that Kerrass was going to escape. He knew it as well. All he was trying to do was to minimise the damage.

There was more blood on the ground now. Where the blood was leaking a little bit from Alain’s injury on his leg, the blood was running freely down Kerrass’ arm.

So that is my assessment of the matter. Kerrass drew first blood but Alain’s strike was most damaging and had the greater impact.

Kerrass doesn’t talk about single combat much. His view on the matter while he was training me was that only fools fought in matters of honour on a one on one basis.

That says something and if someone calls him a fool then they should know that he did it to himself first.

He would say that if you are fighting someone to the death then you use every advantage that you can have to get the job done. People might call you dishonourable but it is better for someone to say that “Freddie is a dishonourable fighter,” rather than “Freddie was an honourable fighter.” The distinction is a small one but it is important. But when I did manage to dig through all the rest of his teachings he had this to say about an honourable combat.

“There may come a time when your back is against the wall and you have no other choice. Where to fight dishonorably is to die. Formal occasions and things like that, with witnesses and serious folks standing around with spears, crossbows and swords to make sure that you fight on their level and no other. When that happens, the first focus must always be to kill the other man. If you can’t manage that, wound him first. If they draw blood on you first then ensure that you draw blood from them shortly afterwards.

“The loss of blood is the moment where you know that the fight is beginning to come to an end. This is because the loss of blood is not just the practical thing in that losing blood is the loss of strength, but losing blood is also the loss of confidence. When doubt starts to creep into your mind then you are lost. The doubt walks hand in hand with the loss of your strength. As you begin to feel the blood running from the injury, wherever that injury might be in your body, it starts to tell you that you are dying. It always feels like there is more there than there actually is, especially if it’s a head injury. But you are wondering how much blood you have left to lose. How long before you start to bleed to death. How long before the blood loss makes you feel weak and lightheaded.

“Then you start to feel the need to get the fight over with as soon as possible in order to get the medical assistance that you desperately desire in order to survive or, at least, to be crippled as little as possible. The danger here is that I cannot tell you that you are wrong to do so. As more than one duel that I have seen has wound up in a race to see who could bleed to death the quickest, with the winner being the man who is slowest.

“And every movement you make, every movement you make, makes the injury worse. You can either favour the injury in order to keep it from opening and getting worse, which leaves your guard open to being exploited. Or you can fight as you would normally which leaves you open to all of the risks that I have just mentioned.

“In all things, know this. When blood is shed, it is approaching its end.”

I looked at Kerrass as he fought and I remembered all of this and I rather thought that I could see that same realisation in his head. He knew that things were coming to a close.

The duel continued. It was happening a bit slower now. Kerrass’ arm was injured and so his blows and parries were that little bit slower. But this was balanced out by the fact that Alain’s leg was injured which meant that the Knight’s footwork was that little bit clumsier.

Both men could see the weakness of the other now and both men were constantly moving and attacking in order to work at the injuries that had been made. Kerrass kept moving in order to force Alain to turn awkwardly and put his full weight on the injured leg, where Alain kept striking out to force Kerrass to parry and block in awkward positions.

For a while there, the duel became boring and the crowd began to be restive. Alain always struck the same way causing Kerrass to become clumsier and clumsier. Kerrass always moved in the same way causing Alain to grow heavier and heavier. It was the same strokes, the same parries and the same movements over and over again.

Alain would strike out at Kerrass’ Low right guard which would stretch the muscles in Kerrass arm in order to exacerbate the wound when the blow was parried. Kerrass would move into the block with a double step and turn which would push Alain’s sword out of the way and cause him to twist to keep Kerrass’ blade from reaching him.

The two combatants were circling each other as Kerrass tried to get further and further round Alain’s guard while Alain seemed content to just let him do that.

It had become a matter of endurance now and I had become convinced that Kerrass’ injury was worse than Alain’s because Kerrass’ sword strikes were coming that little bit slower, his parries that little bit less sure. In the meantime, Alain’s steps were the same.

And so it went. Two rapid strikes and parries before a pause as Kerrass moved round Alain, the sounds of his feet scuffing into the dirt as he went. Masked only slightly by the crowd shifting its weight and a growing murmur of whispering as people expressed their displeasure at what they were watching.

It went on and on like that for ages. For longer than you are thinking. Long enough that the shadows noticeably lengthened as we watched. The area that the two men were fighting in was well lit and there was no issues with either of them being unable to see.

On and on it went. Clang clang step. Clang clang step.

It became monotonous. Soporific almost. Both of them were waiting for the other man to get bored and try something else. Both of them were waiting for the other to weaken.

Clang clang step.

Once again, as I watched, I felt the cold cloak of despair starting to cover me. This had been going on for too long now.

Clang clang step.

And then I remembered that playing for time was guaranteeing our victory.

Clang clang step.

But how long would it take Gregoire and Guillaume to find what they needed to find and get here to stop this.

Clang clang step.

And would they have the authority to do anything about it even if they could.

Clang clang step.

A brief chain of fantasy occurred to me then that Gregoire and Guillaume would come down here and declare their intention to arrest and remove Alain at the close of the duel regardless of who the victor was. I found myself sinking into a nice warm bubble of the thought that Alain would realise that the game was over. That he would cry out in despair and charge at Kerrass, exposed and just waiting for the end to come.

Clang clang step.

It was a nice thought. Then Kerrass would have his victory and his vengeance. Alain would be known to be the cad and the ass that he was and I would still have my friend to stand next to me on my wedding day.

Clang clang, clang…. Clang.

It was a nice thought.

And Kerrass attacked. I don’t know what he was thinking. What caused him to break the pattern like he did. But he suddenly stopped with the simple rhythms and just attacked. Blistering speed, overwhelming Witcher strength and skill born from years spent fighting monsters and all kinds of men and creatures on the road.

And Alain ignored all of it. Parrying, dodging and blocking as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

Kerrass jabbed forward in a similar pattern of lunges to what I use with the spear and Alain twisted aside, dodging and parrying them as he went.

Kerrass leapt high and Alain sidestepped.

Kerrass feinted one way before striking with incredible speed in a horizontal slice that should have disemboweled the other man.

But Alain simply wasn’t there.

Kerrass tried everything. He tried getting inside Alain’s guard to grapple the other man but again, Alain sidestepped.

Kerrass actually tried several varieties of that particular trick and Alain dodged one and escaped the other one by moving in such a way that it stressed Kerrass’ injured arm.

Kerrass tried everything and anything. Including just trying to trap him and rain down blows onto his opponent in an effort to simply beat the man aside with his strength.

And Alain laughed.

Kerrass backed off after that, absolutely expecting a counter attack which didn’t come. Alain held his hand up as he laughed in Kerrass’ face.

“I’m sorry.” He said through tears of laughter. “But the look on your face.” He laughed some more and a few other members of the crowd joined in.

Kerrass stood there impassively, waiting.

“Do you want to rest?” Alain asked. “I mean, it’s only you that can call for another rest but I wonder if you want to rethink your strategy.”

He grinned as he said it. They weren’t allowed to taunt each other but as non-taunts go, that was a good one. Kerrass, wisely, didn’t play into Alain’s hands and simply nodded, walking over to his end of the fighting area and setting his sword down while he examined the injury on his arm. By the time I got to him he was breathing long and slow in an effort to calm himself. His eyes were wide and staring.

“Goddess Freddie. I don’t know what to do.” He told me when I got there. “I’m out of ideas. I’ve tried everything I have. I just… I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s alright.” I tried to get him to drink some water.

“I’m sorry. I should have listened, I don’t think I can beat him. I’ve finally found The Better Man. The man that I can’t beat.”

He sniffed and took a large swallow of water.

“I always thought I would be grateful. You know? To finally meet the man that would make it so that I wouldn’t have to fight any more. That would mean that I could lay down my burdens and stop… stop fighting all the time. Goddess Freddie but I’m so tired. So tired. I finally, finally meet The Better Man. Someone I had almost been looking forward to meeting and he’s the man I so… I can’t remember the last time I so desperately wanted to kill someone.”

It was appalling. I had heard Kerrass despair before but back then he had two shattered arms and was out of potions. Now he was there with everything going on and he was all but in tears.

“Come on Kerrass.” I told him. “This is just one more monster.”

“But it isn’t, is it.” He told me. “It’s not just one more monster. I’ve tried everything I can think of. I’ve tried putting him on his back foot. I even went for the hole to injure him and I knew that I wasn’t going to get away from that unscathed but I went for it anyway. I went for it and I came off worse than he did.”

“How is your arm?” I wanted to check.

“It’s all but stopped bleeding now. I only know it’s there because it’s fucking cold. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Yield Kerrass.” I told him. “Apologise. Run away.”

“I can’t do that. It would be…”

“Giving up. Yes you said. But this isn’t giving up. It’s living to fight another day.”

“No.” He said. “I don’t have the strength. I’m tired. If I didn’t know better I would say that he has some Witcher training in him. Some form of mutation. He’s so fast, never seems to tire and he’s strong for all of the fact that he has no weight to him. I’m just…. I don’t know what to do. I’ve got no more ideas.”

“Time gentlemen.” Palmerin called. “Places please.”

“Freddie I’m sorry.” Kerrass said. “I don’t think I’m coming away from this one.”

I closed my eyes and finally let the idea that this was going to be the last time that I spoke to my friend, into my soul. I let go of all the little parts of the future that I had been looking forward to. I set aside the dream of the perfect stag party where my friend would get me drunk and embarrass me in front of other friends and some beautiful women. I put away the image of a smiling Kerrass handing me a pair of wedding rings before my family altar. And I ignored the desire to see Kerrass across the tavern table eating a huge breakfast for the final time.

“Then make the bastard bleed Kerrass.” I told him. “You hold on and you make the fucker work for it.” I put as much anger into my voice as I could. “Even as he kills you, spit in his eye. When he gets frustrated at the fact that you just won’t die, you laugh in his face. Make him bleed. Make him remember it. Make him suffer.”

And as I watched. I saw Kerrass come to that same realisation.

“That I can do.” He said. “Good bye Freddie.”

“Say hello to the Goddess for me.”

He nodded and turned to the fight for one last time.

There are several sayings among fighters and swordsmen in particular. One of the most famous is “The greatest swordsman in the world is not afraid of the second best swordsman, but rather the worst swordsman.” It is a comment on the fact that an untrained man will try anything in order to get the job done.

But another saying that you will probably have heard of is “There is always a Better Man.” It’s a saying that, according to Kerrass, is deployed when a student is just getting that little bit too big for their own boots. Just getting that little bit too arrogant. When talent, youth and skill combine to make a new swordsman feel invincible, that is when a warning like this is delivered. It is meant to teach people to take nothing for granted. That there will always be someone who can beat you. As you get older, there is always someone that can sneak up on you. Then they will have all the advantages of youth, strength, skill and knowledge while your body slowly conspires to betray you.

And Kerrass had finally met his Better Man.

It was true that as I watched the two men fight, I don’t think I had ever seen a swordsman better than Alain Moineau. I will say that. I will write it publicly. If it was a battle then he would have been overwhelmed by numbers. None of his patience, skills or knowledge would have helped him against the raw ferocity of the mob, or the massed terror of the PFI. Nor would it have helped him if he had been facing a monster. I even think that if it had been a proper fight, then Kerrass would have been able to come up with something. A potion that would make him quicker, a sign or any of the other things that a Witcher could command. A simple trick that isn’t usable in the field of honour.

It was just that, in a one on one fight. Where the matter came down to pure skill with the sword. Alain was just better. It hurts me to write those words because I rather think that I hate the man. But he was the best pure swordsman I have ever seen and I have seen the Empress fight.

Others who have seen both men in action claim that the Wolven Witchers have a slight edge. Something in their training up in Kaer Morhen meant that their sword skills are unparalleled. Apparently, in a list of the top ten swordsmen in the world, Geralt, Lambert and Eskel would be ranked right up there although I cannot comment on them. I have seen them fight, just not in this kind of context.

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But Alain was incredible. He was fast, but I’ve seen faster. He was strong too but that is not as much of an issue as some people might think it is in a one on one sword fight. His breath control and his stamina was as good as I’ve ever seen. They had been fighting for a long time now and Alain’s conditioning was easily on a par with Kerrass’ own.

But looking back at that fight, I think that his strength was in his mind. All the time that he was fighting Kerrass, he was watching Kerrass. He was analysing Kerrass. He was learning how Kerrass moved and reacted to what was happening. He was perfectly able to just lean back and allow things to carry on, letting his growing knowledge of Kerrass’ skill set and physical capabilities guide his arms and feet while the rest of him worked away at the problem

He was like…

And they way that Epiphanies come to you when you write. Here is one that I didn’t see coming until now.

He was a lot like a Witcher. Except instead of analysing the monster, learning about the monster in order to kill the monster, he examined duellists and swordsmen. Where Witchers might engage a monster briefly to see how they move and behave. To see if they can figure out the riddle of the beast. Alain had engaged the Witcher to see how he worked.

That had been what all the standing around was.

I would even venture the theory that if Kerrass had just launched an all out attack, the most dangerous moment for Alain would have been in those opening seconds of the fight. When the first blows were exchanged.

But now we were in deep and Alain knew everything that Kerrass could dish out. He knew his opponent and it was going to get messy.

Kerrass had finally met his Better Man.

There is another saying that I am going to throw out at you. I have no idea if it is true but if it is, then I must admit that I am glad that I was not the third son and never had to join the military.

Famous generals and military minds have often said that in order for a soldier to do his job, then he must first accept that he is dead. Anything else is a bonus.

Now as a philosopher, even a fireside one like me, can point out all the problems in that. Including the fact that thinking like that is what leads to the horrors involved as to what can happen when the city walls are breached and the soldiers sack the city. Where otherwise good, flame-fearing family men go mad and steal, murder and rape their way through the conquered city.

But sometimes it works. And that was what Kerrass did when the duel began again. He had accepted that he was dead. He had said his goodbyes and he advanced towards his enemy, intent on destroying him and rendering him, simply, dead.

And it nearly worked too.

Kerrass advanced on Alain like an avalanche. Like a boulder rolling down hill. He behaved like one of those automated machines that the dwarves keep boasting about or a magically infused Golem. Just advancing towards the enemy, not flinching. He had his sword out and ready with his left hand also extended ready to grab and hold.

“Kill me.” He was saying with his body. “Come on, kill me and when you do so, know that I will kill you with the return stroke.” It was an attitude of mutually assured death and for a moment I saw Alain looking confused as he tried to figure out what to do about it.

Kerrass advanced, Alain attacked and Kerrass just swatted the attack away, reaching for his opponent as he came.

Alain backed off, frowning in thought. Kerrass didn’t let him have the time. This time it was Kerrass that attacked but instead of attacking the body of his opponent, he attacked the blade seeking to knock it to one side or to move the blade to a point where Kerrass’ left hand could reach out and seize the wrist that was holding the sword.

Again Alain moved back. I watched him carefully and it was about here when I realised that Alain fought with his mind as much as he did with his body. For an unintelligent man in his education and his way of treating other people. Unintelligent politically as well, he was a martial genius. His lips were moving as he tried to work out what was happening.

Kerrass chased him round in a circle, lashing out with his own blade, occasionally using both hands on the hilt to make the weapon stronger and more secure, less clumsy. But mostly, the blows were quick, jarring strikes that would, even if they hit home, almost certainly only wound slightly. He was goading Alain. Daring him to come on and attack. Daring him to kill.

I felt that, oh so treacherous ray of hope in my chest again. I had allowed the knowledge that my friend was going to die here today into my soul and in that surety, all that was left was to hope that he was going to get his man in return. I wanted him to kill Alain. I wanted to see Alain’s blood in the dirt. Even if I would, inevitably, weep as I watched my friend die, that bitterness would be lifted somewhat by the knowledge that, at least, he had taken his enemy with him.

Stupid macho male bullshit I know but in the heat of the moment, when there is nothing else to comfort you, you take what you can get.

Just as I had begun to feel that hope though, my heart sank accordingly as I saw Alain begin to smile and his frown brighten. D’Alambourd would later claim that I groaned and he might be right.

Kerrass saw it too and leapt forward, attacking faster and faster and faster, still pushing forwards, still trying to goad Alain into overextending, to overcommitting.

And as he did, and this is just my assessment as a watcher. He became something that Alain could fight.

There were many movements that I couldn’t see during this whole duel which is why it’s been really frustrating to write about. One of the attending fencing enthusiasts published a paper in the fencing magazines about the duel that goes into all the technical aspects. The article is called “When the fighter met the duellist” and can be read in one of the more recent publications on the subject. I read it and although I cannot follow a lot of the more technical language and the writer is a little bit biased against Kerrass on a professional level…

He is basically of the opinion that Kerrass was a fighter that had no business in a duelling circle and that although he plainly doesn’t like Alain the man, he admires Alain the duellist.

… It does sound closest to my memory of how the fight went.

There were many movements that I couldn’t see because the blades moved so quickly and I would often simply not realise that an attack had been made and fended off until after the sound of the blades clashing had died down. But this move I saw and it was the beginning of the end of it all.

Alain leant forward and thrust his sword towards Kerrass’ neck. Kerrass beat the blow aside and reached for Alain. Alain sidestepped, lifting his sword onto the other side of Kerrass blade, adding a bit of momentum to Kerrass parry. The two blades barely met that second time. It was just a little push after all and then Alain’s blade jerked towards Kerrass’ face.

To my mind, what Kerrass did then was a reflexive motion. He didn’t do it consciously. I doubt he even did it knowingly. It is true that a man might be comfortable with the idea of dying but uncomfortable with the idea of going blind.

But regardless of the matter, Kerrass jerked his head away from Alain’s strike. Howeve, Alain hadn’t been aiming for Kerrass’ eyes. He had been aiming for his forehead and managed a long, horizontal cut along Kerrass brow that proceeded to bleed profusely.

It was not a deadly wound. To break through the forehead, you need force and weight. You can do that with the sword but you need to put some stuff behind it and this blow was almost effortless. Entirely led by the point and the sharpness of the metal.

And because it was a head wound, when it started to bleed, it really started to bleed. Right into Kerrass’ eyes.

Palmerin put his hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t watch.” He whispered in my ear.

D’Alambourd was looking at me with sympathy. Even he had a tint of despair in his face as he whispered. “It is inevitable now.”

I shrugged off the hand.

“What kind of friend would I be.” I told them. “If I didn’t watch his ultimate moments?”

Kerrass backed off from Alain and wiped the blood from his face. And Alain came with him, shifting to the attack now.

Alain came on, overconfident and swaggering, huge big swings of his sword giving huge, magnificent arcs of light as they soared through the air, glittering in the torchlight. Some of his supporters were laughing now, small noises that were probably a little bit harsh and going against the comments or the distractions that Palmerin had warned about.

But there was also the problem of, who would he punish? There were so many of them.

Alain was mocking Kerrass. I knew it, he knew it and we all knew it. He was confident now, too confident and that confidence was making him cruel. He was swinging his sword to provoke the noise. He knew that Kerrass would have had his depth perception ruined by having blood in one eye or the other and so he was drawing Kerrass on. To force Kerrass to be clumsy and stupid.

And I felt my lips curling into a smile. Kerrass would not be fooled by this. Alain had made a mistake. Kerrass was trained to fight in the warrens of the Feline school of the Witchers. He could fight in the dark, he could fight in the brightest, most blinding light. And he was more than capable of dealing with the small distraction of a bit of blood in his eyes.

He did not fall for the feints and when Alain had come closer, Kerrass had feigned weakness before coming back with strength and a precise as can be, flurry of blows. He was fast, he was strong and he was manual perfect. His form could not have been better if you had held the weapons manual out and used it as a basis for his movements.

The movements were so fast that it was honestly a couple of moments before I realised that Kerrass’ ruse hadn’t worked. And it was a few moments after that where I realised what Alain had done. And just as my triumph was forming in my throat it turned to bitterness and a groan of hopelessness.

Alain had read the movements. He had expected Kerrass’ ruse and had played into it. It was the most classic of things. He knew that they knew that he knew, and Alain played that game perfectly. I can hate the man but I must also admit the truth that Alain played the entire thing wonderfully. Flawlessly.

He had expected the strikes from Kerrass. He had even been able to read which set of strikes Kerrass was going to come at him with.

He sidestepped them, pushing them aside with his own blade before driving the pommel of his sword into Kerrass’ nose.

Blood exploded from Kerrass face and he staggered away and to one side, but Alain wasn’t done. He followed Kerrass and in a movement that spoke of much practice, he used another short, numbing strike against Kerrass sword arm, deadening the nerves and pushing Kerrass’ sword aside. Then Alain literally dropped his sword before bringing both hands together with Kerrass’ ears in a clapping motion.

Kerrass screamed before reeling backwards, sword arm flapping around uselessly, desperately shaking his head in an effort to clear it while Alain caught his falling blade with his foot before flicking it back up into his grip. He gave the sword a little twist to show off to the crowd. There was no doubt in the audience now as to who was going to win this duel.

Again, I have read some analysis of those people that watched and spoke of the different duelling styles. They claimed that Kerrass could have won that fight then. That if he had mastered his sword then he could have finished Alain off while Alain was showing off. This is true, he could have done. But I think that those people have never had their noses broken. They have never had that double impact over the ears which, I’m told, can cause permanent hearing damage.

And they have never had a cross bar of a sword driven into that particular nerve cluster in the arm. So yes, if Kerrass had been able to set all of those things aside then yes, he could have skewered Alain then and there.

But “if” is a much larger word than people think. Like “nearly” or “almost”. As in “The North almost gained complete victory against the Empire.” Or “The climber wasn nearly able to jump the sheer gap without falling to his death.”

Kerrass staggered backwards, shaking his head furiously.

When he was well out of range of Kerrass’ reaching, trembling sword, Alain turned to me and grinned.

“You really should stop writing down all of your strengths and weaknesses Lord Frederick.” He told me. “I read about your friend’s reliance on his hearing with great interest.”

He laughed.

“Have a care.” Palmerin growled but Alain ignored him. This was his moment of triumph and he was not going to pass up the opportunity to gloat a little bit.

“How does it feel Lord Frederick?” He asked. “To know that you have had a hand in the death of your closest friend. What is it you say? In some ways closer to being your brother than your brothers?”

He laughed.

“Watch your tongue?” Palmerin snarled.

“Oh please.” Alain sneered. “What’s he going to do? Challenge me to a duel? He can’t beat me and he knows it. Nor can you? So what are you going to do? Are you going to duel me for all the times I gave you the horns of a cuckold?”

The crowd groaned at that as Alain turned away to face a Kerrass that was coming on.

“The Duchess will censure him.” Palmerin whispered. “If nothing else happens, he will regret saying those things.”

“Oh come on.” D’Alambourd sneered. “He will claim about being in the heat of the moment. Same as he always does. There will be a fine and he will be sneered at, but there are greater scandals that will overtake everything for that to be remembered for more than, what, a week?”

D’Alambourd turned to me. “I am so sorry.” He told me.

I ignored them both. The only reason I know what they said is because I was told later. I watched as Kerrass came on, refusing to be beaten. Refusing to go down. I forced myself to watch as he reeled from the damage to his ears…

I don’t know why the ears are connected to your sense of balance, but they are.

He was blinking furiously, blinking past the pain in his face and to clear the blood from his eyes. He had both hands on the sword now although I noticed that he had swapped them round. Kerrass’ right hand is dominant and he prefers his right hand at the top of the grip near the cross guard to aid with the precise nature of the strikes, while the left provides the power. But now it was reversed. In theory, it wouldn’t be a problem.

In theory.

He came on towards Alain and attacked. Alain parried every strike easily, dodging aside from the others. Kerrass was slow now, hurt, bleeding and dazed.

Alain side-stepped another blow, moving right when Kerrass had clearly expected a left movement. Alain’s blade flickered out and cut Kerrass in the Left bicep, cutting deep.

Kerrass switched the grip and came on again. Again though, Alain’s extraordinary stamina…

I understand that, obviously, this account is being written from my point of view and that therefore the account is biased against Alain. As such, I may have underplayed just how much of a wonderful swordsman Alain was. Saying that he was gifted woefully underplays what was going on here. It would not be unfair to say that he was the perfect swordsman in this instance and if he had been fighting anyone else, I would have been in awe at being in the presence of such an obvious master. Leaving aside the obviously playful nature of the toying with the victim though. Alain’s strength, speed and stamina were all extraordinary and also made for this. There is a difference between the strength you need to chop wood and the strength you need to dig a hole in the ground. The same way that just because you might be a relatively fit horseman or fighter, does not mean that you can keep up with the average farmer when it comes to physical labour in the field.

For Alain, it was as though he had been sculpted by some God or Goddess of the sword in order to be the perfect swordsman. And if he had been fighting anyone else, I might even have enjoyed the display on that level alone. But he was fighting my best friend and I was helpless before it.

Alain’s extraordinary stamina came into effect. He had hurt Kerrass, injured Kerrass and he was still able to fight with his full strength and speed.

The numbness on Kerrass’ right arm might have been receding but the injury to the left meant that he was simply not as strong with his blows and could not come back with enough strength to the parry, or provide enough strength to move Alain’s sword aside.

So Kerrass would attack and Alain would strike at the blade, pushing the sword towards Kerrass’ injury, causing more pain, more blood loss and meaning that Kerrass’ blade was further and further away from the proper point of defence.

Which meant, in turn, that Alain could take his time and toy with Kerrass.

Small cuts started to appear on Kerrass. One on the upper thigh, the right forearm. The left cheek. Kerrass gritted his teeth and fought on but even those people who didn’t know him could see the despair crawling onto his face.

Alain struck Kerrass’s blade so hard that Kerras spun around and Alain delivered two strokes. One against the back of Kerrass’ left calf, severing the muscles in the same way that Kerrass’ left bicep was cut and the second was more of an insult as he sliced Kerrass across the arse.

Kerrass’ leg buckled under him and he landed on his knee with another groan. Kerrass struck out again but the left arm failed him and he over balanced as Alain danced out of the way.

But Alain was not done toying with Kerrass yet. Another cut opened on Kerrass ribs. The left arm took another blow and it now hung uselessly at Kerrass’ side. Another wound opened on Kerrass back, further deadening the muscles on the left side of Kerrass’ body.

Palmerin was already pacing in disgust at this, so obvious, toying with a man’s victim. But he finally lost his temper when Alain cut Kerrass’ right ear off before picking up the distorted bit of flesh and holding it on the end of his sword for the crowd to cheer.

“Enough of this.” Palmerin yelled. “Cease this disgusting display. Finish the matter or have mercy but this is cruel and sickening.”

Alain spun out of Kerrass’ reach. Kerrass, who was still trying to reach his enemy with his sword.

“This is mine.” Alain snarled at Palmerin. “He is still fighting and the duel is not over. It is not over until one of us is dead or unable to continue. He clearly thinks that he can continue and so we continue.”

“A Knight should have mercy.” Palmerin told him. “This isn’t knightly. This is… This is butchery. This is torture. He had the courage to come here and face you. Even if there is nothing else, he deserves your courtesy for that.”

The crowd seemed to agree with Palmerin and Alain sighed. “Oh very well,” He complained before turning back to Kerrass. Kerrass attacked.

In another move that I can well imagine some future sword instructor using as an example of how the maneuver should be done, Alain struck out at Kerrass’ blade. He struck it once, twice before a third time sent the blade sailing through the air.

“Catch it.” Alain called. “I would give it to his friends. That sword is mine.”

He turned back to Kerrass who had somehow climbed to his feet. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t seen it as I, like the rest of the crowd, had been watching the sword spin through the air. But on his feet he was and he was nose to nose with Alain.

My heart soared with prode as Kerrass headbutted Alain in the face, breaking Alain’s own nose. Kerrass followed up with a right hand strike to the face. The blow lacked strength and Alain was already falling back after that first head-butt.

“You bastard.” Alain snarled as he visibly lost his temper and drove his sword into Kerrass’ gut, so far that it exploded out of Kerrass’ back in a spray of gore. Alain held it there for a long moment, supporting Kerrass’ weight on the blade as he slowly gave the blade a twist, tearing a groan from Kerrass’ mouth. Then the weight of a dying Witcher pulled the hilt of the blade from Alain’s grip and Kerrass finally fell to his knees. And Alain let go.

His final act of cruelty.

“There Lord Palmerin.” Alain spat at Kerrass’ knees as Kerrass curled around the sword driven into his belly. “I have ended it. Now he can die in agony as he deserves.”

The final act of cruelty

Why do I say that? Why do I say that it is the final act of cruelty?

Because stomach wounds hurt. No, I have never had one. I hope that I never do, but I have seen enough to know that it is more of a kindness to pull your sword out and deliver a swift blow to the neck in order to end the poor bastard’s suffering rather than to leave him to it.

Sam once told me a story about when he was on his way to his first battle in the war. I was fifteen when the war started, give or take. Taken from my studies and sent to the logistics division to make sure that I would never be drafted onto the front lines. So that meant that Sam will have been sixteen when he was doing this. Naturally, Father’s money meant that Sam was Knighted and was riding to war on one of the best warhorses that money could buy and wearing the best armour.

The horse was not a pure colour though so it looked cheap. Sam would often complain about this at the time as well as the fact that his armour looked poor and unornamented meaning that the other Knights would often bully him for it. Sam is older and wiser now and has since admitted that those self same Knights would have found a way to bully him regardless. And if he had had the ostentatious armour with the expensive looking horse, then the soldiers on the other side would have been more likely to go after him exclusively in hopes of a ransom.

But he once told me about how he was riding to the front when he passed a dying soldier by the side of the road. The man had been sent to walk back to the surgeons tents that were far back from the front lines at that point but he had finally lost his grip on holding his guts into his belly and they had all slipped free. He was sat by the side of the road trying to jam the kind of blue, pinkish sausage looking tubes back into his stomach. The soldier saw Sam looking and looked him the eye. He was pale, sweating and obviously in agony as he grinned at Sam. “Give ‘em hell, son.” The man said before groaning in the agony that the effort put him in.

But also, there is some science to it. Your belly is where all the food is broken down. We know that there are toxins in the human body that help break down your food and carry it away into your piss and shit and all the useful stuff elsewhere. We know that if you take that stuff out of the bits that it’s supposed to be in, then it can become toxic, even dangerous.

And some fucker has just stabbed you in the stomach, tearing all those organs and spilling all those poisons and toxins into the other parts of your body. And those toxins include the bit where food turns into shit. And now that stuff is getting into your blood.

Feel sick yet?

So belly wounds hurt and it can take a man a long time to die if he gets stabbed in the gut, and that death is agony, every step of the way.

Alain was angry as he turned away from Kerrass. He had won and he held his hands up to his friends to acclaim his victory. And they cheered him, because why wouldn’t they.

I surged forward to help Kerrass, to help him to the ground, to finish him off, to hold his hand, I have no idea what I was going to do but I tried to get to my friend. He was there, blood and dark, horrible, foul fluit was seeping around the wound where the blade still stuck from his belly.

“No.” Alain spun on me. “No, he has not asked for mercy. He is not dead yet. His life is mine and I require that he dies.” He wiped the thick globules of blood and snot from his face and spat to one side. “You leave him. You stand there and watch him die.”

The anger and hatred in his voice was like a hammer and I looked around me to see if the people of Toussaint could see the man exposed for what he was.

He spat again. “And don’t you heal him either.” He howled at Ariadne and Laurelen who had also gone to move forwards. “The duel is not over until one of us is dead, or submits,”

“Or until both seconds agree that he can’t fight further.” I snarled, turning to D’Alambourd who looked stricken.

“My friend Dally.” Alain snarled. “I instruct you to do no such thing. I’ve won, the Witcher’s life is mine to do with as I please and I choose to watch him die here in agony. I’ve won.”

And his friends cheered. I wanted to vomit.

“The mighty Witcher has fallen.” Alain crowed. “I am the better man, I am the better sword.” He turned to his friends and his anger at having his nose broken started to abate in the face of his victory. “I’ve won. I won. I won. I beat the Witcher. And I tell you what, I think I might even be able to take the fabled White Wolf. They can be beaten. And I did it. I am the foremost sword in Toussaint and you should all remember it.”

“Finish the man Lord Moineau.” Palmerin snapped. “Finish it. This is cruelty.”

“Cruelty?” Alain laughed. “He challenged me. He insulted me. This is what you get when you insult me. People have been trying to portray these vagabonds as heroes for far too long. The bard Dandilion and now this oaf of a scholar who has been writing about the skills of his friend the Witcher. It should not be doubted that Witchers are filthy little mutants. Filthy things that were born and bred to be servants to their betters. And never let it be said that they are better than us. For after all, after all their training, after all their practice and their years and years of experience, they were still beaten by a normal man. A normal human with a sword and I beat them. I won. I won. I don’t know who’s cooking things but I want some of that… whatever it is as I watch the Witcher die, even if it does smell as though you burnt it.”

He laughed again and turned back towards Kerrass…

And screamed as he staggered backwards and fell over his heels until he slumped backwards.

I like to think that he tripped on the same piece of raised flagstones that had tripped Kerrass earlier. Witnesses claim that Alain fell over his own feet, but I am less convinced.

Kerrass looked… He looked as though he was dead already. He looked like he was one of those living dead beings that continue to persist in plays and books everywhere despite the fact that they absolutely do not exist. His skin was grey with sweat pouring off him. His face twisted into a mask of agony, his lips parted as though he was screaming and yet no sound issued forth.

He looked as though he had lost weight and that he was a shambling corpse. Some plague ridden thing that does not yet know that it’s dead and kills itself as it forces its way onwards and to my eyes, he had never looked more beautiful than he did in that defiant moment.

He was holding onto the sword in his gut with his left hand to hold it steady while his right hand sent a shower of sparks into the blade. Red, hot sparks and it was the cooking, burning flesh of the Witcher that we smelled as the hot metal partially cauterised the wound.

And then, Kerrass started to pull the blade that was killing him out of his own gut.

Some of the crowd screamed. More than one woman fainted. More than one man too for that matter.

Alain lost precious seconds as he scuttled backwards across the ground away from the Witcher that he thought he had killed. That he had beaten, that he had reduced to kneeling at his feet.

Kerrass tugged the blade free and for a moment the blade clattered to the floor as Kerrass let go.

Alain came to his senses for a moment and darted forward to pick up the fallen, gore covered blade. Kerrass went to stop him but he was still gathering strength. Alain stooped, swept the blade up in his hands and dropped it, howling as the hot meal burnt into his hands. The hilt wrapping smouldered as it fell free.

“Magic.” Alain pleaded. “We insisted that there was no magic involved.”

“He’s right.” Sighed D’Alambourd. He had enjoyed watching Alain fall back in fear.

“The Witcher is cheating.” Alain shouted in triumph and fear as he eyed the Witcher who had got one foot under him and was reaching for the fallen sword again. “The duel is over and his life is still mine. I have won.”

“No.” I said. “I remember it distinctly, Kerrass even checked. No magic cast against his opponent and unless I miss my guess, he has only cast his magic against himself.”

D’Alambourd’s eyes seemed to glow. “That’s right.” He said. “That was the stipulation. Something that my friend himself insisted upon.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Alain pleaded, now backing away from the thing that Kerrass had become that was trying to lever himself to his feet using the blade that was burning his hands as he held it. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I meant no magic.”

“You said no healing magic and no magic used on his opponent. Those were the stipulations and you were even present when I checked them.” Palmerin intoned. “I judge that the move is legitimate and the duel is ongoing.”

“But I won.” Alaim whimpered looking at Kerrass in growing horror as the dying Witcher hobbled towards him.

Kerrass wasn’t a man any more. He was agony in flesh. Agony, hate and a rage so terrible that I was shaken by it. He could not move quickly but he was as inexorable as the tides. He used the sword as a walking stick, the blade bending under the weight and the fact that it was still hot and distorted with the heat. It would never be a sword again, but it did not need to be.

And Kerrass came on.

Alain looked about himself, looked around for a gap in the crowd. He saw one and went for it in an effort to get away, but there were men there and they barred his way. The crowd had turned, Kerrass’ display of determination and courage in the face of Alain’s unseemly behaviour had made Alain the villain. His wheedling had made the matter worse.

And Kerrass came on. He was moving faster now as he got closer to Alain.

“But I won.” Alain said again, looking around for support. “I WON.” He bellowed at the Witcher that was getting closer and closer to him. “I BEAT YOU. I WON. YOU CAN’T KILL ME. I WON.”

He was pleading.

“SOMEONE STOP HIM.”

“We can’t.” Palmerin said. “The Duel is still in effect.”

Kerrass was finally in arms reach of Alain and started to bring the sword up. He was slow, painfully slow.

“But I won.” Alain whimpered.

Kerrass’ mouth opened and blood leaked out of the corner. He either didn’t realise or did not care enough to spit it out and it made his face even more horrific.

The sword came up, slowly and inexorably.

“Wait… I won.” Alain watched the sword coming up.

And then he pissed himself.

“Mercy. I yield.” He whimpered as the yellow, steaming liquid stained the ground. “I YIELD.” He shouted. “MERCY.”

“He yielded.” I shouted. “I heard him.” I pushed into the circle towards Kerrass.

“So did I.” “D’Alambourd said with a fierce joy that was astonishing to hear.

“As did I.” Palmerin intoned.

But I didn’t hear as I got to Kerrass. Something had gotten through to the stricken Witcher as the weight of the sword pulled him to one side. He looked at me and I saw my friend as the sword pulled him over. I leapt and for a moment, I didn’t think I would make it.

But I caught him and lowered him to the ground.

D’Alambourd was just a second behind me and kicked the still hot sword away.

“Seize that man.” Palmerin intoned.

Kerrass just smiled at me. His mouth went to form words.

“Yes Kerrass, you got him.” I told him.

He nodded and closed his eyes.

“Not yet you bastard.” I snarled at him.

And some horrid strength seized me by the collar and yanked me backwards.

“Out of the way.” Laurelen demanded, Ariadne next to me as she dumped me on my arse.

She was already chanting and a blue glow sprung up around Kerrass.

I tried to push past them so that I could get at Kerrass, some way that I could get through to him so that I could be with him in his final moments. This time it was Mark’s hand that hauled me backwards by the scruff of the neck.

“Let them work brother.” He said.

“But he’s dying.” I protested, my inner childish voice springing forwards.

“Not if they have anything to do with it.” Emma said standing next to me, adding her sisterly weight to my side and preventing me from leaping forward.

Not having a choice, I stayed where I was as I watched my friend.

After that first frenzy of magic and movement the two mages seemed to become a bit calmer. Laurelen placed Kerrass’ potion case next to him and opened it. She seemed to whisper something quietly and softly before frowning and becoming angry. Then she nodded and reached into the box and produced a small black bottle that I remembered so clearly before she poured two drops of it into Kerrass’ open mouth.

Kerrass screamed, a horrible cry of anguish and pain as his back arched up, only shoulders and feet on the ground.

Laurelen frowned and said a word in a language that I didn’t recognise. Kerrass was instantly silent.

Ariadne was glaring at Laurelen who nodded again in answer. Another word was spoken and Kerrass went still, lying flat on the ground although to my eyes, his mouth was still screaming.

Ariadne hadn’t stopped chanting.

I could no longer watch as tears were clogging my eyes and obscuring my vision. So I take what happens next from the accounts of some of the people that were there.

“Guards.” Palmerin called. “You will take Lord Moineau into custody to await Witcher Kerrass’ pleasure.”

“But, I won.” Alain protested weakly as city guardsmen appeared and took him into custody.

“You yielded.” Palmerin told him. “We all heard you, you refused to allow the seconds to call the fight to a close and then you yielded. Asking nay…” Palmerin grinned viciously, finally allowing his dislike and hatred for the other man to show. “Pleading, begging, screaming for mercy.”

The crowd laughed. Like any mob watching something like this, they had turned on a coin edge and now Alain was the coward and the villain of the piece. The matter was decided in public and in popular opinion. Alain had lost and therefore he was in the wrong. He was a wife abuser, unfaithful, a cad and all of the other things that Kerrass had said about him. And the people of TOussaint are nothing if they are not romantics. To betray a wife that loved you was a dark sin indeed.

“But I won.” Something in Alain had broken I think. He couldn’t get past what had happened and what he had said. It was inconceivable that he would lose and therefore he hadn’t.

“So you will stand there and wait.” Palmerin was ignoring the latest outburst. “To see whether or not Witcher Kerrass survives his injuries.”

Lord D’Alambourd sighed unhappily. “As the gentleman’s representative…” notice that he didn’t say “friend.” “... I feel that I must ask what will happen to the gentleman should his opponent perish?”

A spark of hope lit Alain’s features for a moment.

“If he doesn’t.” Palmerin crushed the hope with ruthless speed and efficiency. “Then your life will belong to Lord Frederick. And although I cannot say what Lord Frederick will do with you, I would suggest that you, once again, steel yourself to plead for your miserable life. As you will have just killed his Sword Brother.”

This particular aspect of Duelling law is interesting and is worth talking about. Duels happen all the time. Since the relatively recent, and by recent I mean since Nilfgaard first started invading the north, laws that outlaw the practice of duelling to the death except with the permission of your feudal Lord. This was so all the prominent military knights and generals would stop killing each other off over matters of honour. But since then mostly, the duels have been to the first blood. Which, in turn, has increased the popularity of the sporting side of duelling.

It’s tricky.

But when you duel to the death and someone asks for mercy. Or if the duel is finished because the seconds both agree that the matter is over and that one opponent is definitely not getting up again, and yet he survives, then there is a point of law there. What happens to the losing side? An apology is not enough by this point, so what can be done? It is, correctly, considered as being absurd that a man might do this thing and then walk away afterwards without penalty.

So, like all of it, it becomes a matter of honour.

The loser’s life becomes the property of the victor. This doesn’t mean slavery. But it means that it would then be perfectly legal, if frowned upon, for the victor to walk up to the loser in the street and then kill him. Especially if it was a legally sanctioned, feudal lord agreed, duel to the death. If it wasn’t then it would be perfectly honourable to do so, but the legal systems might disagree.

It all gets very complicated.

But what normally happens is that the loser is counted as being dead to a degree as decided by the victor. Generally that degree is governed by how serious the offence was in the first place. If it is a duel to prove that one man is a murderer, then death is all but certain. Except with a nice clean axe stroke instead of bleeding to death from a sword wound. This ranges from a man being forced to retire to his country estates, being exiled from the country all together, to never having any kind of public life again.

The most famous example of this in action that I could find was of two men that fought a series of duels since they first met some years ago. It was one of those trivial matters of honour that occur between two young noblemen who are convinced of their invulnerability and all round wonderousnous. And naturally, it was over a woman. A woman who, by all accounts, barely knew that either man existed.

The first insult was given and the duel was forced. The first duel was interrupted by legal means. The second ended in foolish injury. Depending on the account, a broken leg due to unsure ground or things to that effect. The third was inconclusive as the exertion and blood loss from the accumulated wounds meant that both men fell exhausted. This would go on and on to the point that the two men even managed to form a friendship when the duel was actually forbidden due to their nation being at war.

The two men fought and their growing friendship meant that neither was willing to force the matter to it’s ultimate conclusion and so duels were called off due to weather, or because one man had a cold, or because honour “was not properly satisfied by the victory”. They fought with all the different kinds of blades until it was clear that there was going to be no clear victor and a friend of both men suggested that they duel with crossbows.

That way, the death could be mercifully swift if it came to it. The two men were in their latter years by this point and knew that honour could not be left unfulfilled.

It’s for bullshit like this that some people think that honour is a foolish institution. In this case, I would agree as the initial woman had long since moved on and the two men had both moved on with their lives. The final duel wasn’t needed at all and was a waste of good lives.

Both men were given three bolts each and entered a hunting ground from opposite ends. Then whoever emerged would be considered the victor.

The tale of that duel is that the two men exchanged shots until one man had fired his three bolts and the other man had two in hand. He walked up to the loser and pointed the crossbow at his opponent's head and found that he couldn’t pull the trigger. So he declared the other man dead and moved on.

What that meant was that the loser was to consider himself dead in all matters regarding the victor unless the victor acknowledged him first. In social situations, the loser would have to leave the party if the victor showed up. If there was a mercantile endeavour that both men were interested in, then the lower would have to remove himself from the entreaty if the victor showed an interest. And so on.

Or at least, that’s the story anyway.

So we watched and we waited to see if Kerrass was going to survive or not. And as we did so, the shadows lengthened and it began to grow darker, and colder.

Although not as cold as it could be. That strange phenomenon of the fact that the skies are overcast meaning that it is actually warmer rather than colder.

I had completely forgotten what we were all there for in the first place until a young runner started pushing through the crowd.

“Hold.” He shouted. “Hold. Make way. Make way. Halt the duel.”

The crowd remained truculunt in it’s insistence on not making a gap for the young man to get through. So determined that everyone was in an effort to ensure that they could still have the best view in the house. In the end, the lad, who can barely have been above the age of fourteen, climbed up on one of the mausoleums to get past.

“Lord Palmerin.” He bellowed, his voice cracking at the end. “I have orders from the Knight Commander to halt the duel.” The boy was waving a small scroll.

“A bit late for that.” Emma muttered.

The boy was finally able to push through the crowd at Palmerin’s insistence and the young man passed the scroll over with a bow and a flourish before collapsing to his knees in some manner of exhaustion while Palmerin read the scroll.

“It seems that matters are moving fast.” He said. “Guards. You are to consider Lord Moineau to be under arrest for treason pending the arrival of the Knight Commander who is on her way here now. Commandeer his belongings.”

“But I won.” Alain protested. “I won.”

“It seems that you have lost.” Palmerin answered. “And in more than just this duel.”

There was no moving the crowd now. I was dimly aware that something was going on. Palmerin had tried to give me the piece of paper for me to read but I was so intent on the growing magical light that was dancing around Kerrass.

Emma took the paper in my stead. Apparently it read, “Stop the duel and arrest Alain for treason. Kerrass’ honour be damned. Wait for me. KCS” Emma told me that it was obviously written quickly and with a hasty hand.

The crowd erupted at Palmerin’s words, dury, surprise and all kinds of things came to everyone’s mind. Not least was an undercurrent of “How dare she interfere. This is a matter of honour.”

But Palmerin stood there stoically and we all just stood there and waited.

Some waited to see what was going to happen to Alain. Others stood and waited to see what Syanna was going to say when she got here and still others waited to see if Kerrass was going to survive or not.

I was in that last category.

After what seemed like an age, Laurelen came to us, wiping her hands on a piece of cloth that she then dropped on the floor before she frowned at it until it burst into flame.

“He will live.” She said.

I groaned and fell to the ground to more than a little bit of good natured laughter. Relief at a friend's life is one of those things that it is acceptable to get emotional about apparently.

“He is damn lucky that his best friend is engaged to a Sorceress of that kind of power. I’m not sure I could have saved him.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

“Well it seems that Ariadne’s knowledge of human anatomy is intricate and detailed. And since being released and not knowing the first thing about healing magic, she now knows more than I would ever claim to know. And I know a lot. What she’s doing now that he’s out of danger is weaving a spell to accelerate and assist his own body’s healing. It was tricky. We had to convince it, and him, not to just give up and die first and that was a close run thing. The damage that blade did as it went into his gut, then was twisted, then heated to approaching cauterising heat, and then being pulled out…”

She shook her head.

“Is that what he was doing?” Emma wondered. “With the sparks?”

“Yes,” Laurelen’s hand was shaking a little. “If he hadn’t, he would have bled to death and pulled his guts out as well.”

Mark winced in sympathy.

The crowd waited in silence as they listened to Ariadne chant. Syanna was not far behind her runner and turned up shortly afterwards with a pair of Knights Errant that I didn’t know. And where the crowd had failed to part for the young runner, you had better believe that they parted for Syanna coming down into the graveyard in all of her power. She was wearing her full, Knight Commander armour. The business set of armour that was armour first and decorative second. It said something to me that she was obviously far more comfortable in that set of armour than she was in the other more ornate set.

She strode down to the bottom of the hollow and shook Palmerin’s hand, other Knights Errant and guardsmen moved around, including a Knight Errant to go and stand with the guard that was around Sir Alain. Then she came over to us.

She was clearly ecstatic.

“What news Knight Commander?” Emma wondered. “You look like the proverbial cat that got the cream.”

“And the mouse.” Syanna agreed happily. “Also the bird and the… Oh fuck it. Yes, we’ve won and all we’re doing now is securing our victory.” She looked past us to where Ariadne was still chanting. “Is Kerrass going to be alright. He should hear this as well.”

“He will be fine.” Laurelen said. “It’s just time for the spells to work now, he will be on his feet shortly I would expect.”

“Oh, if I could only send mages with that level of healing out with all of my efforts.” Syanna commented.

“He was lucky.” Laurelen said. “We were here, we were prepared and our spells were already half cast. That he is a Witcher is another factor and that his potions, which would kill a normal man, were also on hand and prepared. He was lucky. But yes, if there were enough of us, if half of our scholarly work had not been burnt on the pyres of Novigrad and other places. And if our schools were not rebuilding and rediscovering rather than adding to and improving our knowledge. Then yes, many more lives could be saved.”

Syanna raised an eyebrow. “Did I just touch a sore spot.”

Laurelen laughed. “It’s an old complaint.”

“Lord Frederick.” Syanna turned to me and held her hand out, speaking formally and loudly so that her voice could be heard. “There will be formal ceremonies of thanks and things as well as gifts, honours and feasts in your honour. But first, I offer my hand and my thanks for all that you have done in bringing this crisis to a close.”

I was rallying now that it was clear that Kerrass was going to be ok. “Of course.” I said, taking the hand.

Her eyes blazed. “We got them Freddie. We got them.” She lowered her voice, allowing the gossip of the crowd to overtake her and muffle her words. Even as I speak, Lord Velles is singing like the proverbial song bird that your sister describes me as having caught. Runners have come back from Gregoire and Guillaume to say that the names that Kerrass supplied have borne fruit at the Moineau estate. We still haven’t heard back from Damien, but it’s clear that Raoul is in it up to his neck. We have more than enough to start arresting people and begin questioning them.” She sighed happily.

“Any names that I would know?” Emma asked.

“Plenty, unfortunately.” Syanna’s good mood faded a little.

“How many were there?” I wondered. “In total I mean.”

“More than I would like.” Syanna said. “But less than I feared. Younger sons, entitled land owners, guards attached to bigger estates for the dirty work. We will learn more and I want to tell you more but for two things. The first is that this is still a public place and…”

THere was a brief scuffle somewhere in the crowd where a pair of guardsmen were taking some nobleman into custody. Syanna broke off to watch it with relish.

“What was the other reason?” I wondered.

“Because you look like death?” Syanna grinned at me. “You should get some rest now that this is all over. Or nearly over as I should say. And I would like some help with the interrogations if you are up to it.”

“I can’t rest.” I told her. “I need to know what’s happening.”

“That curiosity of yours is going to get you killed one day.” Said Kerrass.

I turned on him as he limped towards us, Ariadne was supporting him as she held one hand and Kerrass grinned at me.

A pale greenish, purple light was dancing around him. As though he was encased in an extra shield that surrounded him and encased him a shell. Points of light danced in that shell. It was a strange sight to see his injuries knitting themselves back together as we watched.

“If we’re talking about idiotic character flaws that are going to get one or other of us killed,” I snarled at him. “Then how about your romantic sense of honour? And your stubborn refusal to…”

“I’m sorry Freddie.” He told me.

“Flame dammit Kerrass...” I felt anger, frustration, fear and relief warring at the back of my throat to threaten tears.

He hugged me.

“I’m so sorry.” He said again.

“You got him.” I told him.

The crowd cheered us. Another one of those situations where the romantic nature of Toussaint overwhelmed everything else and as the two of us, repressed Northerners both, broke apart I was gratified in seeing Mark wipe a sneaky tear from his eyes. Emma was hugging Laurelen.

“Dusty places these mausoleums.” Mark commented as he hugged the Witcher that had once been his enemy.

I turned to Ariande who was watching all this with her outsiders gaze. She was smiling.

So I hugged her, it seemed like the least thing I could do.

“Thank you.” I said into her ear. “I’m not sure what I would have done if he had died.”

“He is your brother.” She whispered back. “And you love him, so I love him. And truth be told, it was no real difficulty.”

“Do not put yourself down.” I said. “You saved his life and that is not something that should be made little of.”

She looked chastised. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” I told her. “Be proud. I love you so much and I am so lucky to have you here with me.”

She pulled back a little. “I am the lucky one.” She said. I could feel her trembling a little which is normally a sign of some suppressed emotion. I decided that kissing her was the best route forward before we hugged again.

“Witcher Kerrass.” Syanna called into the cheering. “I am afraid I must take your victim from you.” She was speaking in that loud and formal cadence again. The kind of voice that reminds people that there is something happening that needs to be witnessed. “We are well aware that your victory means that his life is yours. However, the throne has precedence and I am here to arrest Lord Moineau for treason.”

The crowd gasped. I mean, obviously they all already knew that but at the same time, hearing such a declaration said aloud is something else.

“Therefore, the throne’s demands take precedence.” She said.

I pulled apart from Ariadne who refused to completely let go and ensured that she still had a grip on my hand.

“I understand.” Kerrass was leaning on Mark slightly, but even as I watched, it was clear that his strength was visibly returning. “I understand and applaud.”

“The throne will of course recompense you…”

“I need no recompense.” Kerrass said loudly and forcefully, showing that he knows how to play the game when he puts his mind to it. The crowd cheered him. “I ask only for leave to speak with him before you take him away as I have things I want to say.”

Syanna made a show of considering the request, but the answer was already obvious.

“I think we can allow that. Although I must bear witness and I expect him to be able to face charges.”

Kerrass nodded. “Freddie?” He asked, beckoning me forward. I departed from Ariadne, reluctantly, and went to take Mark’s place as Kerrass’ support as we approached Alain who was still looking around as though he expected to wake up from a nightmare at any moment.

“First.” Kerrass said in the same formal voice. “To Lord D’Alambourd. You are known to me sir, as others have spoken of you. I would have you know that I bear you no ill will as I understand that your representation of my enemy is a matter of honour.”

D’Alambourd bowed his acknowledgement of this.

“But I won.” Alain said. “You cheated, you used magic.”

“According to the terms of the duel that you set.” D’Alambourd said, with no small amount of relish, “the actions of your opponent were perfectly legal. The Ducal adjudicator agrees.”

Kerrass ignored this.

“I have two things to say.” He said. “The first is that I agree with my opponent. He had me beaten. I was on the floor, out of ideas, injured and bleeding. He had me. And if he had just ended it there, he would have won. But instead, he chose to gloat, he chose to showboat. He chose to kill me slowly. All it would have taken for him to be the victor now, although I understand that he would not have gone completely free, was to pull his blade free from my gut. To have struck at my neck, or cut the artery in my groin. I would be dead and he would be the victor. Instead, I leave the field as the winner.”

“I won.” Alain whimpered.

“My second thing that I want to say is this.” Kerrass shifted his weight and let go of my support.

“Thank you.” The Witcher said to his beaten foe. “You have taught me a lesson that I could not have met elsewhere. I have become complacent in recent years. I was of the opinion that the only swordsmen that were better than I, were friends of mine. My arrogance has led me to slacken off my training. To take my skills and victories for granted and as such, I am not at my peak. You have reminded me about that oldest lesson of the sword, that there is always a better man. You were my better man. Thank you for my lesson, you have given me much to think about.”

“But I won.” Alain whispered.

Kerrass bowed, ignoring Alain’s protest.

“I would have liked to see you face Vesemir.” Kerrass told him as he straightened stiffly. “That would have been a bout to watch. We will not speak again. Farewell.”

The bout between the Witcher and the Knight in Toussaint is going to be a famous duel. As I write this, there are essays, manual entries and discussions being had in duelling schools all over the continent about what happened when a Witcher met a duellist. People are discussing the psychology involved, what happened, the moves, the exchanges.

The analysis is going to go on and on and on. And it might even be true that the duel will outlast the events that were taking place around it. In much the same way that Francesca is now a saint rather than being my sister.

There are conflicts as to what happened, arguments about who should have won. The tactics involved, the movements, the techniques, the use of stamina, the tricks and ruses. All of it well above my head.

But there is one thing that they come back to. One thing that every discussion agrees on. Which is that Alain won. The Witcher was beaten. But a Witcher’s determination carried the day. His refusal to die meant that he lived on. And that the lesson that future duellists and fighters should take from that, would be to always kill your man. Ensure victory before enjoying the fruits of it.

There is still some debate on what to call this mistake. Some people want to call it “THe Knightly Error” but I don’t like that. Because to me, Alain was anything but Knightly. I prefer to call it, “The poor Knight’s folly.”

This is my account of that duel and what was going on around it. I consign it to history in order to let future historians be the judge. As is my duty.

After Kerrass’ speech, we went up to the palace to await news of what we hoped was the conclusion of the Jack affair and so that I could get some rest.

There is a point to be made here about the best laid plans of men though.

(A/N: You should all know that there was nearly a version of this chapter that ended on the cliffhanger of Kerrass lying at Freddie’s feet dying after Freddie had told Kerrass that he had won. Specifically, the chapter would end with the line “Kerrass nodded and closed his eyes”. But I decided that that cliffhanger was a little cheap and too cruel. Because obviously the story isn’t over yet. I already knew that Laurelen and Ariadne were going to heal him so…

See you all next time. Thanks for reading.)