(A/N: Warning. Lots of exposition, foreshadowing, and scene-setting here)

(Warning: Animal death)

Emma lost her temper with me this morning.

Over the last few weeks, since I came home, she has become frustrated with my generalized sense of ennui, and overall… sulkiness is what she called it.

It took me a while and a long walk along the walls of the castle, but I am finally forced to admit that she has a point and that I deserved it.

And she does, I can’t have been a good person to be around recently and I didn’t know what to do about it. To Emma, it seemed that the answer was obvious.

“You’re letting your readers down Freddie” She insisted.

“But Emma,” I protested. You have to understand that I am paraphrasing a lot here. “The articles are done. I’m finished. There is nothing new to say on the subject. I have fulfilled my promise to those readers. There is nothing new to say about Witchers or what life is like with those Witchers. I promised that they would see what would happen when I went to go and see the Elder and they saw that. There is nothing else for me to say.”

“Bollocks.” She said. My sister can be pretty eloquent when she puts her mind to it.

“Emma, the rest of the stuff that I might want to say is tied up in the book that Yennefer is busy catching up on.”

“Bollocks to that too.”

I stared at her for a long moment, feeling a certain welling up of hurt and anger. “Alright then, miss smart-ass. What should I write about?”

She took on this kind of high-handed, big sisterly kind of air as she looked down at me a little bit.

“Freddie, I receive mail too.”

“Yes I know, by the sack load. Far more than I get. It’s almost enough to make a man feel inadequate. But what’s that got to do with...”

“Oh leave your precious ego out of this for just a moment would you.” She snarled. “I get mail too.”

“But I bet most of it is about the trading company,” I let my temper show, “followed by the wedding and people trying to ooze their way into getting an invitation so that they can get their slime all over you and the Empress and everyone in between.”

“Well… yes…. But that’s not the point.”

“What’s the point then Emma?”

“A good part of that mail is about you.”

I considered this for a moment. “That makes me feel better actually.”

She threw something at me. Not hard so it was relatively easy to duck. I might be rusty with my fighting skills but I am not that rusty. I think it was one of those wooden hoops that you feed napkins through to keep them tidy.

“So I also know,” she went on while I cautiously straightened up from behind the table where I had ducked. “That you have been ignoring your post.”

“Now that’s an outright falsehood.” I protested. I have done nothing of the kind. I have spent just about all of my time answering those letters.”

“And yet you still don’t give the readers what they want.”

“What they want, Emma, is for me to keep writing. Leaving aside the fact that I’m getting married in a few months, that I also have books to write, research to do, Yennefer chapters to read and discuss with her… All of which I am trying to do between doing some lectures at the university and attending some social things in Oxenfurt and Novigrad that you don’t want to go to.”

“As you offered to do.” She retorted. I ignored that.

“But all I do is answer that mail. I stay up nights answering the post. What more do you want me to do?”

“Give them what they want.”

“There is nothing else to write about. I’m done. Finished. Run out of ideas. Got nothing else to say. No more topics to address.”

“And again, I say, Bollocks.”

For those people wondering. Laurelen had vanished into her laboratory early on in all of this, taking her bowl of porridge with her. Looking back, I wondered if there was some kind of signal between the two of them to let Laurelen know that Emma was going to have “words” with me later that morning.

“So again I say, sister mine, What should I write about?”

“Well, obviously, I can’t speak for the letters that you have received.” She began with sarcasm dripping from every word, “But over and over again, people are asking me to get you to write about a monster hunt. They want a good old-fashioned monster hunt. Something where Kerrass got his teeth into something and then didn’t let it go until the…”

But that’s boring.” I said. “There are loads of those and they always go the same way. Kerrass gets the contract. Kerrass researched the contract in a couple of ways. Then, when Kerrass has decided that he knows what the monster in question is, he goes to have a look at the monster to see how right, or how wrong he is. When he’s done that and adjusted his thinking in a couple of ways. He destroys the monster before getting fucked over on the promised payment. There is nothing else to it. It’s boring, repetitive, insanely tedious, and utterly, utterly terrifying.”

“Then maybe you should say that.”

“I HAVE.” I roared at her.

Emma narrowed her eyes at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I feel like I’m waiting for the rock to fall, the other shoe to drop. I feel like I’m not doing anything worthwhile while, at the same time, my entire life is filled with pointless nonsense. I don’t do anything. I’ve never been busier in my life but I feel useless. Like the fifth wheel on a wagon. But I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” She agreed before taking a deep breath of her own. “But I forgive you and I understand that I’ve been pushing you recently. You’re not useless Freddie. Everything you do has substance otherwise I wouldn’t ask you to go to Novigrad to dine at the Hieraarch’s palace. Whenever you give a lecture, you educate the people of the continent that little bit further so that they understand what is really going on out there. And when you answer someone’s letter, you let them know that they matter. That you have read what they are sending you and they feel as though they matter to you.”

“Which they do,” I told her.

“There you go then.” She said. “Also, just for the record. I was recently approached by a dwarven inventor who claimed that the fifth wheel on another axel is indeed pointless. However, six wheels closer together might help spread the load on the rear of a wagon.”

I frowned. “I’m not sure how that would work.”

“Neither am I but he thought that it might mean that bigger wagons could be built in order to carry more things.”

frown deepened. “But the roads are only so wide. Surely we are limited by how wide the roads are in that regard.”

“I agree, but he wanted some investment so I gave him some money and told him to come back with a working prototype. But we’re getting off-topic.

“You are a hero to many.” She told me as I cringed. “No,” she insisted. “You are. You are a symbol of what can happen if a person steps out into the world in order to really see what’s going on. The Conjunction has brought more monsters onto the continent and you have shown people how dangerous it is out there, as well as what can happen if people go out there unprepared. You have displayed all of your frailties and all of your passions. People have read along with you for several years now. SO as well as a monster hunt, they want to know more about your life. They need to know what is happening.

“And then they want you to tell them about a monster hunt.”

“Which one?” I wondered with a certain amount of acid.

“I seem to remember a monster hunt that you promised everyone that you wouldn’t go on. The monster hunt that happened immediately after you swore, to my face, that you were done with following Kerrass around for a year or two. The one where you…”

“Yeah ok. I get it.”

“Right, good. I shall have some more paper and ink sent to your study and send a message to the magazine editor to let him know that you will have some new articles for him soon on the subject of your journeys with Kerrass.”

“He’s going to tear me a new asshole before he tries to fleece me for as much money as possible.”

“Because you let him get away with too much. I shall negotiate this new agreement.”

“Emma, he is also my friend. Please don’t alienate him too much.”

Emma had poured herself another cup of coffee. A drink that she had taken from Ariadne and now drinks far too much of for my comfort. More than two cups and I start to feel jittery and Emma seems to drink it by the barrel.

“I can make no promises.” She said, leaving the room, taking the coffee pot with her.

So here it is. I know that I told you all that these articles are done and they are after this story. At least, they will be for a long time. I am told to never say never but at the same time, marriage, feudal duties and, so on. The hunt that Emma is referring to is that hunt that took place immediately after we went to see the Elder. Not immediately afterward as it took some time to develop.

I also want to say that when I wrote that the articles were done and that there would be no more of them, I absolutely meant it. And I thought that that was true. I wrote those last articles regarding my visiting the unseen Elder on the Dining table of Corvo Bianco, while a trio of Sorceresses got very excited about the notes that I had brought out of the caverns of Tesham Mutna. At the time, I absolutely intended to spend some time reconnecting with Ariadne, redoing some of the conversations that we had had in the past, that now seemed to be on a little bit of a shaky footing, and taking advantage of some of the offers of hospitality that I had been given from around Toussaint.

Kerrass waited for a long while. He had reverted back into being Kerrass-the-ever-present-nursemaid and he was watching Ariadne’s and my interactions like a hawk. Eventually, though, he decided that we were as secure as we were going to be after he caught the pair of us standing together under one of the spring blossom trees on the Corvo Bianco estates, where I was putting a flower in her hair. After making loud retching noises he packed his gear and left shortly afterward, southwards in the direction of the Black Forest in order to hunt, find, or otherwise make contact with the Schatennman.

Reader, I lasted a week.

Just that, I was kind of disappointed in myself later, but at the time, I was just excited enough to get back on the road with Kerrass.

I lasted a week after his departure South before I finally lost my temper with everything, including myself, and departed, extracting a promise from Ariadne that she would tackle Emma on my behalf, I was back on my way, riding hard to catch up with the Cat Witcher who was, it has to be honest, not that pleased to see me. I mean, he might have been, a little bit, deep down, but when he actually saw me and he had convinced his companions that I wasn’t some hit squad that was sent to kill them all, he let me have it.

And I can’t say he was wrong to do so. But at the time, I didn’t care. I was on the road and I was happy. And I also knew that Kerrass shared in my happiness, at least a little bit.

Why was he happy? Because he didn’t entirely trust the people that he was traveling with.

But I’m getting ahead of myself in the story. Let’s start with the recap of things to bring you up to date with how I’m doing.

As I write this, I am sitting in my study in Coulthard castle. There has been some restructuring since I was last here. Not least because the castle is going to play host to the greater share of continental nobility in the weeks and months to come. The preparations for all of this are already underway and there is a frantic air in the castle of people getting ready and preparing themselves for the coming of the storm. The guards are being mercilessly drilled by Sir Rickard who has now been permanently installed as the captain of the guard. Armour is being polished to within an inch of its life, swords and other weapons are being sharpened, polished, and oiled and even if nothing else is achieved, visitors to the castle will be able to see their faces in the breastplates of the men standing on the walls.

That is not the only thing that is happening. Rickard is overseeing a radical overhauling of the castle’s defenses. His argument is that he is going to be responsible for the safety of some very important people in the near future and he wants to be able to vouch for every effort that can be made to guarantee that safety.

This effort has been taking place since long before I returned home, apparently. Since the retirement of the previous Guard Captain and Rickard’s taking over, there have been changes to the rank structure and the organization of the castle guards. Under my Father’s care, the castle was a very traditional one. Soldiers, wearing armor, standing in lines, with all of the standard siege defenses in place. Father had used this as a sign to show all of his peers that he was a traditional man when it came to military matters and that he would be able to defend Coulthard castle against any encroaching threats. That was one of the many different ways that Father tried to ingratiate himself with the court of Redania.

Emma didn’t see fit to change any of this on the grounds that she didn’t know that there was anything wrong. Not until Rickard turned up and started to point some things out. Rickard’s opinions on the matter are that sieges should be won, long before the besiegers get anywhere close to the castle. The castle should be a trap that any attacking forces should be terrified to approach, but at the same time, have no choice but to take on.

He agrees that the walls of the castle are very impressive. He enjoyed the demonstrations of the siege engines and the various drills that my Father’s soldiers performed. He particularly enjoyed the fact that Father had not had any knights under his command. Knights who Rickard describes as being “Untrained noble idiots who think that a title and the ability to afford the GOOD armor makes them better at warfare than everyone else”. So he liked the military-style set up which could be based on competence rather than rights of nobility and the like.

He is also aware that when the castle hosts people like the Empress of Nilfgaard, the Queen of Skellige, and all the rest, that they will all come with their own personal guard. Many of whom will be exactly the kind of Knights that he is concerned about. So he is arranging situations, sections of the walls for these men to guard. He has set up war games in order to prove his competence and is regularly running wargames in order to prepare the castle against all attacks.

At his request, Emma has hired several mercenary companies to come to Coulthard Castle since Rickard took command in order to explain to Rickard how they would take the castle. This, after Rickard himself, and the surviving Bastards from the Northern campaign (which is what the battles against the cult of the first-born are now being called) staged a wargame where Rickard and his team of about a dozen skirmishers and archers, infiltrated the castle and made it into the keep before anyone knew what had happened. They had even made it to Emma’s apartments before they were stopped.

So Coulthard Castle, as well as the walls and all of the other more traditional defenses, are now ringed with ditches and wooden walls that are deeply embedded in the resulting Earthworks. These prevent direct charges of soldiers and cavalry, while also ensuring that siege towers, battering rams, and all kinds of other siege equipment would now be useless. Why? Because to get any of those things to the walls, they would need to navigate the maze of ditches that Rickard and his engineers… yes we have an engineer corps now… have constructed.

As well as this, a Mage was hired to erect small hills around the castle walls to obscure the views of the castle from all approaches. Thus to prevent the easy sighting and aiming of siege equipment. And the same Mage has arranged any site that might be flat enough to house a siege camp or a catapult battery, has been littered with large boulders and standing stones that would need to be moved before those siege weapons would be able to be built, let alone actually set up and fired.

And all the time that the enemy soldiers would be dealing with these earthworks, ditches, and making their own counter ditches in order to prevent our sallies, they would be under fire from our, increasingly accurate, archers and siege weaponry.

Even the local villages, up to and including Oxenfurt, are not free from Rickard’s meddling. Oxenfurt is protected by its own town guard and Imperial garrison. But Rickard has set up watchtowers and beacons. Little more than wooden towers with fires and oiled fuel to provide different colored smokes in order to warn people as to what might be occurring. In order to shut Rickard and Emma up, the town council of Oxenfurt has agreed to be part of the messaging system. A system that the church of the Eternal Flame approves of by the way, on the grounds that the signals are using fire.

Mine can be a simple religion sometimes.

The villages have their own instructions as to what to do in the circumstances of an attack. Where to go, who’s orders to follow, and what to do. Supplies are prepared and if our entire population needs to vanish, then I am pretty secure in our ability to do just that. And ensure that any attacking army would find it almost impossible to live off the land.

The only flat area outside the castle, now, is the market square that is at the foot of the road leading up to the castle. Rickard had wanted to dig it up and change everything but Emma had finally put her foot down. Rickard had to console himself with the fact that he can fill that area with enough fired arrows, burning oil bombs, falling rocks, and whatever else that can be hurled from our castle walls so that a man would find it difficult to walk across it, should the need arise.

Other preparations are the kind of thing where, although I can see the necessity of it, I hope that these things are never used.

Dr. Shani all but lives with us at the moment. As in, she has established a surgery and a place to sleep. She’s very rarely actually here as her duties to the crown often require her to be elsewhere and in the field. But she is on retainer to be at Coulthard castle for the duration of the wedding festivities and a month on either side. So if anyone gets sick or injured during the actual time of the wedding, there will be one of the finest physicians on the continent in attendance to be able to deal with it. At her insistence, we have also hired a pair of nurses whose names she provided for us.

This brings us back to my original point. I have been moved. Apparently, my status as the adopted brother of the empress as well as the future Count de Angral by marriage, means that I can no longer be expected to sleep in my old room. I told Emma and the Master of Ceremonies that I was quite happy with my old room but they looked at me for a long time before Emma laughed and the Master of Ceremonies just ignored me.

That is the other stage of preparation that is taking place. The etiquette involved in arranging as to who is going to stay in the keep and where, who is going to sleep in the guesthouses, and where is dizzying. The only time I’ve been in that room in the castle, I found Emma, the Herald and the Master of Ceremonies in the middle of vast stacks of books, charts of heraldry, and family trees while they tried to figure out who had precedence over who and therefore where should anyone sleep.

This might seem extreme and it certainly was to me until Emma explained.

She gave me an interesting example of the headaches that were being created here.

The Empress would be coming with a couple of her “ladies”. As best as I understand it, “Ladies” are personal and private companions to the Empress that often provide certain services for the Empress that are too important to be entrusted to mere servants. Things such as hair, wardrobe, makeup, and all of the rest are administered by these women. Their other duties would involve keeping the Empress amused, advised, and entertained at all times of the day or night. They are expected to keep Imperial matters in their heads and be prepared to offer informed advice on any number of topics as well as being prepared to accept Imperial decrees at the drop of a hat. So that if the Empress stops in the middle of sitting for a portrait, inspiration striking as to what to do about the Aedirnian famine, then she can call on one of her ladies to record the decree and then issue it.

Francesca would have been one of these ladies had she survived.

Dammit.

Ok, I’m back.

But the status of being one of these women means that it can’t be done as a job by commonfolk. Therefore they are often noblewomen.

Where is the headache? The Empress’ seamstress is a duchess, easily on the equivalent of Duchess Anna-Henrietta of Toussaint only of a less famous province in Metinna. This means that she outranks the vast majority of guests. But she’s a servant. But she’s a duchess. Do you see the headache now?

Also, Emma would want me to point out that, as a family, we don’t have our own herald or our own master of ceremonies. Father had need of neither as when he held a court, he was dealing with tenant farmers, small landowners, merchants, and village aldermen. The rarity was the man with a coat of arms and when that did come up, it was easy to figure out what was going on.

But for something this complex, we needed help. So the Empress sent help in the figure of one of the imperial heralds and one of the masters of ceremonies, the empress has multiple of both.

So, given this change in my rank, as well as the fact that I will be the groom making me, technically, the guest of honor, it was decided that I needed better rooms. So I have a suite up in the same wing that houses the chapel. I am alright with that part, what I am struggling with is the feeling of being a guest in my own home.

I have a bedroom, a study, and a receiving room. There’s space for me to eat should I not feel like going down to the hall for dinner. I feel awkward and out of the way, almost lonely.

And I suppose that’s the point. Keeping me out of the way and out of trouble in the run-up to my own wedding.

Where is Kerrass now? He’s off, in his words, “running errands”. I don’t know what those errands are although, judging by some words and comments that he’s made at various times, he is gone to pick up Father Jerome who is acting as Officiant. He is also on the make for some money. He is working on the basic contract methods, harvesting the last of the Necrophages from the battlefields in Velen. Something that he describes as boring, routine, mundane work that is only dangerous if you don’t keep your head and let things get away with you.

I tried to tell him that we could give him any money that he might want but he gave me a withering look and I didn’t offer again.

What does he need the money for? He needs to set things up for the inevitable stag party. I don’t know who’s coming. I don’t know what’s planned. I do know that it is set to take place a fortnight before the ceremony itself rather than the traditional night before on the grounds that, and again I quote, “You will need time to recover”. It will also mean that those people attending who need to be elsewhere in the run-up to the wedding, can be elsewhere without causing too much of an issue. I’m thinking of Helfdan and the surviving crew of the Wave-Serpent who must also act as Queen Cerys’ personal guard.

Ariadne’s Hen weekend is happening slightly beforehand, by a couple of days. Why does she get a weekend and I only get a day? I don’t know but there it is. Apparently, it’s going to be attended by the majority of the lodge of Sorceresses as well as some other figures that I have been kept quiet on. It is moderately terrifying to me. I know one of them is the Duchess of Angraal and I shudder to think of what that lady will make of things if Lady Eilhart and Lady Yennefer have one of their semi-regular, “spats”.

Why are the two parties offset? The answer is simple. Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Cirilla Elen Fiona Riannon of the greater Empire of Nilfgaard, Heiress to the throne of Cintra, Heiress to Inis Ard Skellig and Inis An Skellig, Princess of Brugge, Duchess of Sodden, Suzerain of Attre and Abb Yarra, The Lady of Time and Space herself, has declared that she wishes to attend both parties.

And when a woman with that many titles decides to attend a party, she can attend any damn party that she likes.

One other piece of news to answer some of the questions that have been heading my way is that Sam and I have made a tentative peace, which has led to his confirmation that he will be coming to the wedding and will attend my stag party.

Of all people, it was Sir Kristoff, now Sir Kristoff of Kalayn, who sat Sam down and told him to take his head out of his ass. Sam’s words.

The reason I’m so surprised by all of this is that when I met him and spent any time working with him, Sir Kristoff and I did not get on. To me, he was the worst kind of arrogant military man who looks down his nose on anyone that hasn’t actually served in any kind of military. He didn’t like me for that reason and I may say that I didn’t like him either for his arrogance. That situation was made worse when Sir Kristoff actively went after the Elves that did their very best to save my life and the life of Kerrass, Rickard, and my friends. If you would care for more context than that, I would refer you to my articles regarding the Cult of the First-Born. Sir Kristoff would then go on to do his very best to scape-goat those same Elves, Kerrass, Sir Rickard, and even myself for the wrong turns that were made during our flight from the cult. I will admit to cheerfully wanting to punch him in the throat.

The problem was made even worse than that when he tried to pick a fight with the members of the Knights of Saint Francesca when the Coulthard family were guests of the Duchy of Toussaint. There were some jurisdiction issues in that Kristoff wanted to provide security for Sam and the Knights of Francesca were offended at the suggestion that they were not up to the task. At the time, I remember thinking that Kristoff was just trying to make a name for himself when it comes to the matter of who is protecting who.

But according to Sam’s version of the conversation, Kristoff is a younger brother and has told Sam that he would give a lot for a better relationship with his other siblings and that it was time to make peace. Apparently, the arguments went along the lines of the fact that Sam would need allies, he would need friends, and that he would need people at his side. And that should start with me.

Also, Kristoff told Sam in no uncertain terms that the issue of the trade deal falling through was just one of those things that were going to happen, that the people involved with the Jack conspiracy were scum of the highest order and that Sam was better of without him.

Sam and I are due for a long talk when Sam gets down here. Sam wants to make plans regarding what we’re going to do in the future of the Coulthard family after Mark is no longer with us and he wants my input. I did write back to say that I was overjoyed with that kind of sentiment, but that I would be the Count of Angral and that therefore, he might want me to be well out of the way for that.

He refuted that rather brutally and told me that there was no future of the Coulthard family without his brother. I was oddly touched by that.

So that is another thing that is sorted out. It does mean that Kristoff is bringing some of Sam’s personal guard with him and I don’t envy the situation that will happen when Rickard and Kristoff are going to have to work together. I just hope that both men have some reasonable subordinates that can coordinate things with each other in a properly diplomatic way.

Or a superior in the form of a General of the Imperial Guard who can squash the pair of them.

Beyond that, preparations for the coming festivities are continuing apace. The logistical plans that are going into it all are mind-boggling to me and my hat, when I wear a hat, goes off to those men and women that are organizing it all. I tried to think about it one evening while I was sharing a drink with Rickard and Chireadean in Chireadean’s inn near the castle. Rickard explained it to us like this.

“Just think about the food. I don’t know the precise numbers of people that are going to turn up. But I do know that a significant number of people from the surrounding countryside are going to be at the festival part of things anyway whether we want them to or not. All of those people are going to need food and drink. So what do we feed them?”

Chireadean and I made some nonchalant noises. Chireadean runs the inn with his, now, wife, a pleasantly plump human woman who runs the kitchens with an iron fist and a happy smile. She’s one of those Alewives that you thought only existed in stories until you actually meet her. Chireadean essentially met her, fell head over heels in love with her and the two appear to have a happy marriage.

Apart from anything else, she’s already produced one half-Elven daughter who lives on her mother’s hip with her lips fastened around the teat for milk. Apparently, she and Chireadean intend for a total of six babies.

Why six? Because Seven was too many apparently.

So Rickard, who knows about things like siege logistics started to lay it out.

“So these people are going to need a drink. What are they going to drink? Ale? Wine? Cider? Mead? A mixture of the lot. What about the children? They all need different things to drink. So there are going to be bottles and barrels of the relevant drinks. Now those barrels can’t all turn up on the day, they have to turn up and be stored. But if you store some of those things for too long, they begin to spoil. So you need to vary the delivery times.

“Leaving aside the logistics for when those trade caravans need to set off, be paid for, the food that they take along the way and so on and so on. There are going to be losses on the road. Bandits, conditions, and so on. So how much do you order, when, and where. Then when it gets here, where do you store it. You can’t just have a mead basement, a wine basement, and an ale basement. If it takes longer to get to one or the other then you might have problems. The castle guests are going to drink more wine than Ale with mead being an outlier. The coming villagers might drink more cider than ale but it’s just as likely that everyone will suddenly and spontaneously develop a taste for mead.

“And that’s just the booze. So let’s talk about the food.”

“Let’s not.” Chireadean was beginning to look queasy.

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“Ok. In which case, let’s talk about the grounds themselves. How many people are coming, where are they staying, who gets to stay where, where do all the servants get quarter, and so on. Then they all need to be fed before and after the party.

“From there, we know that there are going to be wedding games. Where are they going to be? There are going to be a lot of people here. I’ve seen the guest list. If only one person in six brings a horse then even the Coulthard stables are going to be overwhelmed. So we need to look into where else the horses can be stabled. It’ll be autumn and although the sorceresses have promised that it will be nice weather on the day, there still could be rain before or after. Obviously, the Empress’ horses will be stored in nice warm stables but what about the others. Will the Duke of the Upper Yaruga from Rivia and Lyria want his finest hunting horse stabled in a field when the rain comes?”

“No,” I answered, I only knew the man by reputation and the question made my fists itch.

“So we need to build a temporary stable on one of the nearby fields. So timber and all of that needs to be bought. The field was a farming field and the farmer is losing his income from that field, so that loss needs to be taken into account. Also, with however many horses using the place as pasture, will that ruin the field or will it make the field all but barren for a year or two until the dung starts to be usable. I don’t know but it’s worth wondering.

“Then there need to be Grooms hired and tack rooms and straw and feed that need to be stored and…”

“Ok, we get the idea,” I said, laughing at Cireadean’s green face.

“And how about entertainment.” Rickard was relentless, teasing Chireadean now. “How many lords are going to want to hunt in the late Baron Coulthard’s hunting reserve. How many will want to bring their own falcons or hunting packs? Where are they going to live? Be fed and looked after?”

Rickard went on and on and on and that still wasn’t an exhaustive list. I looked around the estates and the surrounding countryside with interest after that. I can’t see any real ways that the landscape has changed, but I do know that I can see lots of piles of timber, rope, and so on being laid out. Serious-looking men that I don’t know are walking this way and that way over the fields with bits of knotted rope and boards of slate and chalk.

Emma has called it the biggest social engagement that the continent has ever since the coronation of the Empress. And the difference there was that the Ducal palace of Beauclair was used to holding that kind of thing. Coulthard castle was originally a Redanian Garrison to protect from Temerian forces trying to outflank Novigrad. It was not really built for comfort.

I have never felt more useless in my life. A whirlwind of decisions has been passed under my nose and I don’t know what to do about any of them. Mostly, and this is between you and me dear reader, the problem is that I just don’t care.

I am looking forward to marrying Ariadne. We could do that in front of a priest in a deserted little chapel for all I care. She could be wearing her cream traveling robe and I could be wearing a simple shirt, trousers, and boots. Kerrass and other members of the family being there would be nice, but it is not important to my fundamental desires.

I simply do not care about what flowers I want to be festooning the chapel. Nor do I care about table stands and layings.

I swear to the Flame that there was a day where we auditioned bakers for the main cake. By the third piece of cake, it was all so rich that I could no longer pass any intelligent comment other than “I like it, it’s sweet and kind of tangy.”

Emma and Laurelen took it all in their stride and although busy and stressed, seem to be having the time of their lives. The baker chosen was undeniably excellent but I am also left wondering if there was any politics in his selection. I am being naive, of course, there was some politics there. With Emma and the Coulthard trading company being involved, there is always some form of politics.

So those are my days at the moment. I spend my day in a loose form of boredom, working on these latest articles, answering the mail or working on one book or another. And occasionally, a servant will come, as sent by Emma, who needs me for an URGENT MATTER that cannot possibly wait for another time. Then I am neck-deep in wedding preparation before the matter passes and I don’t seem to be needed anymore. Then I wait for a while to see if the delay was accidental before I quietly make an escape. I have been out the door and on the road to Oxenfurt to get drunk with a couple of the other Professors before a servant or guard is sent to fetch me back.

Trust me when I say that time spent at the University, giving lectures and seminars feels like a holiday for me at the moment.

So that’s where we are now. Frantically preparing for a wedding that still seems a long way off. If you see me in person, buy me a drink and ask me about the invitations. I had to decide on what calligraphy I wanted the scribes to use on the invitations that were being sent. I swear that this is getting out of hand.

So, is that sufficient an update on how things stand? I can’t think of anything else. Please let me know if there are any burning questions that you would like to know the answers to. However, there is a caveat about certain things. I can’t tell you any timing plans or anything like that. The security people will get very cross with me if I did anything like that.

Offers of goods or services are, of course, gratefully received, however, I think I am safe in saying that orders have been made to all those places and people that we expect to need things from for the foreseeable future. Should there be any need for overlap and redundancy… For instance, if our wine provider can’t meet the order that we have set, then we already have backups in place. So I’m afraid that that ship has, in some cases quite literally, sailed.

Thanks for the offers though, even if some of you are getting a bit too insistent for my comfort. You need to calm it down now. Apart from anything else, I don’t deal with that kind of thing. I haven’t taken over the bits of commerce that are involved in Angral, nor will I if I have any say in the matter, and Emma deals with just about everything else that might be even remotely involved elsewhere.

So, that takes us back to what happened in the aftermath of visiting the Elder.

First of all, to talk about the war engine in the room. Ariadne and I are still in the process of working with each other to correct the trust issue that has crept up between us. The problem is both not as bad as you might think it is, but at the same time, it is also massively worse.

I meant what I said when I told you that the doubt was horribly insidious as it moved into both our heads. It wasn’t just myself that was hurt or injured there but Ariadne was too. And that doubt, although small, is incredibly… subtle I suppose is the correct word. Even though I believe that Ariadne loves me, even if the word doesn’t entirely sit well with her, there is always that doubt.

For example, she insists on buying me things in order to demonstrate her affection. She uses big words about it all but it’s essentially overt demonstrations of affection. No matter how many times I try and tell her that I don’t need them, she persists in the matter.

Don’t get me wrong, I now have one of those Gnomish pens that sucks up the ink from a pot with a strange lever system. I am writing this to you all now with that same pen. It takes some getting used to as it’s markedly heavier than just having a quill, but at the same time, it writes really well. It must have been ludicrously expensive and I was given a lecture on how, exactly, to take care of things by the dwarf that sold it, in order to make sure that the chamber that contains the ink inside the pen doesn’t become damaged and start to leak.

I have a full set of new riding gear. A new traveling cloak, my armor has been remade by the finest armoursmiths of Beauclair. There are other gifts as well that I am not ready to talk about yet, save to say that they are enormously flattering and that I am incredibly grateful for the gesture.

But I had to instruct her to stop.

I know that she’s trying to prove that she still loves me. I know this. I am even comfortable with that. But the doubt, that small seed that the Elder planted in my heart is still there. It makes me think that she is deliberately buying these things for me in order to continue to bind me to her. To put some kind of feeling of obligation there. And the wonder of the trap, the thing that makes it so clever, is that that’s what she’s literally doing. She is trying to keep me by her side, except she is doing it for love rather than the experiment.

Or rather, she is doing it for Love and the Experiment.

I still struggle with her insistence that this is the same thing.

I am trying to stop thinking about the doubt as a seed, because the danger of telling yourself that this is some kind of seed, is that seeds grow and spring into life. I am coming to prefer to think about it as a scrap of dirt or grit in my boot. A scratch on the lens of a microscope or a tiny patch of rust on the blade of a dagger. With work, it can be eradicated.

But it shouldn’t take that work.

I have had time to think about this since then and for the record, I am not telling you anything that is private. Ariadne knows that I think all of this.

When Ariadne declared her interest in me, part of my fear of her was born out of the fact that I had been betrayed before by beautiful women that I had loved. It was astonishing to me that someone like Ariadne could even remotely feel anything for someone like me. So as time passed, and over and over again, Ariadne proved that she did love me, then I became increasingly comfortable with the idea. I enjoyed that process. I enjoyed coming to learn, coming to trust, that Ariadne loved me.

And with one breath, the Elder took that away from me, took it away from us. I resent him hugely for doing that.

After a flurry of gift-giving and receiving, we spent quite a bit of time just learning to love each other again. As we said that we would have to do, we redid a lot of the old conversations with the new knowledge that we had.

It was hard. I would be lying if I said it was anything else. But it was also worth it. I believe in that worth with every small part of my being. It was absolutely worth every moment that we spent with and on each other.

We spent our days walking with each other through the gardens of Beauclair or through the museums and the gardens of the other places that we visited. I forced myself to be comfortable with her monstrous shape. I made her turn into her feral fighting form a couple of times so that I could get used to the idea but at her request, her war form was to be pushed into memory.

Eventually, though, it became clear that there was nothing else that could be done for each other in that regard. We needed to back off from each other in some way and slowly we got back to work. Even that was an effort on both our parts. The first night that Ariadne returned to Angral to see to “matters” was rough. I won’t like that either. I knew it would be, but going to be without a kiss goodnight and getting up without a smile and a hug to look forward to was tough.

As it was now only Kerrass and myself that were residents of the guest quarters in Beauclair palace, we felt as though we echoed in those hallways. We nearly started a diplomatic incident when we told the Duchess that we would be moving out. We were summoned into the throne room to answer the charges of undermining her or questioning her hospitality. I am relatively confident that it was all done in fun, but there was a small glint in her eye that suggested that she really was a little offended by it.

She told us that we were not an imposition and that we could stay as long as we liked. But by that stage, I was spending all my time down in Corvo Bianco anyway and Yennefer had already been making noises about my moving into the guestroom for convenience. This was so that when she realized that she was pulling an all-night work session, she didn’t have to teleport up to the castle in order to discuss her findings with me or wait until the morning. It really was touch and go as to which seemed to be the most offensive in her eyes.

Kerrass and Lord Geralt went off together. According to Yennefer, Spring in Toussaint is when all the Insectoids start coming to the surface and that the Echinopsae start to bud and to seed. Kerrass still wanted to keep an eye on me though, so he was keen to keep me in sight at all times. My impression is that he found himself another lover during this time.

I know that Kerrass and Princess Dorne have exchanged letters in the time that we spent in Toussaint and Kerrass feels a little freer romantically. They intend to meet after the wedding and have a long talk. I have no idea what will come of this as I will be either sailing to, or have already arrived in Skellige by this point. I look forward to hearing about whatever comes of it though. Despite this, I should warn the romantics out there that it is unlikely to end entirely happily. Kerrass was not lying when he said that the Princess has duties elsewhere that cannot involve him.

For her part, Ariadne lasted the first night. Apparently, she was restless and could neither rest nor focus on her work and she eventually admitted to scrying me out to make sure that I was alright. She teleported back to Corvo Bianco the following evening to make sure that the parting hadn’t embedded the doubt any further. She even got quite frantic on the subject for a while until Regis, of all people, settled her down a bit.

Regis was in the area. He, as well as Lord Palmerin, turns out to have a history with the Succubus Natanis. The two men are far too polite to actually have an argument about the matter. Both of them know that to a succubus, the concept of confining themselves to one person against their will is the equivalent of telling a human or an elf to literally eat shit. To the point that it will, eventually, kill the Succubus due to their equivalent of malnutrition. But my friendship and Lord Geralt’s friendship with both men made life a little awkward occasionally.

Oh, and for whoever it was that complained about getting Natanis confused with Natalis. As in, Constable Jon Natalis of Temeria. I don’t know what to tell you. I agree that having the two names being similar is confusing, but as I was involved in the choice of neither name, I don’t particularly feel that guilty on the subject. My advice is to be very careful and not get the two of them confused. I have not met Lord Natalis but from what Sir Rickard tells me, he is a humorless man and will not take well to being confused for a famous Nilfgaardian Succubus.

Not that Natanis would care about the Nilfgaardian title. She recognises no human governance. What I do know about the lady is that she will be offended if you confuse her with a staunch humorless knight. The greatest sin that you can commit in the eyes of that particular Succubus is to be boring, humorless, and without vice.

I’ve lost track of where I was.

Oh yes. Regis settled Ariadne down. He took her off somewhere and they had a long talk. Ariadne stayed for dinner before teleporting back to Angral for the night. And that was how it went.

I would work during the day with Lady Yennefer. Sometimes on the book that was forming about the Elder and what he told me, sometimes on what I absolutely intended to be the final articles in this magazine. It started off that Ariadne would turn up most evenings if she had nothing else planned. She would dine at Corvo Bianco before I would “escort” her out the door and to a point outside of Lady Yennefer’s wards. And then she would go home. On weekends, she would spend the rest day with me and we would take that time to travel around Toussaint, visiting with friends and reconnecting.

It was in this period of time that I instituted my rule. I wanted to put the events of the Elder behind me and I told Ariadne that that’s what I wanted her to do as well. I was no longer going to bring it up and I expected her to do the same. If we really needed to bring it up, we should set aside some time and do it over a table and something to drink. However, the thought of that place and what had happened was no longer going to be a topic of conversation between two people who were in love.

Ariadne seemed delighted at the thought and threw herself into the role of being a young woman in love.

It was undeniably pleasant. I played at being the courting suitor while she played at allowing herself to be courted. The routine was only spoiled when she would occasionally “break character” to check that she was doing it right.

We even managed to drag Lady Yennefer away from her writing desk and reading couch in order to play at being chaperone with Lord Geralt. They were useless at the role. They would walk along behind us for a while in the spring meadows down by the river before we would realize that they were no longer behind us. The second time we looked… All I’m going to say is, we found them. And I shall draw a discreet veil over the rest of that anecdote.

Lord Geralt thanked us for the effort though. I still don’t think we can call each other friends, but we are friendly and that night, after Ariadne had left, he and I shared a bottle of his better wine over a game of Gwent.

Best out of three full games. I am moderately certain that he let me win the second game. I was so utterly trounced in the other two games that it was a bit embarrassing.

Over a matter of weeks, while the book started to really take shape, Ariadne would reduce the number of days that she would come to spend the evening over time. She always came to visit at the end of the working week before kissing me on the cheek, looking deep into my eyes and telling me that she loved me. Then she would turn, walk a little way, cast the teleport spell before looking back at me as she walked through the vortex.

It was after one of these meetings that Kerrass declared that he was done, and it was time for him to be on the path.

It was a bit of a wrench, I won’t lie. The thought of losing Kerrass was a weight in the pit of my stomach and although I wasn’t really losing him in any real sense of that word, that is what it felt like was happening.

But he decided that he was getting fat and slow and he wanted to be back out there. The two sides of his nature were starting to show themselves and he was beginning to be tired of all the luxury and the laziness. It was time for him to be moving on, earning some funds which he hinted would be needed for the wedding. This was again, despite my assurances that if he needed money, that Emma would help him out in that regard.

It was always the plan, it had always been the plan for Kerrass to be on the road. I had always known that he would go off on one of the many planned expeditions that we had in mind in order to research one of the beings that we had in mind for a book. I even knew which one it was going to be. But somehow, deep down, it had never occurred to me that he might actually go.

But he sat us all down at dinner and declared that he was going to and hunt the Schatenmann in the Black Forest of Southern Nilfgaard.

To those Northern readers that are wondering who or what the Schatenmann is, (or schatennmann, Schatenmmann, or any variation on the matter. There seems to be no agreement on how the word is spelled properly) then let me explain.

In short, no one knows and because he is located in a stretch of what is largely wilderness, no one really cares either.

In the Southern part of the Empire as the land slowly melds into the mountains before you reach the maelstrom gulf, there is a large amount of, essentially, wooded nowhere. For reference, Dorne, the home of Sleeping Beauty is kind of in the middle of this area.

The entire place is made up of small mountain ranges that barely deserve the name, rocky hills, evergreen woodland, isolated rivers, and remarkably cold weather. I don’t know why, given that the further south you go, it should get warmer according to sailors and those people that live in the coastal regions of that part of the world.

But inland it gets quite cold. It is further from the population centers and there are relatively few cities. There are isolated castles that breed dark rumors. In many ways, it might remind a traveler of the very Northern parts of Kaedwen.

The people there are hard men and women. Kerrass and I traveled through this part of the world when we were on our way to make an attempt to free Sleeping Beauty. Life is difficult there. Coin or money has little value, culture and education are all but nonexistent except in those places where priests and monks have traveled and have taken it upon themselves to help educate the populace.

They’re not unfriendly, but they can be a bit suspicious. People will offer you a drink and some hospitality but then they will watch you while you eat and drink. They are a more superstitious people and tell ghost stories around their hearth fires that would chill the bones of even the hardiest Skelligan warriors.

Kerrass commented as we traveled through the place, that it presented an interesting paradox for Witchers that might travel to the place. It was true, that a Witcher would be able to find work there, really easily. You couldn’t throw a stone without hitting some kind of Insectoid variant of the more common Endregas. Wyverns, Griffins, and Forktails are far more numerous. Drowners and spirits populate the marshlands. It’s all quite pervasive. The problem with it is that the villagers, although willing to hire a Witcher, don’t see the value in money. So they rarely have anything to pay the Witcher with. The town and village folk want to pay with a dozen rabbit skins, some cowhide, a few well-woven blankets, and a live rooster.

Which would be useful if he traded it the next village over for somewhere to sleep and something to eat, but it doesn’t translate well to anything that a Witcher might need or want on the road.

As for trading it for goods and services in the city, the thought is laughable.

So Witchers rarely go there. Because a Witcher has to eat. And pay for repairs to armor and weapons and engage other services that are simply not found in these remote and isolated villages.

They make their living from the land. It is as though civilization is centered around Nilfgaard, the Pontar, and the Yaruga and then as you spread North and South, then that civilization starts to fade. Not that I would try and argue that with the people of the Hengfors League, or Kovir & Poviss but it seems that they are the outliers.

Ariadne once suggested that the people in this area of the world, are actually the oldest humans living on the face of the Continent. Those last remnants of those ancient races that came out of the Conjunction here rather than wherever it was that the Exiles came from.

Eventually though, as you travel through these lands, you reach a place where the roads, such as they are, seem to bend North and South. It is like there is a barrier that no road can penetrate.

Why?

The Schatenmann.

That’s what the locals would say anyway, as well as the local guides and things.

That barrier, that… mass of primal, ancient woodland is called The Black Forest. I don’t know why. As with so many things in that kind of area, it’s just that that is what it has always been called. It is that part of woodland where all the rough woodland seems to coalesce into a single entity. It is untouched by logging efforts. There are no paths or game trails. It is just a mass of trees and associated foliage.

There is wildlife, but that is a long way ahead in the story.

Now I need to get technical before I go any further.

Yes, I know that there is a set of woodland called Caed Dhu, which translates to “Black Forest” in the Elder tongue, in Angren. I also know that this place is home to a group of druids. I have every respect for that profession and I wish them to take no insult from the tale that I am telling. But that is not the Forest that I am talking about.

I am also aware that, technically speaking, the term “Forest” does not necessarily mean a large group of trees. I know that it really means a royal hunting reserve where the royal game is kept. Hilly terrain can be a forest. As can fields and grasslands. But the locals call this area “The Black Forest” So that is what I am going to call it.

Those people that do know what and where the Black Forest is, refer to it as the last great bastion of wild woodland on the Continent. That might be unfair to places like Brokilon but it is certainly the largest. There have been little to no concerted logging efforts which have reduced its size. There have been no efforts to try and settle it. And as I say, using the hunting term of “Forest” for the place is laughable.

I have heard of no efforts to keep game or otherwise use it for hunting during my interest in the matter. Unless that hunter is some kind of otherworldly being. But again, I am skipping ahead in the story there.

Why has it never been settled? Why has it never been logged or farmed in any way?

The Schatenmann.

He is why. The locals will tell you about it, in detail, while looking at you as though you are mad and making suggestions that possibly, it’s time for you to leave or that it’s time for the children to go to bed.

So who, or what is the Schatenmann? Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it?

To the Witchers, certainly to Geralt and Kerrass, the Schatenmann is like an ultimate monster. He’s like the unclimbable mountain to the mountaineer. The unpassable sea channel to the sailor and the impassable route to the explorer. He is the impossible metal for the Smith, the unmakable formula for the Alchemist…

That’s a good one actually. To kill the Schatenmann is to the Witcher, what turning lead into gold would be to the Alchemist.

In other words, it’s impossible, but that doesn’t mean that people don’t try.

For Witchers in times gone past, it was a rite of passage for a Witcher to attempt the Schatenmann. I can’t speak for the other schools but both Kerrass and Lord Geralt can remember the names of those men that attempted the task and survived as well as some names of people that attempted the task and were never seen again. Geralt claimed that the last surviving man that had attempted it and survived in his knowledge was the fabled teacher of the Wolf school, Vesemir.

Both Witcher agreed that one of the things that were common to the survivors though was that they never talked about what they saw, or what happened. Why they survived and others did not. All they knew was that there was a reason. That it wasn’t to do with skill, knowledge, or power. A novice Witcher taking the trial of the Mountain was known to have survived the attempt from the Viper school according to an anecdote that Kerrass claimed to have heard. While a Master of the Wolven school went and was never seen again.

(Freddie’s addendum: The trial of the Mountain is a test administered to a Witcher that survived the mutations but not everything had gone to plan. They may be unable to see in the dark or might be allergic to certain potions or just unable to cast certain signs. They are given a test which is referred to as the Trial of the Mountain. Most often, that is a hunt of a particular monster that would normally involve the “thing” that the Witcher is particularly weak in. They would be accompanied by an older Witcher and generally, survival meant graduation.

Kerrass had to pass a trial of the Mountain when he recovered some semblance of sanity. He was given a test that involved the interactions with a village to see if that social pressure would return him to madness. Needless to say that he passed.)

So who is the Schatenmann? What is he?

No-one knows.

Kerrass and Lord Geralt’s working theory was that he was some kind of ancient and powerful Leshen, Leshy, or Sylvan of some kind. Old and powerful. Their theory is based on their knowledge of the creature in question.

Leshen, or Leshy… There is a technical difference but I can never keep it in my head, are relicts of ancient times. They are the spirits of forests, coalesced and combined into one form.

Trying to explain it is difficult.

Ariadne once told me that there is no such thing as an individual mind of a bee. Bees operate as a single hive mind, often dictated by the Queen, and that the hive moves and acts as a whole. Ants, Kikkimores and many other caste-based insects work in the same way.

Leshen are like that. If all of the individual trees in the woodland were the individual insects of a hive, then the Leshen is their Queen.

They are nearly always malevolent. Why? Quoting from Kerrass here.

“Imagine how you would feel if a bunch of ants was turning up all the time and cutting bits off you to build their nests.”

Startling thought.

It is known that the older the patch of woodland, the more powerful the Leshen. Also, the larger the patch of Woodland, the more powerful the Leshen. Powerful and intelligent.

They also have some form of intelligence. There are numerous records of Villagers that border on woodlands that are governed by a Leshen that have found ways to communicate. Offerings have been made and, in its own way, the Leshen protects and guides the community. It can be something of a harsh parent, expecting sacrifices and the like, but it does mean that the village is safe and often grows strong.

Based on this theory, we had discussed whether or not Leshen could be contacted and communicated with.

Our working theory was that, if the Black Forest of the South, in these chapters it will be called The Black forest. (Apologies again to the inhabitants and neighbors of the Caed Dhu), is the biggest and the most ancient patches of large woodland. Then the spirit of that woodland would be the most ancient and the most intelligent being that we could make contact with. If a lot of the other beings that we were trying to classify and contact had come to this continent and this sphere in general, with the Conjunction of Spheres, then the Leshen would have been here for long before that. So in theory, the Leshen would be able to tell us what the world was like before the Conjunction of the Spheres had happened. As well as being a strange, unique and ancient being themselves.

We also theorized that if the intent of the expedition was to make contact with the being, rather than destroy the being as so many of the other expeditions were based around, then it was more likely to succeed.

And this was the expedition that Kerrass meant to depart on. On the grounds that we knew where it was and that the being would not need to be tracked down before an attempt to make contact would be made. Unlike the headless horseman, the Rumpelsteldt, and various others that we have in mind.

I don’t want to spoil future books in the series. Yennefer would yell at me.

Kerrass’ intention was to depart with a horse full of supplies, a pouch full of potions, and to set out on the path. He wanted to take some contracts to “get his hand back in” which was also why he had been trailing around after Geralt for a while and then he was going to work his way South. As he got further and further South, he was going to hire a guide or two, maybe a local expert and a trained woodsman depending on how much he had managed to save in the meantime. He was not without hope.

Then he would do the deed before turning around and coming back.

That simple, done and done. He expected it to be a month in order to ride down there with an extra couple of weeks tacked onto the side of that for detours to hunt and meet potential hires. Then another couple of weeks to make contact with or… otherwise, hunt the Schatenmann. Then he would ride for the coast where he would find a ship that was sailing north and buy passage to home back to Novigrad, changing ships as he had to in order to make his way.

He was excited. Not for the prospect of actually meeting the Schatenmann, he had a healthy fear of so storied a hunt, but because it was one of the few times that he could hunt something with the prospect of wanting to talk to the thing without actually having to keep, in his back pocket, the possibility that he might have to destroy the creature.

That was stimulating to him and he was looking forward to the prospect.

I felt the pull of going with him that first night. After Ariadne had gone and when Kerrass had made his declaration about wanting to depart, I lay in Corvo Bianco’s guest room and I couldn’t sleep. Kerrass was off somewhere, chasing down one of the prettier farm-worker’s daughters no doubt, or spending the evening with the Belles of Beauclair on the grounds that it would be ages before he could enjoy a decent woman. Yennefer was still working somewhere and I could see the flickering torchlight coming up from the downstairs room. Lord Geralt had gone to bed. He keeps to a fairly standard, dawn to dusk kind of a routine whereas Yennefer has a whole “when the urge to work is upon her” kind of a thing going.

But I lay there, staring at the ceiling, examining some of the artwork in the faint light of the second-hand candlelight and I was not comfortable. Don’t get me wrong, despite the cooler weather, the room was nice and warm, the bed was soft and I have had many good nights’ sleep in that place. But somehow, the bed was too soft, the frame was too creaky, and strange ghost itches would spread around my body with little to no warning, requiring a shift of weight, a turnover, and then a contortionist’s effort to actually get to the offending body part.

Then I would feel the phantom urge to urinate and nothing would do other than I had to extricate myself from the blankets before padding across to the chamberpot in order to relieve myself. Which would, at best, produce a trickle on the grounds that I had only used the chamberpot a matter of moments ago.

I would then return to bed and to the nocturnal activity of mapping the ceiling, commenting on the artwork, and otherwise trying to convince my brain to let me get some sleep.

My brain wasn’t cooperating. At the time, I didn’t know why I couldn’t sleep, but I later realized what I was doing on the grounds that it became a habit with astonishing speed.

I was working out what supplies I would need to pick up for the road.

The feeling got worse from there.

The following morning, I argued myself down. I kept Kerrass company while he worked with his little Alchemy set. Yennefer’s Alchemy lab is off-limits to any but the most qualified of Sorceresses and as a result, neither Kerrass nor Geralt was allowed to use it.

Apparently, Letho is but that’s a discussion for another time.

We talked about plans for my stag party which Kerrass refused to be drawn on so it would be more accurate for me to say that I kept asking Kerrass about the stag party and Kerrass kept refusing to answer. He eventually set aside one of the little copper bowls that he had just poured some ground herbs into that was then being heated over one of his hot rocks.

Then he looked at me.

“What’s this about Freddie?” He asked.

“What?”

“You’ve spent the last month spending every waking hour with Yennefer working and when you haven’t been with her, you’ve been putting the matter with the Elder behind you and Ariadne. A chore that I notice has been becoming easier and easier as time has gone on. But now I couldn’t pry you from my backside with an Igni sign and a Sword dipped in Hangman’s venom. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I didn’t either, which Kerrass took a minute to see. He nearly got angry with me for a moment before he saw my expression and chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

“Your face.” He pointed, leaning forward and examining his herb mixture over the flame before stirring it with a copper spoon. “You have this scrunched up, confused look that’s a bit funnier than I think you are entirely comfortable with.”

“This from the man that looks constipated whenever he’s making the same potion that he must have made thousands of times since he left the Feline keep for the first time. What is that you’re brewing? A… (Freddie: Name removed. Witcher secrets are still Witcher secrets)?”

“Close.” Kerrass grinned. “It’s a (removed).”

“But you’ve done that more often.”

“I don’t look constipated.” Kerrass protested.

“You do, you look constipated.” I tried to show him. “And that’s when you don’t have your tongue clamped firmly between your teeth.”

“You should try doing that more often,” Kerrass said. “It will keep your tongue from wagging unnecessarily and then you won’t speak quite as much gibberish. And don’t think you have distracted me from the original question. What’s going on with you?”

I sighed. “I really don’t know,” I said.

Kerrass examined the mixture of dried herbs and removed the bowl from the heat. Into the bowl he poured a large measure of Lemon Pepper Vodka. This is not really a secret as any strong alcohol will do in a pinch. Kerrass liked the Lemon ones because he believed that it helped improve the flavor of the potions. Personally, I think that this was a matter of self-delusion and that it was just a psychosomatic thing. Bearing in mind that I’ve seen some of the things that go into those potions and I would want all the help that I can get to drink that stuff down.

He stirred the mixture a very specific number of times, counterclockwise while counting under his breath. When it was done, he poured the resulting liquid through a tiny sieve, very similar to a tea strainer, into a glass beaker, which he returned to the heat.

Then he turned back and looked at me for a long time before making a guess as to what was bothering me.

The wrong one as it happened.

“I will be fine Freddie. I survived for decades before I met you and I will do so again afterward. There have been times when you have been left behind while I have had to go off and hunt something. I will come back. I am desperate to see you and Ariadne finally get married. I want to be there and cheer while you carry her off to the marital chamber. I was there at the beginning of that whole thing and I want to be there to see all my hard work pay off. I am not going to allow some pissy little forest spirit to ruin that plan.”

“Hardly a little spirit though is he,” I commented.

“There are records that, providing the people in the nearby villages are respectful, then they can live and work nearby. That bodes well. He is undoubtedly cross but I can do this. And I will come back. You don’t need to remind me of all the obligations that I owe you in order to keep me from doing something stupid. I am coming back, do not worry. At the very latest, I will see you in four months, but most likely around three months. That’s it. You will see me riding up the path into Coulthard castle. I will mock Rickard and make jokes about sleeping with your sister. It will be fine.”

I still didn’t really know what it was that was bothering me about Kerrass going and his theory seemed as good as any.

“Make sure you come back,” I told him. “I would rather have you at my side on my wedding day than I would have another book on something.”

We hugged for a moment.

“You do know.” He began seriously. “That one day, I will go out on a hunt and not come back though right? That’s how this works. No Witcher has ever died in bed.”

“I have heard that,” I told him. “I require you to be the first. Or at least, you will do me the good grace of letting me die first. I insist upon the matter.”

“Oh well, if you insist, then I suppose I shall have to listen.” He had pulled out another small bottle of a dark green liquid. He used a pipette to drop three drops of the dark green liquid into the glass beaker.

Which exploded.

“Dammit,” Kerrass muttered. “Temperature wrong again. For one of the most common potions that we use, you would think that they would come up with a more stable formula for it.”

“The bad workman blames his tools,” I told him, “or his potion recipe.”

I quickly ducked the thing that he threw at me. It was a root of some kind that he needed to chop and peel. I considered stealing it but that would probably have ended badly.