-

Today I saw a city die.

It was not done with an army, or even some force of men that had found secret ways into the city with ropes, ladders and dark clothing. Nor did they come through sewer grates and caves that open themselves up at low tide. That was not what happened here. Instead, Oxenfurt was killed by a man in armour. He rode to the gates of Oxenfurt from the east wearing heavily plated armour, and a Redanian surcoat that still looked a little damp from the morning mist.

The armour looked clean.

He rode up with a long lance, resting on his right foot and fastened to the lance were two flags. One was the flag of Redania itself, without the, now, mandatory symbol of the golden sun in the corner. The other flag was a white one.

He rode up to the gate calmly and without hurry and just stood his horse there. Waiting.

I don’t know what he was waiting for. I stood there and watched him. Along with all of the other people that crammed themselves onto the wall of the gatehouse to see what was happening.

Maybe that was what he was waiting for, for witnesses to hear what he had to say.

If that was it, it was well played and it certainly worked in his favour.

Abruptly, he plunged the lance, flagpole or whatever it was that he was carrying into the mud-caked roadway that his horse stood on.

It made an odd squelching noise that sounded like the kind of wet fart that you have when you’ve eaten some bad street food. I wanted to laugh.

The figure lifted his helmet from his head and shook his hair free as he looked up at us all. He was a handsome man although I didn’t recognise him. He could have been any number of people really but there was something odd there regardless. His neck muscles were hugely developed and his chin was pronounced. It was as though his skull and face were just a bit too large and out of proportion.

He had long dark hair that he wiped out of his face from where it was damp from the rain, sweat or any number of other things. He looked up at the wall and seemed to smile in apology that all of this was taking too long while he placed his helmet on his horses’ saddle and took off his right-hand gauntlet which he carefully placed inside the helmet..

He fiddled in a saddlebag for a moment and came out with a scroll which he opened before clearing his throat.

“To the people of Oxenfurt, I bring greetings from Adda, rightful Queen of Redania and Temeria. We applaud you for closing your gates against the unknown, but the time for such frivolities is passed.

“It is time that all free-thinking Temerians and Redanians should be united in a common cause. That cause being to throw off the oppressive yoke of the invading Black ones from the South.

“In our pursuit of that cause, it is vital that we have the proper support of all of our true citizens in general, but also the use of the Oxenfurt River crossing to allow passage of our armies to challenge the oppressor.

“To that end, you have until the end of the day to open the gates of Oxenfurt to allow passage. You will turn out your stores for the feeding of our forces. You will bring out all of those Spies of Nilfgaard and make known to us, the non-humans and the enemy collaborators in your midst.

“Any non-human, magic user, or citizen of any nation other than Redania and Temeria and certainly any Nilfgaardian is hereby declared as a spy and a traitor to the crown.

“Any person found to be harbouring these undesirables will be interrogated as to the presence of further enemy agents, before they themselves will join their families and the other undesirables in their eventual fate.

“The Queen is recalling the Witchunters to their regiments and you will report for duty at the appointed hour.

“There will be no further bargaining or negotiation as the crown does not negotiate with spies and terrorists. If our, most generous, offer is refused. Then the entirety of Oxenfurt will be put to the sword and the city will be raised to the water level so as not to impede the passage of our armies on the march.

“I say again so that there may be no doubt. Open the gates. Bring forth the non-humans, the collaborators and filthy southerners. Do this, or ALL of you will suffer the consequences.”

He carefully folded the letter before tossing it into the mud in front of his horse’s hooves. He pulled his gauntlet back on before placing the helm back on his head. He took up his lance again which he lifted in a salute towards the city walls.

I thought that that, in particular, was a nice touch.

And then he rode away.

I can’t speak for the rest of the wall but those people near me that were watching didn’t move as we watched him go.

Then a nearby guard spat over the wall.

“That’s fucking torn it.” Said the merchant next to me.

I grunted my agreement. He looked down at me, realised that I was a dwarf and wouldn’t meet my gaze. And that was when I realised what had happened.

Oxenfurt was dead. Murdered in the misty morning.

I made my way to the stairs that led down into the streets that were filled with people like me that were moving away from the walls with shocked, vacant expressions on their faces.

I made it back to the Press and gave orders to what workers that remained, that this would be our last issue. They reassure me that the diary will be finished and that we will have missed nothing. Therefore doing our duty to the missing Professor Coulthard.

I no longer care. I wish that I had gone with my wife and children towards Novigrad. We could have caught a ship there to get out to sea… It doesn’t matter which direction we go. We should just get out. The courage that I had found in the depths of darkness has vanished in the daylight.

I have ordered them to barricade the doors and I have set a lookout. There are other, more prominent members of the non-human society than me, so I rather think that the mob will go to get them before they remember the Dwarven printer and his people.

But they will remember eventually.

Oxenfurt will never recover from this. I do not doubt that there will be a city on this island in the River Pontar for many years to come. It might even continue to be called Oxenfurt. But it will not be the Oxenfurt of my day.

Up until this point, Oxenfurt has been a melting pot. Everyone has come here. People of different races, ages and genders have come here to learn, trade and otherwise better themselves. In that time, Oxenfurt has weathered all that has come against it by maintaining a strict “us against them” kind of attitude that has stood us in good stead.

We handled the anti-mage sentiment of the Kings of Redania by maintaining our knowledge base. Mages, being scholars and scientists themselves, would find friends and protection here. They were amongst us.

Dwarves came here along with their Gnome companions. We brought our knowledge and expertise which we traded for other knowledge and expertise that was useful to us. Elves also came here, bringing their philosophy and art to add to the pot of knowledge that they helped us to stir.

My Father once claimed that even Vran have come to Oxenfurt. The solitary, wandering Vran, who brought his old traditions and knowledge regarding the history of the continent. He held court in the inns of Oxenfurt and he was followed by scribes, a lot like me and the clerk that even now is finishing reading and translating the words of Professor Coulthard. That book and those accounts formed the foundation of what we know about the prehistory of the continent and what little we know about the Vran themselves. And when the Elven hardliners and the fanatics of Kreve and the Eternal Flame came for him, it was the scholars, the mages, the students and the people of Oxenfurt that smuggled him out of the city and on his way.

Among the other people that helped him, was more than one Elf if the records are to be believed. I certainly believe it

We withstood the privations inflicted upon us by Radovid and the Witch-hunters. Even as they broke into the University and took all of the books that Radovid disagreed with, before piling them up in the square to burn them. But we knew he was coming and we had already hidden many of those scholars and other notables as well as smuggled many books and papers away from the coming burning.

Once again, because it was ‘us’. The people of Oxenfurt. Against ‘them’ those that would come and destroy us.

It has been a fine balance to be sure. Being a city, not too big to attract the attention of the big armies. The bridges are big enough to carry the necessary commerce but small enough to ensure that in the event of armed conflict, they could be broken.

And so we were just… not important enough to be destroyed. Not important enough to attract the attention of any of the big players.

Well, it seems that that time has passed and our enemies are far cleverer than we gave them credit for. They know us. They knew us and they did not hesitate.

What truly dismays me the most is how easy it was and that we… the cleverest people on the face of the continent. We simply didn’t see it coming or take steps to prevent it.

I’m not sure what we could have done to prevent all of these things, but… It was us against them. And now it is us against each other.

And it will happen. The more hate-filled men… and women because let us not forget that women can be filled with hate too, will remember all the indignities that they have suffered, real and imagined, at the hands of the Nilfgaardian oversight. Those that feel that the university has shown undue deference to the non-humans and the Southerners to get… I don’t know, a higher grade? I’m not entirely sure how these things work.

But all of that will come bubbling to the surface, like gas coming to the surface of a swamp. And after all of the obvious targets, the elves, the dwarves and the halflings have been dragged out into the streets to be murdered or carted off to… flame knows where. Then they will move on to those people who have openly come from the South. The Watchmen that continue to wear the golden sun on their uniforms. The Southern officers and their people. The merchants and the like.

After that, the mob will come for those people that look as though they come from the south, that sound as though they come from the south. Strangers, travellers, merchants again, anyone that the locals don’t like the look of. All of them will end up floating face down in the river or the sewage system.

Or a ditch. Or hanging from a tree.

And then they will turn on each other. That was what the term “collaborator” was about. Suddenly, it will be the case that if someone has a grievance with their neighbour, then they will be accused of collaborating with the enemy. Even men and women that have lived and worked in Oxenfurt for generations will be suspect. That baker that sold a loaf of bread to that Nilfgaardian. That prostitute that went with the Elf. The armourer that repaired the Nilfgaardian’s sword for him. All of them using that money to pay the rents and buy the goods from others.

And I don’t see us recovering from this. That is it, it’s all going to fall apart. Because how can we come back from living and working like that? How can we come back from a situation where we looked at each other with such suspicion and distrust?

I don’t know the answer to that and I suspect that there isn’t one. It can’t be done. It just can’t. Oxenfurt is dead. There might be a city left, there might even be a university left although I doubt it. But it will not be the same.

I, however, will not be there to see it one way or another. As I write this, the last parts of Professor Coulthard’s diary are being translated. I’ve just had the confirmation that we can get it all done in one pamphlet along with my witness reports of what is happening in the city at the moment.

But I am a Dwarf.

You can tell because of my nose. An old joke but I have the feeling of needing something to chuckle at recently. There is precious little else.

I am a dwarf and as such, I am one of those that the herald demanded to be turned over to the forces of Queen Adda or whoever it really is.

Not that I think Adda couldn’t, or wouldn’t declare a rebellion against Nilfgaard. History shows that she’s an ambitious wench and cares little for the well-being of her people when it comes to her own power. After all, according to the bard, she tried to usurp her Father and would have tried to control Radovid as well before his madness became overwhelming.

But I thought she was more intelligent than this. The Empress is only in Vizima for the flame’s sake.

I am a Dwarf. One way or another, I won’t be coming back. At worst, the mob will catch me and I will be turned over to… whoever it is, to be tortured or executed or whatever they have in mind for us. Either that or my escape will be successful and I will head to Novigrad to pick up my family. When I find them, we will catch a boat out of there and head south I think. I cannot believe that Novigrad would fall. It has never been taken yet. Even at the height of the third war, it was not taken. Radovid was there but it was also there that Radovid died. So I will go there and get my family.

If I can’t, I will head south and wait and hope and pray that I will be able to find them when this is all over.

As for my colleagues and workers, they will come with me. We will sabotage the press as we leave which is not hard but will mean that, unless you know what you are doing, the enemies won’t be able to print their own propaganda and then we will flee. Each of us will take a satchel of these latest pamphlets and then we intend to scatter. Some of us are heading South in the hope that we will meet someone important. As I say, I am going North to try and meet someone important in Novigrad.

And after that? Who knows what will happen?

We will get Professor Coulthard’s final words out. We owe him that much and I hope that his shade will let me be.

To whoever is reading this. You have my sincerest hope for the best and for your survival. I hope that you can take what is written here and make some kind of use of it. Farewell and good luck.

-

Entry 129

Today, I interviewed the missing guard that Sam brought with him. I wish I could say that he had more information for me than had already been assembled. He was another one of those good military men that leaders always long for. I have learned during my time that leaders don’t want flashy. They don’t necessarily want excellent swordsmen or brilliant tactical minds. They just want people to do the job, men who take orders and are spectacularly unimaginative. These are the men who follow the rules and form the backbone of any kind of armed force. They are the people that make good sergeants and spend their lives in the army.

Rickard called him a “lifer”.

His perspective of the night of the bonfires was an interesting one though.

“There’s not a lot to it,” the man called Ferick told me as he did some busy work. Armies always have something to do. There is many an armed force that is almost completely made up of men that believe the old adage that the fiend makes work for idle hands.

I remember Kerrass hearing that one once and chuckling to himself because Fiends don’t care enough to bother with that kind of thing.

In this case, the guardsman in question was peeling vegetables. The other thing about armed men and all the extra guests we had, was that there was always more food that needed to be prepared. In this case, some carrots needed peeling and when he was done with those, some beans needed to be shelled. Ferick was sitting on a stool with a massive pile of raw vegetables on one side of him and a large tub of water on the other. He picked the carrot up and with practised ease, chopped the root end off before he took the skin off the vegetable and tossed the naked carrot into the water.

It looked to be quite the industry.

“It was a busy night that one.” He told me as he worked away. “The Captain had asked for volunteers and my cousin’s girl had been friends with one of the victims that they’d taken. So I stepped up, I mean… why wouldn’t I?” He sniffed a bit in derision that I assumed was aimed at those men that had chosen to stay home that night.

“My job was to keep the main group of prisoners in line while they waited to be tied to the pyres.” He grinned, relishing the memory. “A job that I may say that I enjoyed. They were, to a man, entitled pricks that looked down on me. One called me a “dreadful little man”. I laughed in ‘is face and nutted him.”

He demonstrated the movement by miming head-butting me. I winced. Ferick would have been wearing a helmet.

“Cheeky sod told me that I couldn’t do that and that he would have my head. He told me that I wasn’t allowed to do that. I asked him who he was going to tell. He told me that he would show his injury to the high Sherrif of Novigrad and have me arrested. I told him that he’d better be quick as we were going to burn him in a little while and the broken nose that I had given him would be the least of his troubles.”

He cackled at the memory. Along with the soldier's talent for hard, menial work, he also had the soldier’s gift of being able to tell stories. Put men together for extended periods, guarding something or doing something menial. They will find ways to entertain each other. They do this by telling jokes and stories. And often, they are very funny.

“Anyway,” He went on after grinning at the memory for a while. “I remember your boy Kalayn after all the fuss that he’d kicked up when we were taking him out of his cells. We’d thrown them all together in no particular order and this prize cock-bag was complaining that he should be given precedence. My sergeant told him that if he were in the front then he would be the first one that gets thrown on the fire.

“He thought about this and then the filthy little shit-fuck told us that we had better put him at the back then. Which nearly started a riot let me tell you.” I laughed with him. He was a genuinely funny man and I found that I liked him.

“But we were standing there and your boy sees his father milling about in the crowd and screams out for him. His father was talking to some people and came over.”

“Who was he talking to?” I wondered.

Ferick frowned. The problem with storytellers is that they don’t like being thrown off their game, but at the same time, if you don’t interrupt them and drag them back to the point, then they are liable to just keep going forever and ever until they run out of things to say.

Which is never.

“I don’t know,” he admitted in a bit of frustration. “They were hooded and cloaked. Like every fucker there. Including me for that matter.”

“And me,” I admitted. “Sorry, I interrupted.”

He harrumphed.

“But your boy’s Daddy came over and snapped at his son to stay quiet and that he was busy before walking back to his conversation. Then the three of them walked off into the rest of the crowd.”

“Three of them?” I wondered. “Was one of them wearing a sword?”

“They both were,” Ferick told me. “Swordsmen both. One of them was wearing armour. You could tell because it was quite bulky but I didn’t see much else. I certainly didn’t think it was anything important. There were another couple of dozen situations exactly like that one. Sons calling out to their fathers for help and fathers telling their sons to shut up and that they were working.”

He laughed.

“It didn’t work though did it, milord. The bastards still burned.”

“They did at that.”

“Listen,” He told me, waving his peeling knife at me. “There were some times when I worked as a Watchman that I didn’t enjoy my job, or that we were used as some kind of tool of those richer or more noble than us. I’ve turned out good men from their homes because they couldn’t afford to pay their ridiculous rents. I’ve escorted otherwise good people to the gallows for defending themselves, or someone else, from a predator in a fancy coat. I’ve had to turn beggars out of the city and I’ve had to destroy goods from honest merchants that were in contest with those with more money for bribes who didn’t want the competition.

“But that night and nights like it are what make it all worthwhile. Mostly, guard work is just standing on walls and moving the drunks on. You know? Sometimes there’s a bit of excitement, a chase or a fight to break up. But mostly it’s routine and routinely boring.

“That night, we did some real good and I tell you… I’d do it again tomorrow.”

I nodded and climbed to my feet. Some gut instinct told me that that was all I was getting.

“Just so you know,” I warned him. “Imperial Intelligence will want to talk to you. They’ll be sending a man out to ask you some more questions about that night.”

He grimaced as though I’d just told him to lick out a dog’s arse. He hawked and spat.

“Fuck,” He told me before laughing. “I went north with ‘is lordship to get away from those black fuckers.” Then he shrugged. “Won’t be the first time.”

I laughed with him and turned to go.

“How is my brother treating you?”

“Why?” He glared at me suspiciously and I held my hand up to ward him off.

“Just curious,” I told him. “Wondering if you had any dirt on him that I can use to tease him with. You know? Little brother to a big brother.”

He laughed. “I feel that I should stay loyal, on that regard.” He told me.

“What did you do to get him to recruit you?”

“Fucked if I know.” He picked his nose before picking up another carrot. I decided to avoid the carrots that evening. Even if none of these particular carrots would get to my table.

“He just asked for me. I just did my job that night. Nothing else to it.”

I tried to think of something else to ask him but nothing occurred. I left him to it and wandered off to find Sam as I had promised my brother that I would tell him what was going on.

Sam was outside chatting with Rickard. I was surprised with how the two of them were getting on given that my last memories of the pair of them interacting were negative ones. A thing where they had hated each other and Sam was doing his very best to try and scapegoat Rickard for things.

But now they were getting on like old friends, laughing and joking. As I approached, they stopped talking with each other and started acting like students when they have been caught performing some kind of prank on the teacher.

Rickard laughed and clapped Sam on the shoulder before saluting me ironically and walking away.

“How did it go?” Sam asked me, offering me a drink from a canteen which turned out to contain some kind of fortified wine.

“Not bad,” I told him. “I don’t think he knows anything important, but Imperial Intelligence gets to decide that sort of thing, not us. There’s already plenty of evidence that Phineas, the prime piece of shit, was there that night. But who he was meeting with is almost certainly going to remain a mystery. It’s not that we don’t have any suspects, we have too many.”

Sam grunted at that and turned to watch some of the guards' train.

“Ask you a question though?” I began. “What did you see in him to take him North with you.”

“Ferick?” Sam asked and scratched his chin before shrugging. “I liked him. I still like him. He makes me laugh.” He laughed at me. “You’re disappointed, Freddie.”

“I am,” I admitted. “I thought he might have done this or that or…”

Sam took the wineskin off me.

“It doesn’t work like that.” He told me, squirting some of the red liquid into his mouth. “I knew that I would be heading North and I wanted people there that I could trust and depend on. I knew that there was going to be a division of church knights which… I know that you and Mark and Mother are pro church…”

“Not really,” I told him. “Pro-religion, but the church worries me.”

“There you go. I feel a lot the same and if you held a knife to my throat, I would admit that I kind of prefer the Church of Kreve to the Eternal Flame but that’s a problem for the future now.” He sniffed. “But I didn’t trust them. I knew that they would be wanting to serve their own agenda, as would the Redanian-Imperial troops that came with me and I wanted some people that were mine when I went north. Some I chose for their skills and lack of intelligence. Men that would fight hard but not get too scared. Some were taken because they were too good to leave behind and some people I just took because I liked them.

“Ferick made me laugh and he was good at his job. I saw the way that he handled the prisoners and he did it with humour and skill. He didn’t go out of his way to beat the prisoners, but he also wasn’t shy of getting in a few whacks with his truncheon when they were being uppity. He’s the kind of man that… You just want him at your side in your unit. The man that will eat the crappy food and tepid water without complaining before picking up his pack and his gear which weighs twice as much as he does. Then he turns to you, grinning before insulting us all for cowards and marching into the storm.

“He’s a good, solid, dependable guard, he makes the miles flow by under your feet and I liked him. He’s never stood me wrong.”

I nodded and the two of us watched the men in the yard train. Rickard had arranged a series of exercises involving the castle guard and Sam’s men so that the men could train with strangers. Unit to unit, our men versus theirs as well as a mixture of the two so that men could train at being next to people that they don’t know as well. It seemed to be going well.

“I thought you and Rickard hated each other,” I commented. Not really intending to.

Sam laughed, he seems to be doing it a lot and I am glad. He seems relaxed and happier than he was when I had last seen him which leaves me feeling more positive about things.

“You are thinking like a regular person. Rickard is a soldier. So am I. We don’t have time for that kind of nonsense when tomorrow we might be working alongside each other. We have more in common with each other than you might think. Both of us officers and Knights. Both of us were promoted against the wishes of our superiors. Him because of his common birth and me because people hated Father. Both of us have had to prove that we were good at what we do, over and over again.

“Now Kristoff… He and Kristoff hate each other and there is a reason that Kristoff is currently in command of my camp and not coming up to the castle with me every day.”

“That’s ok,” I said. “I’m not the biggest fan of Kristoff myself.”

Sam chuckled. “He’s a hard man to like. But he’s also the best I have at what he does.”

“Which is?”

“He’s the best number two that I’ve ever had. He can predict my needs and my requirements better than anyone has ever managed before him. I turn around, realising that something needs to be done and Kristoff has either already done it, or is in the process of doing it already. He also has no ambition other than to be my military second. Having said that, I would never go drinking with the man.”

We both laughed.

“Well just so you know,” I told him. “ He's not invited to my party.”

Sam gazed at me levelly. “Freddie, I’m not going to tell you what Kerrass has in mind, no matter how hard you dig.”

“Curses,” I said and we both laughed.

“I need to go and write Imperial Intelligence,” I told him.

“Is my boy going to be in trouble?”

“I doubt it,” I told him. “Unless he’s done anything illegal under your orders.”

“Ah, Freddie. I wish I was as ignorant as you. All soldiers have done illegal things.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” I told him.

He laughed again

I went off to write it all up and to write to Imperial Security to come and ask their questions.

-

Entry 130

There is a sense of anticipation in the air. A feeling of gaming pieces being shuffled into place and some kind of endgame being moved around. It’s like in Gwent, where you’ve been playing hard and then… one player wins the first round and the other player wins the second but you both have fistfuls of cards still to play.

It feels like that. Only much more pleasant.

The sun is still shining and there resolutely refuses to be the appearance of a cloud in the sky.

I feel ambivalent about the weather. On the one hand, I don’t want to have to wait any longer than we’ve already waited to get married. But on the other hand, the thought of being all dressed up in my best clothing in this heat is rather prohibitive. It might be that I will look back on this particular entry in my journals and decide that I was completely mad when I wrote this, but at the same time…

I mean, I suppose someone could cast that cooling spell and the entire thing would suddenly become a more tolerable temperature but right now, the shirt, the doublet, the bonnet, the trews, the stockings and the shoes which I will be wearing, all while in a small room along with lots of other people who will also be wearing their very best clothes. A small room which also contains a large, constantly burning oil fire. The thought is almost unbearable.

I suddenly find it more practical that the sorceresses in question have a habit of showing much more skin than I will be.

Not Yennefer though.

But yes, I might be thinking this to convince myself of the matter, but right now, I feel moderately convinced that things would be for the best if the weather rains itself out before we get to the wedding itself. A nice rain to dispel this awful heat, plus a couple of days of relative warmth and sunshine to dry out the land and the ground and then we can get on with the festivities. I honestly think that this might be best now.

I wonder what Kerrass is up to.

-

Entry 131

Today was a good day and from the way people are speaking, it will only be the first of many such days. The castle is starting to fill up. Not with the guests, not yet but they will start arriving soon enough. But the castle is starting to fill up with the various entertainments that our guests will be able to enjoy. It is a requirement that none of the sideshows would be rigged, there will be no cheating on the day and as such, it is a requirement that they all be tested.

So today, Sam, Rickard and I went up and down the growing courtyard, dodging those workers that are still assembling the stores and supplies, as we tested the sideshows. We threw balls at targets, through hoops around pegs and put balls into baskets. We spun wheels, tested weights and used a hammer to strike a thing in the ground that would send the weight up to strike the bell.

Rickard dove into the shoe dunking pond to make sure that there was nothing that was going to be dangerous down there for anyone to get hurt in. Especially as the Empress herself had expressed a desire to partake in this activity. Sam checked the archery buts and some of the more martial things that were being tested while I watched the acrobats perform and listened to some of the musicians and performers rehearse.

All of our checkings would need to be redone by the Imperial forces themselves to ensure that there weren’t any hidden people that were planning on jumping out and assassinating anyone, but Emma wanted us to be able to say that we had checked beforehand as well.

It was a tough duty to play games, swim in a pond and watch the best artists from this part of the continent perform. A tough duty indeed but someone had to do it.

-

Entry 132

Today was less fun but still, not as onerous as it could be. Today was inspection time. We had to go this way and that way to ensure that we knew precisely where everything was. There would be a need that if someone needed something at any time, then we could find it. No surprises. Again, it was an expediency thing. Imperial Intelligence was on its way, both to talk to Ferick, but also to make their full inspection of the castle to ensure that there were not going to be any surprises when the Empress got here.

Remembering Toussaint, we wanted to be able to look the Imperial Commander in the eye and tell him that we had indeed searched every nook and cranny that could be found.

So we opened the doors to see what was behind them. We opened crates and inspected the contents. We turfed the craftsmen out as well as the artists out of their shelters so that we could inspect their luggage. I had wondered if they might have been upset by all of this but it would seem that the prospect of being able to perform for such august a company more than made up for any annoyances that people might have.

We inspected horses' stables although we made the grooms go through the manure pile. Something that I found a little bit distasteful but both Rickard and Sam laughed at my discomfort telling me that this is what grooms are for.

I was not reassured

For the first time in my life, I was allowed to go and visit the servant’s quarters. Again, I did not enjoy that part of it as I felt like I was invading their privacy. Especially the housekeeper and the cook's assistants that had known me since I was six. It did give me the odd kind of feeling of exploring something forbidden. In the same way that I felt when Kerrass and I were exploring monster burrows.

I hope that the Housemistress doesn’t read this. She will not enjoy being compared to a Shaelmaar.

Looking under the maid’s bed was something that I am never going to forget.

Sam inspected my room, Rickard inspected Sam’s room and I inspected Rickard’s room.

Rickard’s room was surprisingly sparse, although he did have a small charcoal drawing of Shani that was framed on one wall. The artwork wasn’t great but the likeness was there enough for me to be able to see who it was. I had to take it off the wall and inspect behind it but otherwise, I put it back without comment.

He also had an old signalling flag on the wall from his old harrier regiment.

I felt a little dirty as I looked at it and wondered how Sam had felt looking through my things.

Bastard probably enjoyed himself.

-

Entry 133

The coming few weeks….

Dear flame. Less than three weeks until I get married.

Fuck me sideways with a fork.

-

Entry 134

The coming few weeks are going to have several reunions that I am looking forward to. I am looking forward to seeing Ciri again. Not the Empress Cirilla, but Ciri, the drinking companion and person that I had shared the road with. She is going to be here just before my stag party or so she has promised. This diary has changed its purpose again. It was my journal that I was using to record my feelings and allow me to exorcise those feelings onto the page.

Then it became my investigating journal, like my field journal when thinking about what was going on with my investigation into what was happening on the night of the Bonfires and my other unanswered questions. Now…

In years to come, I want to be able to remember these few weeks. So I will record these weeks here so that I can look back and remember what I felt, how I felt it and what we did during these times. I look forward to taking down this volume and rereading it and who knows? Famously, historians look back into the past by reading people’s diaries. So maybe, just maybe, these volumes will serve as an insight to…

Oh, Flame. Delusions of grandeur. I should go and find someone to burst my inflated ego.

According to my intelligence, Helfdan has departed Kaer Trolde and is not far away. I am looking forward to hearing about the Skelligan longship floating through Novigrad on its way to get to Oxenfurt. Coulthard guards have already reserved some dock space at the Oxenfurt docks for the keeping of the longship.

Apparently, Sirs Guillaume and Gregoire are also on their way from where they are staying at Vizima. But although I am looking forward to those reunions as well as reuniting with other friends from my university days and distant relatives of Father and old acquaintances from his time at court. It is the unlooked-for, or unremarked reunions that are really catching at my heartstrings.

Sir Froggart came back to Coulthard castle today and I am caught between tears and laughter as the old man is currently stomping up and down the castle courtyard.

My feelings regarding Sir Froggart are complicated. To the young man I was, he was a terrifying individual. A solid, humourless presence in the practice fields and a threat of wrath to my sometimes tender perspective.

With the benefit of hindsight, he was the captain of a fighting castle who was constantly seeing to the preparations of the place to make sure that it was ready for war should the black ones find a way to sail up the Pontar or otherwise make their way into the heart of Redania.

Or to protect themselves from the greed of Radovid and the courtiers around him or… any number of villains that might have come against us all in that time. And the last thing you want, while drilling siege engines and their crews, overseeing the training of troops and watching the patrolling guards, the last thing he wanted was the younger son of the baron getting between the archers and their targets, or getting too close to an armoured warrior when their peripheral vision is reduced at the best of times.

The benefit of hindsight is a wonderful thing and I am more than a little bit aware that I was not the easiest of children to be around for a man of his stature.

We came to something of an understanding when Father died and in that period when I lived at home between the waking of Sleeping Beauty and my departure for the Imperial coronation. At some point, I had transformed from a gangly young man into something that he would call a “fighting man” and as such, I now deserved his respect. I think that I understood him and his feelings more and showed him a bit more respect than he was strictly used to seeing from me.

I mean, it’s probably a combination of the two things, he understood me better and I understood him better.

From how I understand it, he had come with the castle. The previous lord had allowed the place to fall on hard times given that he spent all of his time at the Redanian capital at court, trying to win favour with Radovid. As such, Froggart was frustrated with doing the best that he could with what little money he had available to him.

When Father took the place over and provided Froggart with a little bit more funding, he had gone a little bit mad with ordering renovations, new equipment, a recruitment drive and this and that. He and Father had gotten on famously, often to be seen stomping around the courtyard with large pieces of paper that were covered in architectural drawings and pointing at walls and buildings.

Father had also arranged for the already ageing Knight to be married to a younger daughter from a local family. I don’t know how the courtship went or anything like that as I was far too young to have the matter explained to me. I understand that it was kind of a situation where it was better than either of them had expected. She had been married to a real Knight and she was of higher rank than he would have expected. They found some common ground and she had acted as a companion to Mother and Emma for a while until she died of some winter sickness.

After that Froggart had been spending time with a serving woman of some kind. One of Emma’s dressmakers I think. By this point, he was too old and lonely to care about the scandal and she, a widow herself, was flattered and pleased at the interaction.

Froggart had retired when it was becoming clear that Emma’s requirements for the Captain of her guard were more than an old man like Froggart could keep up with. He had been waiting for a successor that he could approve of and when Rickard had made friends with us all and had found himself in need of employment, it was so arranged.

He lives now, in a cottage on the outskirts of one of the nearby waystation villages with the woman that retired at the same time. The village is the kind of place where the wagon trains stop for the night and I’m told that Froggart spends his time training and insists on staying put and sitting in front of his house watching the wagon trains go by. Much to the consternation of the wagon leaders.

He was invited to the wedding as part of the “old family friend brigade” and had come in a general way, as they all seemed to, to “help out”. It has never been told to me what these people get up to while they are “helping out” but I suspect that a good part of this is to keep the relevant players sane. In this case, Mother and Emma.

Sam dragged me out to go and meet him. He and Froggart had gotten on a lot better than the Captain and I had but that was not entirely unsurprising given all of the things that the two of them had in common that we had not.

The old man led his horse up to the castle while his wife rode up next to him. Behind them, they had a mule which carried several large and bulky bags as well as all of the bulky bags that were strapped to the saddles of the riding horses. Mother and Emma had also come out and there were embraces, shaken hands, bows and curtseys made all around.

There is a growing awareness in me, of people that are only used to dealing with me in the context of them being older than me and therefore having some kind of authority over me. I am twenty-two now but the number of people that still walk up to me and say something like “My, how you’ve grown.”

Froggart stood back and let his wife gossip with Mother, Emma and myself. He had his old sword strapped to his waist and even though he was wearing a plain shirt and trews with the heat, he still stood with his old military stance.

The women were just getting to the stage when Froggart’s wife, whose name I do not know, was just moving into the keep with a sniff and a speech about “I bet they’ve messed the entire wardrobe up while I’ve been away.” when Froggart stepped forward and said something to do with “And of course, if there’s anything I can do to help,” which was when it happened.

Rickard crashed to attention next to and just behind Froggart. When I say that he crashed, I mean that that’s what it sounded like. He stomped up with all his armour on slightly wonkily and as he stopped moving it all kind of crashed into place. There was another crash as Rickard’s hand slammed into place as a salute.

“Captain Froggart SAH.” He screamed at the top of his lungs, reminding us all that once upon a time, he used to be a battlefield Sergeant

Mother winced.

Froggart turned with a raised eyebrow.

“Me and the lads were wondering if you might like to inspect the preparations for the coming wedding Sah.” He reduced his volume a little.

Froggart turned back to his wife with a slight smile and another raised eyebrow. According to legend, Froggart could command the entire castle with a raised eyebrow. His wife laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

“It’s alright.” She told him. “You can go and play.”

Froggart pretended to be affronted but he fairly skipped along beside his successor. Sam dragged me along to watch and what followed was possibly the funniest and most heartwarming time that I can remember.

The castle guard under Rickard is a carefully functioning machine. The escorts for our wagon trains are trained under Rickard’s watchful eye. As are the patrols that keep our lands and roads safe and he has done an incredible job of it that has never, not even for one moment, caused Emma a moment of regret for inviting the Temerian into our home.

He has also made the guard nasty. By which I mean that our troops are coming to be feared by our enemies. Discipline is strict, far stricter than it was under Froggart but at the same time, these men are not always the paragons of virtue that they might have once been under Froggart. They work and fight hard, but they also play hard. And they brook no nonsense. When people insult or disrespect their colleagues, their comrades or Emma, myself or any other member of the family, then that person will be lucky if they live to regret it. Our troops are becoming feared by foreigners.

And they have a sense of humour about it all.

And just because they are encouraged to be brutal and nasty to the bandits and enemy forces that dare to attack our interests, does not mean that they are also, not trained and drilled within an inch of their lives.

That day, they made us proud. They turned out for their old Knight Captain with their armour and equipment shining. But they themselves were filthy, slovenly and unshaven. The barracks were messy and dirty, the siege weapons were badly maintained and all kinds of things were wrong.

Now I knew because I had been involved in inspecting the barracks a couple of days before that the barracks had previously been spotless. And that the siege engines would never have been allowed to be left in such a state. Indeed, they were so bad that it would have taken an active effort to miss what was happening.

Froggart went around and you could see the men preening with pride every time he found something wrong with what he was looking at. All the while, Rickard had a carefully blank expression although he could not keep his eyes from shining.

It took all of that afternoon for Froggart to be finished.

That night, Froggart and his wife dined with the family. Something that she was clearly mortified with, but Laurelen and Mother made a fuss of her.

“So then Sir Froggart.” Emma had been primed for this piece of theatre as again, like Rickard who was at the other end of the table, her face was carefully schooled to stillness. “How did you find the garrison?”

Froggart is not a stupid man and he must have seen that something was up. But he played along anyway.

“Those men were dirty, scruffy and a damn disgrace.” He told Emma, “Pardon my language.”

Emma’s eyebrow rose towards Rickard.

“Really?” She wondered. “When we looked yesterday, we could have sworn that the men were perfectly clean and groomed.”

“Couldn’t comment Ma’am,” Rickard said smartly. He was playing at being a Sergeant, staring straight ahead and answering the yes and no.

“No excuses about the men?” Froggart snapped.

“The men are dirty Sir,” Rickard told him. “But their weapons and armour are clean.”

Which was something that characterises Rickard. He knows the need for an honour guard and what they were meant to look like. But he prioritises utility over aesthetics.

“However,” he went on, scratching the side of his head. “I must admit that I am somewhat out of my depth. Imperial visit and all.”

“What are you saying, Sir Rickard?” Emma asked.

“Well sirs, Ma’am. It occurs that I am a newly promoted man to my rank and that in dealing with all of this, we might be better served by an older, more experienced hand.”

“I can see the point,” Emma commented and pretended to consider the matter.

Bitch had arranged this with Rickard. I just knew it.

“Sir Froggart.” Emma began, turning to the older knight. “Would you be able to help us out at this most trying time?”

Froggart had known that something was up but he also knew that he had been skewered. He turned to Rickard.

“All fun aside, I would not want to be disrespectful or reduce your standing Dick.”

“Sir,” Rickard said formally and without humour. “It would be an honour and a privilege to serve under your command again.”

It was a touching moment and Froggart was moved.

“Well,” he said after taking a moment to clear his throat. “I did pack my old uniform and armour.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

There was laughter but I noticed Mother and Froggart both turning and wiping their eyes at a careful moment.

If that is the most touching moment over the next few weeks, then it’s going to be an emotional time.

-

Entry 135

Today, the portraits were presented to us. These things had not been part of my consideration and when I had told about them, I had not known what to think. It was one of those things… I didn’t care about them. I didn’t… They were unimportant to me. I had been told that there would be some small portraits of Francesca and Father that would be present for the actual marriage itself. Small pictures of them that would be set up inside the chapel so that we would all be aware that they were there. Then there would be other, larger and more formal portraits that would be set up during the festivities afterwards that people would be able to see. Again, these were going to be there so that Father and Francesca could have a presence during the actual festivities.

Not Edmund, no, never Edmund.

Then there was a third pair of portraits that were going to illustrate the pair of them during the party, both of them being pictures of Francesca and Father as though they were having fun with whatever was going on. I had briefly got a withering look from Emma and some stifled laughter from Mark when I wondered what a portrait of Father having fun was going to look like.

Father yelling at a bunch of merchants that weren’t doing what they were told perhaps? Father enjoying the fact that his domain was bigger, better and more maintained than everyone else?

But today, the artist brought the canvases to the castle to be viewed. Mother, Emma, Mark, Sam and I all went to the main hall that was still being cleaned ready for the coming parties and we stood as these six pictures were set out before us.

Father’s portraits were well done. The small, wedding one was a nice picture of the man smiling. With a bit of luck, no one will read these words so I won’t get into trouble when I say that I didn’t recognise this man but when Mother and Emma saw this particular picture, both of them appeared moved by it.

The large, formal portrait was the Father of legend. Painted with one hand resting on his sword pommel and the other hand with a hunting hawk on the top. Behind him were a map of the continent and some shelves. He looked regal, powerful and imposing. This was the one that looked most like the Father of my memory

The last one was much more… Father was sitting at a table with his feet stretched out in front of him. He had a cup in his hand and his clothing, which was the same clothing from the formal picture, was untied. It was the image of a man who had done something unpleasant and now he was allowed to enjoy the rest of his day.

I didn’t like it. It made me feel as though I was an unpleasant chore and that this wedding was something that he felt as though he had to get through.

This was the Father that I recognised. It grew on me though as I looked at it. I expressed my feelings to Sam and he clapped me on the shoulder.

“You are missing the pride in his face, Freddie.” He told me. “He didn’t enjoy the formality, I will agree with you on that. But you have left out the pride with which he is looking out at whatever it is that he can see. He was proud of you. He is proud of you. It is time to let it go.”

It took me a while to see it, but see it I did.

But then there was the portrait of Francesca. Ciri had had some input with all of this and it was her portraits that I loved the most and for which I shed the most tears.

The small portrait was just of Francesca’s face and hands. The hands were clasped together and she was resting her chin on these hands. The face was excited. It was the same face that I had seen Francesca wear just before she got to pick up a cute animal. The same… pent up excitement.

The large formal one was the Francesca of court. The artfully done hair, the perfect gown that hung off her long body in the way that it should. The slightly imperious air about her attitude, although I was left to wonder if I was imagining the slight glint of mischief that was in her eyes.

But the last picture was the one that illustrated the sister that I love. This was the Francesca that I missed. It was as though the artist had captured her just at the point of flight. It was Francesca who had other things to do and was resenting being told to stand still for a long moment to have her picture drawn. She was full of giddy excitement with a smile of delight and excitement.

I wept when I saw it. We all did. Sam in particular was inconsolable as he looked at this last picture.

The artist in question left discreetly, but I am going to spend a not small amount of time wandering around the party, telling people how talented he is and getting people to spend money on his work

-

Entry 136

It is now only several days until everyone is together for my stag party. The Skelligan longship that we presume is carrying Helfdan, Svein and the rest, was sighted sailing around Novigrad. It caused a small ruckus as people were convinced that the Skelligans had come to raid our shores but that fear was soon set aside. Tomorrow, I will ride to Oxenfurt to meet them and make sure that there is no unpleasantness with the guards there or the panic that the presence of the huge and hairy men might cause.

I remember Helfdan dealing with uppity dock people by virtue of inserting his axe into the man’s skull and given that the man is the Jarl of the clan, future consort to the Queen of Skellige, Skelligan ambassador to Nilfgaard and a Nilfgaardian High Admiral. I can imagine how quickly things could get… political.

But today, Kerrass rode into the castle with two men sitting astride giant war horses with the full, iconic armoured barding that can only be a feature in Toussaint. The men rode with lances in hand and armour polished to a mirror sheen so that it hurt the eyes when you caught the sunlight as a reflection in all of that metal. They carried the pennants of the Knights of Francesca and their own heraldry.

Kerrass looked quite drab in comparison.

The two Knights in question rode up with all of the pomp and ceremony that they could muster before dismounting and removing their helms to display the grinning face of Sir Guillaume de Launfal and the more stern but still relaxed-looking face of Sir Gregoire de Gorgon.

Smartly, the two knights handed their lances off to their squires and dismounted before marching up to the keep doorway in perfect step before they ripped off a salute that made Sir Froggart a little weak at the knees.

Sir Guillaume took one step further forward and bowed before Emma and my mother. Emma has spent a bit of time in Toussaint and therefore was used to the antics of the Knights of Toussaint, but Mother was astonished as the full weight of Guillaume’s charisma struck her with all of the force of the charging Knight that he was.

“Allow me to present myself to the ladies of the castle.” Sir Guillaume shouted so that all within earshot could hear him. Indeed, I would not have been surprised if people had heard that in Oxenfurt.

“I am sir Guillaume de Launfal. Proud Knight of the order of Lady Francesca. Please allow me to present my companion, Sir Gregoire de Gorgon, Knight of that same order that we are both so very proud to serve.”

Gregoire also bowed low to Mother and my sister. It was not lost on me that Sir Guillaume had referred to Francesca as the lady rather than the saint. I thought that that was very diplomatic of him given the circumstances and wondered if that was his wife’s input.

Sit Guillaume continued in that same semi-formal, singsong voice of a man singing out some kind of prepared speech.

“Although we are here for an occasion most joyous to both of our hearts, do not hesitate to call upon us should you have any need for an extra pair of sword arms. If you need us on the walls, then we shall be there. If you have enemies, then we shall lead the charge into the midst of their hosts and should there be brigands on your roads, then they shall know about the esteem with which Toussaint holds the family Coulthard.”

Mother looked quite faint.

Emma stood forward.

“I thank you both Sirs, for your gallant offers and we acknowledge the famous reputations of both of you. I must confess that we do not need such excursions at present although, I for one, would enjoy watching the pair of you at work.”

Guillaume grinned. Sir Gregoire had the look of a man waiting for the formalities to be over with as Emma continued.

“Of course, Gentlemen, you have the hospitality of our house. Rooms have been prepared for you as we understand that you are only going to be with us for a few days before your duties will return you to Vizima. But first allow me to present my Mother, Lady…”

“Your Mother?” Guillaume bellowed in feigned outrage. “I had thought another sister had been found that we were not aware of.”

It is an old joke but it works every time. Guillaume is a handsome man, despite the heat of the road that had plastered his hair to his scalp and he knows how to wear a suit of armour to benefit himself.

Kerrass sidled up to me as the necessary introductions happened.

“This is going to be fun.” He told me before wandering off.

Guillaume and Gregoire came to me. Gregoire shook my hand with a grin.

“Anne says hello.” He rumbled. I had forgotten the sheer size of the man, the incredible physical presence that he commanded. His voice came from somewhere deep inside his chest as though it came up from his toes. He will never be a handsome man but now that he was relaxing a little bit, there was less of a sinister tilt to his brows.

“Is she coming?” I wondered.

“She will be here for the wedding.” He told me. “She is along with the wedding deputation.”

“Who’s leading that?” I wondered.

“His wife.” The big man gestured towards Guillaume. “It seems that she’s got some affection with the Empress although,” he sniffed, “she seems to be friendly with everyone. Fucking terrifying that woman… excuse my language.”

I waved him off as he continued,

“She knows everyone’s name, everyone’s business and seems to be friends with all of them.”

Guillaume approached.

“I cannot deny,” he began, clapping me on the shoulder which nearly sent me flying. “That it is a part of her character that is off-putting to me as well. I love the woman, but there is something to be said for her being more terrifying than the average Knight in arms.”

“And we are far from average.” Gregoire rumbled.

Guillaume and I laughed while Gregoire smiled slightly. It is good to see him with a sense of humour in him.

“Anyway,” Sir Guillaume told me. “We would have been here sooner to help out with things, but there was some unpleasantness on the road. Uncle Palmerin, who also says hello by the way, had warned us of the problems on the road North of Vizima, but we had not entirely believed us.”

“You found some evildoers didn’t you.” I accused him.

“A band of eighteen bandits.” Gregoire agreed. “Several ghoul nests, a group of Temerian guerillas that refuse to believe that the war is over and are praying on the local wagons to continue to finance the war effort, and a deserted mine that was home to a pair of trolls that were mugging the locals for their shoes.”

“You’ve been busy,” I told him. “Anyway, go and get out of that armour before you bake and I can show you around.”

“Yes,” Guillaume agreed. “I am longing to see the workings of this famous fortress.”

I have missed that element of Toussaint culture. The two men were loud, brash and expressive. It was not something that I actively thought about at the time as I was so immersed in the culture of Toussaint that I actively didn’t notice. But after the time spent in the Black Forest and in the aftermath of all of that, and then in the weeks and months since I have come home… I have found that I have missed that element of it.

Redanian culture seems to be a lot more subdued, withdrawn and…. I don’t know how else to put it.

Guillaume and, to a lesser extent, Gregoire, moved into the castle like a pair of whirlwinds and as they did so, the sun seemed to come out in all of us. The two men immediately mucked in with all of the chores that needed doing, carrying heavy loads, flirting with servants and some of the higher-born women that were around alike, laughing and telling jokes with the best of them.

Guillaume in particular was able to trade a coarse joke with a foot soldier before immediately turning and discussing a higher form of philosophy with one of the priests that had come to discuss things with Mark. Both men laughed and worked and spoke easily as they did so. Gregoire quickly made friends with Rickard and Sam and spent some time mocking the pair of them, insulting their northern militaries while taking their good-natured mocking in his stead.

Guillaume was more at home in the more formal circles and I found that I had missed the pair of them.

I will never not know where I stand with those two men and I find that I approve of their philosophy. Life is for the living. When they fight, they fight with everything that they have. When they laugh, they laugh without the care that they might be offending someone or that they might be seen to be uncouth. When they argue, they do so with a passion that others might find off-putting and finally when they love, they do so with an ardour that none could go against. Both of them would regularly tell us all about the love that they showed their wives, telling little stories about the pair of them and filling me in on the gossip of the court of Toussaint since I had left.

Guillaume was the same as he ever was, hopelessly infatuated with his wife which is no bad thing. Some of the things that he said, suggested to me that Damien and Syanna have decided that he is going to be the next Knight commander of the Knights of Saint Francesca. He seems largely oblivious to this but I can believe that he would be a strong contender, if for no other reason than he will lead and insist that he has the right of things. I think he could do with some more political training but on the other hand, he might argue that that’s what he has his wife for and he would not be wrong to think that.

Gregoire seems to be doing well. He told me that Anne sends her love and is now well settled. He works closely with Guillaume and is enjoying being a heroic character now where he had been so villainous for so long. He did admit that he was struggling with his now formally adopted son as the lad seemed to be lacking in expertise in the kinds of things that he, Gregoire, was good at. As such, Gregoire and he had little in common other than the woman that they both loved, but Gregoire was confident that they would find some common ground eventually.

The lad is quite bookish and quick so Gregoire had some ideas about tutors and teaching the lad to fence rather than wield a broadsword. It might even work.

It would seem that I will indeed have another wedding to attend as Syanna and Damien are now formally engaged. So after me, it will be Helfdan that gets to marry his Queen and although I am not as close with Damien and Syanna as I am with Helfdan and crew, Guillaume produced a formal invitation to me to attend.

Emma was not invited which seemed to calm Sam down. At first, I was concerned that that was going to be a thing. Certainly, Emma expected to be invited, but Guillaume told her that neither Damien nor Syanna wanted to make a big fuss over the thing. They were going to be married, have a party and then they intended to get back to work as there was far too much that needed doing to allow either of them too much time off. And as such, the guest list was being kept relatively small.

I saw Sam getting ready to say something when I was handed my invitation and then he frowned when Emma didn’t receive hers before he chose to keep his peace.

In other news, it would seem that Lady Vivienne de Tabris du Launfal is the Toussaint representative at the wedding. The Duchess doesn’t feel that she can leave Toussaint at the moment for a variety of reasons of state, which I took to mean that she was reminding certain factions of exactly who was boss. Her adopted daughter, Lady Caroline, has been sent to the Imperial court and it is more than possible that I will see Lady Caroline as she is now part of the Empress’ entourage where she is learning statecraft at the feet of the best in the world.

According to Gregoire, Lady Caroline is also being taught how to be a suspicious bitch by Lord Voorhis which met an oddly cold silence before, of all people, mother chuckled.

“A necessary skill.” She decided after a moment and the entire room seemed to relax.

I have missed this. I have missed my friends. Kerrass does his best but this was a reminder that I have made friends and I have made my own way in the world. It is all too easy for me to fall into the trap of being in my Father’s castle which is now my sister’s castle and therefore falling into my old family role. Or of going to Oxenfurt and thinking that that is the entire world that I am part of. It is doing me good to remind myself that I have travelled elsewhere and into other realms and made other friends on my own.

And tomorrow, I will go back to Oxenfurt to meet some more.

-

Entry 137

So, today I rode back into Oxenfurt with Kerrass, Guillaume and Gregoire. Sam would have come as well but Emma declared that she needed at least one brother to remain behind at the castle to help her with lifting heavy things. Or at least, that is what she claimed. Sam protested as I think he was kind of looking forward to some manly time when he wouldn’t be found some chore to do in preparation for the wedding.

Emma told him that if he truly wanted to get away with not doing things then he needed to be the one that was getting married. And then she pointed out that I had already set an example in that regard for doing my fair share of work. Sam relented and stayed behind to fetch, carry and be gallant to the increasingly large number of female guests that were turning up out of the woodwork. This was the first time that I had been in town since I stopped working with the university for my wedding and I thought it would be interesting to see the place as a civilian as it were. The first time that I have made the journey with two Knights of the Saint.

I find it easier to think of it that way. Meaning that if I don’t think of it in terms of the Knights of Saint Francesca. If I can just put the two of them aside as being Knights of the Saint, then I can think of the entire thing a little bit easier.

Not easy, but easier.

But looking at it from the outside with the added perspective made it all the more interesting.

They rode along, insisting that full armour was necessary which, for that alone, I have no idea how they managed to do all of that without expiring in the heat. But they rode along and they must have found some new opportunity to polish the damn stuff because it hurt my eyes to look at it. They rode easily atop their horses which, the poor beasts, must have been suffering under that heat almost as much as the riders did.

They rode, fully armoured, with lances resting on their boots and pennants hanging limply in the air and all the time, they chatted amiably, teasing me with this and that, mocking Kerrass with small jests and hailing passersby that looked at us strangely and went out of their way to avoid us. Presumably because if they engaged with us then the madness might be contagious.

My only slight concern was that the pair of them might bake in the heat but when I brought the matter up, Guillaume laughed at me.

Gregoire tilted his head to one side and smirked a bit.

“Northerners,” he just rumbled as though this was some kind of explanation that would cover everything.

“You have to remember Lord Frederick.” Guillaume began. “That you have only ever been in Toussaint during the winter months and onto the early spring. The heat is a bit muggy to be sure and I am not enjoying the humidity but you have not suffered heat until you have withstood a true Toussaint summer. Then you will understand what heat means and why we all find it so amusing when you complain about the weather.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that the two of you must be baking inside all of that metal.” I protested.

“The secret is in the hydration,” Gregoire told me, pulling a wineskin from his saddle. He squirted a large amount into his mouth before passing it over to me. I drank as I was bid but it turned out that it was not a water skin, it was a wineskin.

“See…” Guillaume explained. “Hydration.”

I turned on Kerrass who was riding a little way behind us.

“Is this what it’s going to be like?” I demanded of him. “For this weekend when I am supposed to be surrounded by my closest friends, is this what it’s going to be like? A steady stream of my being mocked and teased?”

“That’s what happened at my stag party,” Guillaume observed.

“And both of mine.” Kerrass insisted.

“No one mocked me.” Gregoire offered.

“That’s because we’re all terrified of you Gregoire.” Guillaume laughed as he said it.

Gregoire nodded as though that explained everything.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you.” I accused Kerrass as the two knights dismounted to help a peddler get his wagon out of a ditch. The fact that he had pushed it there himself while staring at us in astonishment was only part of the charm.

“Freddie, I have not even begun to have a good time at your expense yet.” He told me, himself dismounting.

I don’t know what the common travellers must have thought. Two knights in the most brilliantly shining armour that you can imagine, a Witcher with both swords strapped to his back and a scholar helping a plainly terrified minor merchant to get his wheel out of a rut.

We arrived in Oxenfurt, which must have believed that they were under some kind of attack, and found our lodgings before I started to show the boys around my city. According to our information, Helfdan and the others were due to arrive at the dock at some point tomorrow so we decided to have a good time. First, though, the two Knights insisted upon meeting the Captain of the city watch to enquire as to any help that might need to be provided and then they walked through every alley that they could find in the vain hope that someone might try and mug them.

I can’t say for certain but I am more than a little convinced that any criminal that might normally mug a passing man would have been too terrified at the sheer size of the two men and wondered how we might have armoured a pair of trolls.

In the end though, as they had not been able to find any miscreants to chastise, or any maidens that needed saving, the four of us set about doing our best to have a good time. We watched a play which Guillaume horrified me by heckling, then we went for dinner and a few drinks where Gregoire lost a small fortune at cards.

Again I am left thinking that even if this is the best of the days that are due to come, then the following couple of weeks are going to be a lot of fun.

-

Entry 137

Someone had forgotten to warn the city officials that the Skelligans were coming. I don’t know who it was, but I suspect Kerrass from the look of gleeful anticipation that was plastered all over his face. It was either him or it was Emma and I don’t know which of the two that I find most… worrying. I can, all too easily, imagine my sister cackling to herself, back at the castle while she awaits news. She is looking forward to meeting Helfdan in person as she hasn’t yet and tells me that the two of them have quite a lot to talk about.

The mind boggles.

But still, the first we knew of the Skelligan approach was a panicked rider flogging his horse down the road with that cry that must echo up and down the continent.

“THE SKELLIGANS ARE COMING.” He screamed and waved. Answering that shout was the call of the alarm trumpet and the guard started to muster.

I turned on Kerrass and glared at him.

“I thought Emma was going to warn them.” He protested, lying through his teeth as he did so.

I looked around at the other people that were with me. There was no reason to believe that the men of the Oxenfurt city guard would believe a Knight Errant when he said that there was nothing to worry about. It is also known to me that Kerrass is tolerated in Oxenfurt because it is well known that he is my close friend and a favourite of the University and Coulthard castle. And as for sending Carys, who would probably take that opportunity to pretend to not be able to speak Northern, that was out of the question.

I sighed and set off to find the nearest watchman.

It took me a while to calm everyone down and so, by the time I made it to the docks, the longship was already on top of us.

I wanted to leap down to catch ropes thrown to me by old friends but the experienced dock hands made it well known that if Lord Frederick Coulthard hurt himself or got in the way of the important work that they had to do. Then Lord Frederick would end up in the river. It is also worth reminding myself that these same dock workers had not even blinked at the approach of some possible Skelligan raiders.

There were not many men that survived that last voyage of the Wave-Serpent, no more than half a dozen men and although I was friendly with all of them, there were only a few that I was particularly close to. All half dozen of them had come, but the first that was off the ship and leaping to the dock with a bound was Svein, the Man breaker, Lord of Skellige and the village on the bay.

He was wearing the full regalia of the black boar. They had finally settled on a tartan of Black on Grey, fully embracing the status of their Lord as a Bastard without ancestors and they threw that fact into the face of their enemies. He was wearing a plain shirt that was open at the throat, but even though he was, in theory, in a friendly port, he had a sword at his waist and a shield on his back.

He landed easily and strode up to me before enveloping me in a bear hug. Svein is not a big man but he has a large presence and he used that presence to dominate the dock as he laughed in plain delight at seeing Kerrass and me again.

“Freddie the Scribbler.” He bellowed as he marched up to me before lifting me off my feet with a laugh in his throat. “As I live and breathe, the Skald that Writes.” He put me down and turned to throw his arms around an astonished Kerrass.

“And Kerrass the Witcher, the pussy cat that knows how to fight.”

The two Knights from Toussaint stood by, looking a little bemused at this while Carys was openly grinning.

“Damn me but it’s good to see you, boys.” He told us both.

“You too Svein.” I felt a lump in my throat at the genuine pleasure that I sensed in the Skelligan and I could see a similar sentiment in Kerrass.

“Allow me to present,” I turned his attention, and the attention of Kar, Svein’s younger brother who had joined him. “Sir Guillaume de Launfal and Sir Gregoire de Gorgon. Knights of Toussaint that do me the great honour of calling me, friend.”

There was an interesting moment then. I have seen this moment many times. When fighting men meet each other, there is always a moment when they size each other up to decide whether or not they need to be concerned about the other man.

That was what happened here. Guillaume smiled with only a touch of that hunger for the test in his face and held his hand out to be shaken. Svein slapped it aside and embraced the young knight who was clearly astonished.

“These two are my brothers,” Svein told him, gesturing to Kerrass and me. “Friends of theirs and comrades of theirs that have fought alongside them are my brothers also. And I have heard of both of you and your exploits.”

“And we you Manbreaker.” Gregoire rumbled with a slight smile of interest. “Although I wonder how you got that name.”

“That’s an interesting story.” Svein agreed. “But it will have to wait. This is my brother Kar the Quick. Guard your money pouches around my brother. I make it a general policy to hold him upside down and shake him whenever I leave port.

“Hey,” Kar protested. “I’m a lot better at that now and these men are my brothers too.”

Svein turned on the younger, thinner man and glared at him. “Yesterday you stole my dice.”

“You were cheating and I wanted to prove it.”

“And my wineskin.”

“You had not been sharing properly.

“And you stole my boots.”

“They’re better than mine. Also, it does you good to be reminded of exactly what your place is.”

There was some general laughter.

“As fine a scout as ever you could meet,” Svein confessed to the two Knights who had a kind of amused look of bewilderment on their faces.

In the meantime, I was fending off a bear hug from another veteran of the Wave-Serpent.

“Thorvald.” I greeted him. “Still alive?”

The old priest looked far older without his weapons and armour. He had told me that he intended to retire from a life of raiding with the death of the Wave-Serpent. Now he was wearing a long robe over some more sensible clothing that was suitable for sailing. The sigil of the hammer hung around his neck but there was no darkness in his hair and beard now. He still greeted me with a loud shout and a cry of joy though.

“Just a shame that you are not marrying in the way of the God.” He told me. “But good to see you nonetheless.”

Lastly, from the men that had jumped over the side was Sigurd One-Arm, called the Fury. The last time I had seen him, his tiny Yuki-Onna bride was caring for him and although his strength was returning, he was still badly hurt from his injuries. He is a big man again, still slightly awkward in social situations.

He greeted me without words, hugging me with his one good arm and offering the same to Kerrass. He looked as though he was moved, not that far off shedding tears of his own before he moved back.

“Is he alright?” I asked Thorvald.

“He is fine.” Thorvald smiled. “He is now older than he ever expected to be. He expected to die in Helfdan’s service and wonders at the fact that he is still alive. He is grateful to… well everyone for that and if it wasn’t for Helfdan having first claim, you might find yourself an extra man who is devoted to you.”

I accepted that in silence. There were a couple of others that came with us. Men that had been injured in this action or that. A man called Wealthot who had been injured in a forest skirmish. I had not known him well before he was removed from our company due to injury and another man named Thanvil who I had just never gotten around to talking to. I greeted them all with a cheer, an embrace and a happy smile. I had missed being among Skelligans.

“Where is…?” Kerrass was looking around.

“He’s still on deck,” Svein told him. “You know him. Won’t leave until the gangplank is down and there are other things to do.”

We watched, enjoying each other’s company and doing all of the introductions. Kar was rather taken with Carys who hissed at him like a cat before Kerrass warned him that the lady in question was married to another Skelligan. There was a certain inflection there that suggested that if the husband hadn’t been Skelligan, then she might have been fair game.

The gangplank was lowered and still, Helfdan didn’t emerge.

“So is this the new Wave-Serpent?” I asked Svein who was waiting expectantly. “I thought she would be bigger.”

“She will be,” Svein admitted. “This is not the new Wave-Serpent.”

“Then…”

“She is the Sun-Spear.” Said a voice that I had not expected.

“Lord Dreng.” I greeted the other Skelligan as he came down the gangplank, probably a little cooler than I should have. He saw it though and smiled at me. Our first meeting had not been auspicious after all but he had proven himself a man of honour in the past.

He hopped aside of the gangplank and we made room for the other crewmen to carry the various pieces of cargo onto the docks where workers came to take them off to wherever they were going.

“He’ll be down in a moment.” He told us all.

“Supervising?” Svein guessed.

“Isn’t he always?”

There was some general good-natured laughter from the other Skelligans. I took a deep breath and walked over to Dreng. He smiled at me.

“Do not worry Scribbler.” He told me. “I am not staying for your party. I have not earned that right and I know it.”

“You would be welcome.” I made myself say.

“Good of you to say.” He replied. “But no. I am just the captain of the ferry to carry your shipmates here. After I’ve dropped them off, I have other tasks. Do not fear.”

I nodded.

“How are things in Holmstein?” I wondered.

He laughed. “My understanding is that you will see in a few weeks. But they go well. We have rebuilt a lot that was lost and the new fortress that is being built is a terrifying brute of a place. It is not as beautiful to look at as Kaer Trolde, but it is imposing and intimidating. And inside, it is comfortable enough for those of us that make our homes there. The shipyard is growing and our harbour is also increasing in size. Our shipbuilders are taking the techniques that Jarl Helfdan gives us and we are building ships that our enemies are coming to fear. The Sun Spear is the first of those but he… is not satisfied.”

“He wouldn’t be,” I commented and we both laughed.

“How is he?” I asked.

He looked at me oddly. “You should ask…”

“Svein is too used to protecting him,” I said. “But I want to know how he really is?”

Dreng nodded.

“When the Skelligan delegation comes to your wedding.” He began. “The Queen intends to ask the Empress that her Jarl be allowed to spend more time at home. I know that he’s ambassador now, and Imperial Admiral, but the Queen cannot get to know her betrothed if he’s at the capital all the time, or overseeing the improvements to the Imperial Navy. We need him to improve our navy and bring his mind to bear on our lands.”

He sighed.

“And although I am good at what I do, I am no Helfdan. Our people need their Jarl back. We miss him.”

I nodded.

“I will speak to Ciri,” I told him.

“Would you?” He looked absurdly hopeful.

I decided to take a risk.

“He is my Jarl too,” I told him. “And I sailed on the Wave-Serpent with the others.”

Dreng nodded. “You will do us a service if you can manage that.” He told me. “And I will be in your debt.”

The man himself appeared at the top of the gangplank. I never found out why he uses the gangplank like us mere mortals, rather than leaping over the side like just about every countryman of his that I have ever known. It has always seemed rude to ask and if I know the man as well as I think I do, then the answer would probably be something like “That’s what the gangplank is for.” before he would shrug in confusion at the stupidity of others before walking off.

But still, he finally appeared, standing aside and waiting for one of the dockhands to make their way from the depths of the ship, carrying his load onto the dock.

He did not disappoint.

He was wearing an Imperial uniform although not wearing the plate mail that I know the Imperial army is commonly wearing. Instead, he wore the black tunic and the ruff around his neck and the golden sun was emblazoned on his chest. He still had his old sword at his waist and his shorter, smaller, almost hatchet-like axe on his belt. But other than that, he looked like the very image of the Nilfgaardian military gentleman. And he looked desperately unhappy and uncomfortable with it too. He was also wearing one of those hats that the Imperial sailors like. It had a feather in it.

At first, it looked rather comical but then, as it often does with Helfdan, I started to look a bit closer and then suddenly, it was just not as funny anymore.

He walked down the gangplank, carefully holding his sword out of the way of his legs. His mouth moved towards a smile as he saw Kerrass and me and walked up to where I was standing.

“Scribbler.” He said, holding out his hand which I took with a smile.

“Jarl Helfdan,” I replied. “Or is it Lord Admiral now?”

He made a face, almost a grimace in response to that before he turned towards Kerrass who had approached. Helfdan looked the Witcher over, saw the symbol of the Wave-Serpent prominent in the pommel of Kerrass’ sword and nodded as though everything was in its correct place before taking Kerrass’ hand.

I took him to meet the two knights, his eyes narrowed a bit as he examined them both and the two Knights looked confused as I introduced them both. Helfdan took their descriptions in, nodding and accepting their greetings and offering a few words in response.

Then he turned back to me.

“Scribbler.” He said simply. “Is there anywhere private that I can change into some proper clothes?”

“There is an inn nearby with a decent enough Tavern attached,” I replied to the cheers of the Skelligans in the party. Svein got them into order while admonishing his brother to “keep his thieving hands to himself.” And we marched off, leaving Dreng to oversee the dock work. I did invite him to come with us but he declined.

“Duty first,” he told me. “And then I need to get going if I am to catch the tide.”

He talked to Svein about meeting up with him, a discussion that I wasn’t allowed to take part in as Kerrass prevented me from doing so with a sly look on his face.

As we walked back to the tavern in question though, I found myself walking with Gregoire while Guillaume was in the process of making firm friends with Svein. He has a talent for that. Of all the people that I have met, few make friends easier than Guillaume. He and his wife are well matched.

“Quiet man that,” Gregoire said to me, nodding at Helfdan. “Quiet and dangerous.”

I looked up at the huge Knight.

“He’s a good man though,” I told him. “And a good friend to have.”

Gregoire grunted. “I hope that I will get to see him fight. I think that that will be an education.”

I found myself wondering the same thing.

The time at the tavern went well but it was clear that we were not going to make it back on the road to the castle before nightfall. So we just stayed. Helfdan changed into a more comfortable Skelligan pair of woollen trousers with a lighter shirt and looked infinitely more comfortable in doing so. Guillaume was welcomed among the other survivors of the Wave-Serpent’s crew with relative ease but it took Gregoire a bit longer. In the end, the matter was settled by Svein challenging the big knight to an arm wrestling contest.

Which Svein lost.

It was an interesting thing to watch as the Skelligans cheered their man on but then when the matter was decided, they clapped Gregoire on the back and bought him some drinks.

After that, it seemed that Gregoire was more comfortable.

We ate, we drank and we reconnected. Thorvald stood on a table and told everyone, including the people that were there at the time, the tale of the cat, the swallow and the scribe saving the serpent. I have heard the story many times but it was an interesting way of putting the story and certainly, the two men of Toussaint seemed to enjoy themselves greatly. Then they made Guillaume tell them the story of how he and I had rescued the maiden from the clutches of evil with only the help of my lady love.

Guillaume did his best but although he speaks well in public, he was not so skilled at spinning a tale. The Skelligans did me proud though, laughing at every joke and cheering at every heroic gesture. All of this before Thorvald declared Guillaume a liar and told him off for false modesty. He insisted that he had heard that there were dozens of panthers as well as goblins and dark men of the worst sort that we had freed the beautiful Lady Caroline from.

Guillaume went with it and started to concoct increasingly improbable adventures that the two of us had been on while we rescued Lady Caroline from the Wicked Witch of the Crag.

It was a good night that night and I managed to avoid drinking too much so that I could be reasonably awake in the morning.

Ooopppsss. Time to go.

-

Entry 138

Homecoming with the Skelligans was everything I had hoped that it would be.

-

Entry 139

To my eternal delight. Rickard met Helfdan and the two of them have become firm friends. Our Skelligan party arrived at the castle, laughing and joking with the best of them. Rickard was running drills with some of his men at the time, to keep things sharp. Froggart has taken a load off him with general preparations on the ceremonial front while Rickard continues to maintain the castle as a fighting castle.

The guards were out in the nearby fields running combat drills. Normally, they would have been done inside the castle itself in one of the courtyards. But the space that they would have used had been taken up with preparations for the coming festivities. Helfdan stopped to watch for a while which meant that the entire party stopped to watch for a while and I could see Helfdan frowning in what I took to be approval. Rickard saw and approached.

Helfdan dismounted to meet him along with the rest of us.

“Your scouts are very skilled,” Helfdan told the Temerian who grimaced.

“Not skilled enough though,” Rickard replied. “Not if you saw them.”

Svein was looking at his master in surprise and Guillaume was also looking at Helfdan with a new kind of appraisal.

Helfdan said nothing while Rickard looked at him.

“How did you see them?” Rickard asked.

“I was looking for them,” Helfdan replied with a very typical statement for Helfdan.

Rickard laughed delightedly. “You must be Jarl Helfdan. Would you take offence if I told you that you lived up to your reputation?”

“That would depend on the reputation,” Helfdan replied.

Rickard nodded. “I must get back to work but I hope that we can have some time to talk about things soon.”

“I will look forward to it Sir Rickard,” Helfdan said.

I was not surprised that Helfdan knew his name, and neither was Rickard, but Gregoire was astonished.

“How did you know who it was?” He rumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle.

Helfdan looked at the big man for a long time.

“Who else was it going to be?” He wondered before we started moving again. Gregoire had to catch up though as he just sat there and gaped for a moment or two.

“Don’t take it to heart,” Svein advised him. “He gets everyone like that.”

As we should probably have predicted, Emma and the others were waiting for us. Helfdan led the way, accepting the ceremony of hospitality with grace and humour although he seemed to run out of energy after that and asked for somewhere to go and rest. Emma chose a maid to go and do that while the other guests finished their ceremonies.

-

Entry 140

Kerrass has vanished again. Every time I see him he’s on his way somewhere at a quick pace with a sly smile and an evil snigger on his face.

In the meantime, the Skelligans have adapted to castle life with speed. The dreaded day of the Stag party is only a couple of days away now. Helfdan is most often seen in the presence of either Emma or Rickard. With Rickard, he walks the walls, inspects the men and watches the siege machinery drills. Every so often, he is seen to produce some paper and take some notes before the pair of them move off in another direction. With Emma, I understand that he is making continuing progress in ensuring that the clan of the Black boar will be a force on the continent. I know that he and Mark have spoken at some length and I know that Sam had trouble understanding him.

I think that Sam was intimidated by Helfdan, in the same way that Gregoire was and still is.

The first morning after their arrival, all of the castle went to train. Including myself at Kerrass’ insistence. I don’t know why he was insisting but he does. Even when he is not there. I would have thought I could relax in the here and now of the situation but… The Witcher will have his way.

But I was privileged to watch as all of the friends that I have made on my travels with Kerrass came together on that practice field to train together and at that moment, I saw things that I had never thought that I would ever get to see.

I saw Gregoire facing off against Helfdan, and losing.

I mean, Gregoire won the second and third bouts but there was an expression on his face that betrayed his satisfaction, as though he wasn’t happy with the wins.

As though he thought he was being allowed to win.

I don’t think I will forget it as long as I live.

Gregoire was training. He had already soundly thrashed everyone on the field. Svein had been defeated relatively quickly but there was a good-natured stance to the bout. Rickard had also lost in relatively short order and had left the field spitting and swearing his vengeance. Sam had got up and made a good showing of things, but by his admission, he has allowed himself to lose some of the edge to his fighting in recent times with having to be a lord as well as a Knight.

Even Guillaume, the man most experienced with Gregoire as they were training partners, only managed to bring the huge man to a draw.

Gregoire was on good form that day I will have to admit. I tried my luck at one point and although I lasted longer than some people, Gregoire joked that it was because he was afraid of injuring me so close to my wedding.

And then Helfdan stood up. He had been watching carefully from the sidelines.

He had fought a bit, running through some training movements with Svein and had trained with Rickard who had beaten him quite handily. But then he had begun to tremble a little and started to sweat, even more than was due to the heat so Svein told him to go and sit down.

That he did so without argument is a measurement of how the two men work together.

But then Gregoire was standing in the middle of the training area, challenging all comers. People were watching now. Froggart had stopped some drills and was training some new recruits on basic discipline that he expected during the festivities. I was sitting with Rickard as we watched, the Temerian was nursing a bit of a bruised ego at having been beaten so easily and I was trying to set him down when Helfdan rose to face the huge Knight.

“We have to stop this,” Rickard exclaimed, leaping to his feet so that I had to pull him down. He turned on me, red-faced.

“Freddie, he’s going to get slaughtered. I mean, I know that you’ve talked about his way with things but even I can see that he’s not that great a fighter. I can accept that he’s an excellent sailor but…”

“Ten crowns,” I told him.

“What?”

“Ten crowns says that Helfdan beats him in the first round.”

Rickard stopped and his eyes narrowed. You can Knight him, call him a Lord and elevate a man to the point that he never thought he could achieve. But every so often, the street thief and con man that Rickard had been when he was young shines through. Especially when he senses that he’s being conned himself.

“No bet.” He told me.

Gregoire was looking down at the smaller, slighter, slightly rotund Skelligan Sea Captain. Svein and Thorvald had been teasing Helfdan about his increased bulk, teasing him that it was too much fine living down in the court of the Empress. Helfdan had been taking the jests with his standard, slightly tight smile and an expression that suggested both that he agreed with Svein but also that vengeance was coming and would be swift.

Helfdan was talking with Gregoire. I would later find out that he was trying to tell the huge knight that there was a flaw in his technique which was making Gregoire frown.

“Watch Svein,” I told Rickard. “Whenever Helfdan is involved in something, watch Svein. If Svein is worried, then I will be worried, but while he isn’t…”

Rickard looked over. Svein and Padraig, Rickard’s Sergeant, had found a kindred spirit in each other and had spent their time since they had met trying to figure out if they were related in any way. The odds were far from prohibitive. The bastards and the Wave-Serpents, which were the terms that Emma had assigned the two groups, were getting on with each other well.

But Svein and Padraig looked as though they were having a similar conversation to Rickard and me. I watched as a betting book was opened and Carys, who seemed to have been elected as the suitably neutral observer, was handed the coin purse.

Gregoire shook his head in denial. Helfdan offered to demonstrate, drawing his sword and axe at the same time before swapping the two weapons around so that he held the sword in his left hand and the axe in his right. He dropped the axe as he was making the switch and smiled sheepishly as he stopped to pick it up.

Sam was acting as an unofficial umpire and shouted for the bout to start. Gregoire picked up his huge greatsword that he wielded like a standard longsword and began his swinging style of attack and Helfdan moved.

Gregoire’s sword went sailing through the air. It was amazing to watch and the expression on the faces of those people that didn’t know Helfdan was a beautiful sight to see. Sam, Rickard and Guillaume all had their mouths open. All of them had seen Gregoire fight and all of them had seen Helfdan getting destroyed when training with Rickard. And there he was as he stood with his sword pointing into the gap in the armour that was underneath Gregoire’s armpit.

Gregoire was blinking and after a moment, he backed off and frowned as he went and picked up his sword.

The courtyard was deathly silent as we watched Gregoire trying to work out what had happened.

I wasn’t entirely sure myself and I didn’t have Kerrass with me to walk me through it. I guessed that it was something to do with Helfdan forcing Gregoire’s arm and sword to move in opposite directions with the two weapons. Meaning that Gregoire had absolutely no choice but to drop the weapon. It was an involuntary thing that he could not control.

Then the off-hand style that Helfdan had adopted meant that he had more access to the gaps in Gregoire’s armour at a side that Gregoire was not used to having to defend.

It was…

It was overconfidence that had defeated Gregoire. He had been starting each bout with the same movement and so Helfdan had seen a counter and used the opportunity to expose it.

Gregoire who, whatever else can be said about him, is a man who is born to fight, took the defeat and asked for a rematch. It took a bit of time as Gregoire worked out the counter to Helfdan’s technique and in the second bout, he was able to defeat Helfdan. In the third bout, Helfdan started to become frustrated, his blows became sloppier and in the end, Gregoire took the victory relatively quickly as Helfdan sat back down and rested with his head in his hands for a while.

Gregoire also surrendered the field for a while after that, sitting next to Guillaume and thinking. He didn’t take his eyes off the small Skelligan though.

There are not many people that have soundly defeated Gregoire enough to rethink his method of fighting though. The first had been Lord Geralt and I wish I had seen that bout. Even though I don’t know enough about fighting to truly appreciate what happened, I still wish I had seen it. The other, now, was Helfdan in my castle courtyard.

After that bout was over, I rose from my seat and challenged all comers. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it occurred to me that my Stag party had already started and although I gave as good as I got, it was training done for laughter rather than anything else. Kerrass had insisted that we train together although he wouldn’t tell me why. And so we trained, but we were going to have a good time while we were getting on with it.

That night though, I was pleased to see that Gregoire and Helfdan were off sitting together exchanging notes. Gregoire’s discomfort in courtly situations might have found a companion in Helfdan.

-

Entry 141

It is the day before the fabled stag do and one of my small fears has finally dissipated.

My oldest friends have arrived. Hugh and Evran have come here on the road out of Oxenfurt, escorted by a Kerrass that still has a grin plastered to his face. I am beginning to be honestly concerned that someone is going to have to chisel that grin off him at some point as it now seems fixed on his face.

Hugh, the man for whom the girl that I loved at one point, before I knew what love was, had asked me for an introduction. The man who had guided me through those early years in Oxenfurt, who had taken me to the brothel that first time, who had gotten me drunk and who, now, his wife had taken the girl who had broken my heart and chastised her for her actions.

He had been the man that had, well, taught me to be a man. Not in the way that my father had wanted but he had been the one who had started the journey that Kerrass had completed. He had been the one that had quietly asked me a couple of questions about my relationship with my Father and had then followed up with the alcohol. He taught me about how men behave. About how we kept our promises to our friends and especially to our women. He had taught me how to act, how to behave and above all, he had taught me how to laugh.

It has been a while since I last saw him. I had attended his wedding to the girl that I had once thought I loved who’s name is Donna, and I had cheered the loudest when the two of them had finally managed to get it together. They had delayed it to the winter after I had returned from my first year out with Kerrass so that I could be there. This is despite his Father’s protestations and her mother’s disdain for a winter wedding. I last saw him in the time between when I had returned from waking sleeping beauty and before the coronation.

He was always tall, handsome, square-jawed and well-muscled in my memory of my time with him. The kind of man that turns aside women and doesn’t realise that they are fawning over him. But now, his long blonde hair is beginning to recede, although his beard is still neatly kept. He has also put on weight and lost some of the muscle definition that he had carried when he was young.

Everything that I was, he was the opposite. He was skilled with a blade where I was clumsy. He was charming while I stuttered. He stood tall while I slouched and stooped but he never made me feel lesser because of it and what he did do was defend me when others sought to make me feel small. Even when he broke my heart, I couldn’t hate him for it. He did it without meaning to and at first, he was completely unaware that the girl existed. He was mortified when he realised what had happened, but by then was too in love for me to be angry with him. He even offered to cast her aside if it made me feel better.

I even think he would have done it too but I told him not to be stupid. When he told her how I had felt, she and I had a long talk. She told me that I was too young for her and although I didn’t understand that at the time, I do now and I am also self-aware enough to know that I would have bored her and she would have bored me.

He is a baron now. He had been a younger son sent to Oxenfurt out of the way of the war in which his older brother had died. He was one of the first that had told me about the legend. “I am richer than I could ever imagine, more powerful than I could have dreamed, but I would rather have my brother back”.

The other man, Evran?

Evran is the person that is truest to himself that I have ever known.

He is relatively short, and slightly dumpy because he likes his strong spirits, good cheese and red meat a little bit more than he should, and he smokes as a chimney does. He has long, curly, slightly frizzy hair and consistently wears the biggest smile that you have ever seen in your life.

He also has the most distinctive laugh that you can imagine.

It was once said by another mutual friend that you could walk into any Tavern in Oxenfurt and know whether or not Evran was going there because you would be able to hear him laughing before you got to the doorway.

I remember the old advice about “Dance like nobody's watching, laugh so that everyone knows that you’re happy, love what you love and be damned who else worries about it.” Evran heard that philosophy and took it to heart.

As far as I can tell, he still doesn’t give a crap about anyone’s opinion that people have about him, either ignoring people or laughing in their faces.

He’s a minstrel by trade and as he walked up to the castle, he had his harp out of its bag and was plucking away at it as he came. He would be cross if you tried to call him a bard as by his own admission, he’s a good musician but an awful poet. He can act and always played the lead roles in our student productions, he can sing and play but his dancing is a bit cavalier. The problem is that he lacks the gift of composition that makes the difference between being a good minstrel and being an amazing bard. He can play any number of songs that have been written by someone else, but other than limericks, he has no talent for actually writing anything.

He is also married to the best-looking woman from our friendship circle. How he managed it no one will ever know. He is the son of a merchant family, very similar to me although with a much more understanding family than mine. He did not come from a rich background and although talented, he was not talented in any of the ways that matter. He makes a decent enough living playing in taverns and inns but will never be invited to play at any of the castles.

He met his wife at the University. She is a tall, imperious-looking blonde from an old noble family. She has the sort of bearing and looks that made us tease her about having magical talents. She was there at her parent’s insistence because she was too clever for her tutors and kept asking uncomfortable questions. She had an arch sense of humour that many found off-putting until we found out that it was her way of getting rid of unwanted suitors.

How the two of them got together was a mystery that we liked to theorise over beers and cards. A pastime that was not helped by the fact that he himself stirs the pot by regularly making up increasingly dubious stories about how it all happened.

Her response, the one time I worked up the courage to ask her, she told me “He made me smile.” A shadow crossed her face afterwards before she forced herself to brighten. “He has been keeping me smiling ever since.”

He likes to say that she married him rather than he married her. She took care to work the political landscape so that her Father couldn’t do anything about it and that was that. Suddenly the old man had a son-in-law and he died of a heart attack a year later leaving his titles and estates in the hands of her older brother who is just happy to be rid of a sister that, according to Evran, he finds intimidating.

After Emma and Laurelen, they are the sappiest, most in-love couple that I have ever known.

Hugh and his wife displayed more physical affection in public rather than Evran and his lady. To the point that we often threatened to chuck the pair of them into a horse trough to get them to cool down as well as many hair-raising stories about how they often got caught in compromising situations by the city watch.

They have calmed down after the delivery of a baby and no longer feel as though they need to sneak off at all.

But Evran and his wife plainly adore each other. He wears an expression of amazement that he could be so lucky whenever he is looking at her.

I tend to agree with him as I still find her a little intimidating. She and Ariadne get on really well.

Where Hugh was my closest friend before Kerrass and if we’re honest with each other, he was also my first real friend that was outside the family, but Evran was my hero. I wanted to be like Evran when I carried on my way out and into the world. To laugh loudly and without care. To say what I think without fear. To dance, sing, and not care what people thought of my ways of expressing myself.

Both men have asked that I leave their names out of my accounts of my adventures and I completely respect their decisions. They have only been active in the off-times anyway, coming to visit when I was at home, or making their presence felt by letter when they were not local to me. I have the kind of friendship with them that we can not see each other for several years but when we do see each other, we take up the friendship from exactly where we left off.

And most importantly, they both took Ariadne into their hearts immediately. Hugh’s wife was a bit intimidated at first and didn’t want Ariadne to hold their baby, but Hugh didn’t hesitate to hand his child to the Elder Vampire who instantly won Hugh’s wife’s affection by being able to keep the baby fascinated and quiet for extended periods.

Evran’s wife seemed to see some kind of kindred spirit in Ariadne and the two of them gossip away when they think that the rest of us aren't around.

It makes my heart glad to see it.

They came with Kerrass, laughing and joking as they rode up. Evran had his harp out and was singing, deliberately off-key to annoy the passers-by. He had a large cross-bow in his saddlebags which I found odd. I have never known Evran to carry much more than a long knife that he also used for utility tasks.

Hugh rode easily with his sword strapped to the saddle and he was discussing matters with Kerrass, the pair of them cackling like conspirators as they rode up.

And to warm my heart even further, they were instantly accepted into the company. Again, I was struck by the fact that my stag party has, in fact, already started. Hugh sat between Rickard and Sam out in the yard and accepted one of the jugs of ale that was being passed around while Evran started to regale the company with tales of my younger exploits of when I had arrived at the university. I did not thank him for that but it was lovely listening to him speak with occasional musical interludes.

I am finding this all very strange, I will admit. I am used to being the observer and standing on the outside to look in. Even when I am directly involved in the situation, there is always a part of me that is watching what I am doing and saying, offering feedback and comment as I observe myself moving through the situation.

And this circumstance is strange. Watching Carys and the other surviving bastards along with a newly arrived Chireadean and a couple of the Elves from the flight from the North, mixing with the crew of the Wave-Serpent and telling tall tales and passing drinks around in the afternoon sun. The two Knights from Toussaint, laughing and joking and relaxing in the company of men that they would not normally associate with. Sam into the mix of all of them being my big brother. The one thing that all of these people have in common is me.

That is a big thought and I don’t know what to make of it.

-

Entry 142

And the evening wasn’t over. As the afternoon passed, more and more people started to arrive and it began to have the feeling of a kind of a before party. Mark came out, looking a little frail but he sat with the others and passed a drink around and told some filthy jokes that I am not sure that I am entirely comfortable knowing that he is aware of. Emma and Laurelen both emerged as well, claiming that it was not yet a stag do as that started tomorrow and that as we were all drinking in their courtyard, then we should damn well shut up and enjoy it.

Lady Yennefer also turned up which was a shock. She didn’t explain her presence but just arrived through a portal, bringing several bottles of Lord Geralt’s wine with her. She didn’t bother explaining her presence or why she felt as though she deserved to be there or what she was doing there. She just turned up and didn’t comment on the matter.

I was glad of her though. She has the trick that she shares with Svein of being able to keep Lord Helfdan calm.

He was trying, bless him, but even despite that, he still regularly had the urge to go off somewhere quiet for a bit before coming back.

And then Ciri turned up. Ciri, not the Empress.

She arrived in her customary flash of green light and grinned at us all while we stood and sat there looking at where she had just appeared while we tried to figure out how to deal with the fact that the most powerful woman on the continent had just arrived unannounced. She looked down at where we were all sitting.

“Boo.” She said before Yennefer handed her a newly opened bottle of wine. Ciri tipped it up to her lips and started to drink directly from the bottle before she passed it back to her mother who did the same.

She was dressed in a white shirt with a draw-string neck, leather trousers and boots. She had a leather bag of gear that she passed to a servant and a red-scabbarded sword that was strapped to her back in the Witcher style.

She laughed at us all before challenging Gregoire to an arm-wrestling contest which she lost after chiding him to properly work at it.

The night fell and more and more people turned up. It was a good night. Old friends and new friends, the family that I was born with and the family that I had made along the way. That night, I watched Helfdan gallantly declaring that he would prize Queen Cerys’ beauty above all the women of the world, much to the mock horror of Lady Yennefer.

I saw Kar, a thief whose face is scarred from a childhood disease discussing poetry with Chireadean. I saw my mother’s horrified expression when the Empress of the continent suggested a belching contest. I saw a full-blown argument break out between Guillaume and Sam, only to be interrupted by Thorvald and later, I saw the two of them swearing undying friendship in a formal ceremony that was witnessed by the Empress in all of her regal glory.

I also saw that same Empress dancing with Hugh, to a tune played by Evran while Svein danced with Mother, Emma danced with Gregoire and Yennefer danced with Helfdan.

I very nearly wept with it all and I would have done it if I hadn’t been grinning ear to ear with it all.

And when it was all over, after we had eaten, drunk, danced, laughed and carried on. After we went to bed, I did weep with it all. I wept and I talked with Ariadne about it and then later, after she had retired and I couldn’t sleep, I went to my desk and wrote this so that I couldn’t forget it.

There are still tears streaming down my face.

And tomorrow, it will be my stag party.

Dear Flame, if these are the best days of my life then I would not claim to be short-changed.

(A/N: The next entry is the stag do and that is a long one, so I put the break here. I should have it edited in a day or two and will upload it when it’s ready. Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading.)