(Authors note: Wow, this chapter was hard to write. Even knowing what would happen and how it would happen and knowing it was a part of the sleeping beauty story. It was hard to write. So...

WARNING!!!!!! The following chapter contains scenes of sexual violence against women. As I hope is made clear from the way it is written, I feel that such acts are absolutely disgusting and are not Ok. Not to give too many spoilers but I am already taking great delight in writing what happens to the characters that performed these horrible acts.

For those who might wish to avoid that section for whatever reason I have marked a section with three stars ***. The part in question is just before a long note from Frederick towards the end. If, for whatever reason, the thought of this might make you uncomfortable then I urge you to stop reading at the three stars. The events that take place can be inferred from the wiki entry from Sleeping Beauty. See you next chapter for Kerrass' vengeance)

Frederick's note: The following is the transcript of the interview that I performed with Kerrass a little while before we descended into the valley of thorns during our attempt to wake Sleeping Beauty. As best as I can, these are as close to Kerrass' actual words as I could manage. He always hates it when I do this as he feels as though he's being put on the spot. Which I am, so he's not entirely unjustified in his opinion. I think this is only the second time that I have done this with regards to my travel writings. Those people that are lucky/unlucky enough to have been subjected to my more academic work will know that I have conducted several more interviews with Kerrass on the subject of various monstrous species. But I've talked enough now. Over to Kerrass.

I have a little game I play.

I sometimes wonder if Frederick has caught on to my little game but so far he has given no signs of being wise to the depths of my cunning.

The aim of the game is to put him off when he's doing one of these little interview things of his. I may have given the game away at this point, now that I've said this aloud but that's all part of my cunning plan. I'm determined to make today the day that I manage to get under his skin.

The reason for the game is not particularly malicious. What I'm doing is entertaining myself at Frederick's expense. You see, he does this thing when he's interviewing me. It's like he freezes up and doesn't speak. He doesn't even give the impression that he's even looking at me. He just seems to stare at a point, somewhere around my collar bone and unfocus. It's an extraordinary act of concentration as he just sits there as my words flow into his ears, seemingly bypass his brain altogether where they flow out, through his hands and into the thin spidery writing that he refers to as “scholar's short hand”. I had much amusement once making him read those words back to me and it seemed that he wasn't...unaware of what he was writing down as when I prompted him on several subjects he seemed knowledgeable.

The other reason is that this level of concentration on one thing to the exclusion of all other things is so different from what I was taught. Yes, during a fight with a monster or creature I must be focused and determined but the input that I need to fight that fight comes from lots of different places. Only one of those things is my hearing and you also have to be aware of everything else that's going on around me. If you're in a cave and fighting a monster and some rock is disturbed behind you... Was that the creature? Or has our fight triggered the beginning of a cave in? So I have learnt to filter out everything that is surplus to the hunt but Frederick has gone one step further than that and has filtered out his own thoughts and experiences. His self-confessed biases and prejudices to just sit down to listen and write. An untainted view, a direct thing that I have said, written down and preserved on paper. It's as though, he becomes the pen and I am the writer for I could not write anything down nearly as quickly as seems to come so naturally to Frederick.

To write, just as much as Frederick has already written down over the course of this very conversation would have taken me hours and anyone watching this would have been entertained at the sight of a Witcher, tongue clamped firmly between his teeth as he struggled to make the words and the pen strokes go where they're supposed to go and in the right order.

I can see the benefit of course and I suspect that more people should have this skill.

It strikes me as being a little sad that even now, several centuries since humanity first landed on the banks of the Pontar and Yaruga, people still prefer my skills than Fredericks.

But that's a digression.

Frederick came downstairs this morning with something of a purpose. He had already eaten up in his room with his companion and they came down together. As they walked down the stairs, arm in arm, their heads bent together Freddie said something quietly that made her smile and he kissed her on her cheek before telling her that he would see her later. She smiled at him, glared at me and left.

I am glad for Freddie. He and Marion are well suited to each other. I met her for the first time eight years ago when I was last in these parts. She has a good heart which is often needed in this part of the world, is much more intelligent than I am and has a smile that lights up the room. That and her startling red hair means that she is rather hard to forget.

Still no reaction from Freddie.

I think that this visit has been good for Frederick. He has been through a lot since he first started travelling with me and he needed a break, although he would feel that this is more of a “working holiday” and I suspect that he resents me a little for bringing him here and subjecting him to the effects of this place without consulting me first.

I also think that Marion has been good for him.

Don't get me wrong. I remain convinced that he and Ariadne are perfect for each other. I think he grounds her in all of the right ways and she challenges him in the same way. He cannot see it yet but I think that, as he gets to know her and gets better at reading her emotions, he will begin to see how profoundly he has affected Ariadne and how much they could give each other.

Having said that I think it's been good for him to have a little affair of the heart with a kind, gentle and good woman. Frederick has been withdrawn since he was subjected to the beast of Amber's Crossing, the night that almost cost him his soul. He has been afraid of many things that he did not need to be. One of those things was physical intimacy as well as more serious romantic feelings and commitments. I had been concerned that that might drive a wedge between him and Ariadne but Marion has found a little hole in Frederick's defences and has exposed that dark place to a light that was not as terrifying as he, Freddie, first thought it was. All Ariadne has to do now is to widen that hole and I think he will be snared.

I am glad.

I wonder if I could arrange a meeting between Marion and Ariadne so that they could exchange notes.

Nope, still no reaction.

He's really good at this.

So Frederick came downstairs and he had his writing satchel with him. The bag that contains his ink, paper, a bundle of quills, his sharpening knife and some blotting sand. I knew what I was in for then and I wasn't looking forward to it.

He sat opposite me and started setting out the tools of his trade before looking me straight in the eye.

“Kerrass,” he said after a while. “What the Fuck are we doing here?”

I rewarded him with a smile.

My companion, the innkeeper, did not bother to hide her amusement. The people here treat me with a kind of affectionate contempt. I will not hide the fact that they hate me and with good reason. The things that I did are unforgivable but having said that, I hope by now that they know that if they needed anything, anything at all, then I would come running. They don't approve of me but I understand that only they are allowed to hate me in this local area.

The innkeepers name is Sarah and she has been my companion the last couple of times that I've been here. I try not impose on her and she is mostly glad to leave me to my own devices. Her husband died in a logging accident and as such she is content to play mother hen to everyone that doesn't work down at the tree line which includes visitors and the other companions. She and I have come to an understanding. I leave her alone unless she needs me and vice versa. She has an unerring gift for knowing how to deflate my ego and to bring me crashing back down to the ground when I need it. I am more than a little devoted to her and, of all the people here, I would like to think that she understands me best.

She still hates me but I hope that it is a more....affectionate kind of hate.

Heh.

Still no reaction from Freddie.

So what are we doing here. It's a good question and I don't know if you can tell but I'm putting off answering it.

I have spoken before about the many trials that face a young Witcher. (Frederick's note: He hasn't, yet. Those conversations took place in that adventure in the north between when we first met Ariadne and we received notification of my fathers injury. I still intend to write those things up but this adventure was more immediately on my mind.) I have spoken about the three official trials and the other trials that come afterwards that no-one talks about. The trials of Heroism and the trial of Death.

I have also talked about some of the many things that have happened to me in my life that I am not as proud of. Those times where my personal journey led me aside from the path of the Witcher. I have briefly talked about my time as a bandit, assassin, innkeeper, thief and straight up murderer. I have always been drawn back to the life of a Witcher as it turns out that I am manifestly unsuited to any other line of work. If I look back at all of those times I can honestly say that I have made many mistakes. Not just the kind of mistake which means that I dodged left instead of right and got a new scar for my trouble. Instead I'm talking about those choices in life that I still regret.

This is one of them.

Of all of them, this is also the first thing that happened that caused me to hate myself.

I was still a young Witcher. I had been on the path for around four years. Still at the stage where I would return to the Feline keep during the Winter where the other newer Witchers would gather and exchange notes of all of the things that we had seen, swap potion recipes and observations on some of the monsters. Things that we had seen in our more...practical... experiences that are left out of the more formal Monster Manuals.

The older Witchers still looked down on us with a gruff kind of familiarity, affection and the same contempt that old folk always show towards younger people. There was no maliciousness there though, they were just wary of making friends with the more inexperienced people when they might be dead over the next year on the path. We would also take great delight in tormenting the young novices, helping out in their training and visiting every torment that we had saved up from our own training on the new kids. It was a good time I think. My own little madness had not yet reared it's head and I was still enamoured with the lifestyle of being a Witcher. Someone who's coming is a looked for respite from the darkness and danger that surrounds us.

Just before the Winter weather had closed in on us I had been lucky enough to snag a contract with one of the more local lords. There was pair of Griffins that were attacking his flock and he had offered a rather large purse to anyone who could bring them down. The majority of my fellows had passed on the contract as they were in a rush to get back to the keep. I however harboured an ambition.

I had begun to want to travel and see the rest of the world. The area local to the keep was well covered in Witchers and the local villagers could depend on a Witcher turning up to deal with whatever problem that they were having in fairly short order. They still didn't like us, the madness of our school still manifested itself occasionally and as such, those same villagers had learned to fear us. But I had begun to want to see strange shores and distant lands. To see and battle new monsters that I had not seen before and bring news of them back to the school.

So I took the contract and pocketed a large sum of money from the Lord on the grounds that he hadn't wanted to wait until Spring for the problem to be removed.

Come Spring I took the money and bought passage on a ship with the farthest to go which turned out to be the Southern part of the Empire.

I landed. One of the few times that I have actively given thanks to my teachers for making me learn how to speak several languages and I set to work.

At first I was disappointed. The only difference between Southern Nilfgaard and the north seemed to be in the language that they spoke. There were the same monsters, the same petty squabbles, the same assumptions as to the Witcher's trade. There was even the same arrogance about people other than themselves. They would loudly declare how much better they were than the north using almost identical turns of phrase for this including, but not limited to “Their woman don't wash, their beer stinks of piss and everyone is rude and uncouth.” I have heard many people in the north comment about the people in the south in much the same way.

Sad really that humanities similarities are vast but only serve to push them apart.

But anyway, I'm digressing.

I came south, there were some monster variants and there were some small differences and so on but it wasn't different enough to gather comment.

I was just beginning to save up some money for the sea voyage to come back when I was passing some place that had a noticeboard by the side of some tavern. I don't know where it was but I remember scanning the noticeboard for anything that might be of interest. It's a habit that they try and get you into back at school “Don't walk past a notice-board without checking it out,” they would say. “You never know what's going to be on the board, or what it might tell you. Not just the notices for the various Witcher jobs but also the other notices that might tell you that there's a monster nearby and no-one has realised it yet. A little girls lost dog might let you know that there are several lost dogs which leads you to some kind of marsh hag that is capturing and eating the local canines.”

I remember checking this one out and as well as the usual kind of “Lost rake,” and “Flax for sale,” there was also a Witcher's notice.

There is an art to taking out a Witcher's notice. The very least of matters is what the message says. In this case, the message read “Witcher wanted. Medium term contract. Discretion required. Apply at Castle Bortrund,” which basically told me sweet fuck all as it is a mistake to try and guess what's going on without all the necessary data. The comment about discretion suggested that there might be an attempt to keep me quiet at the end of the contract but if that method of keeping me quiet was going to be out and out murder rather than, say, a hefty purse, then I thought that they wouldn't have put anything about discretion on the original advert.

However there were several other things that could be guessed from the notice. First of all the notice was made from wood. It is a mistake to assume that notices are always paper because at the end of the day, weather happens and paper and ink tend not to stand up to heavy rain. You get notices on leather, or cloth mostly. Carving wood takes extra effort and is designed in the knowledge that someone might not see it for some time and that therefore they should build the notice to last.

The notice was next to the inn where I intended to spend the night. I spent the evening asking around for information regarding Castle Bertrand and to see if it was something that I should be concerned about or whether I could go to the meeting and expect to actually get paid for my work rather than finding some overstuffed Lord who expects that the entire world revolves around him and that people should do what he wants them to on the grounds that he was the lord.

After asking around and getting the normal kind of glares which can basically be translated into “You're not from round here are you?” I bought a round of drinks and people soon started loosening up. Lord Bertrand was an older man who had managed to marry into the royal family. The lady in question had died in childbirth but had managed to produce a son at the same time which, at that time was the presumed “Prince” of the local area.

As an aside I should mention that the term “Emperor” was just coming into fashion. Emperor means “King of Kings” in their language and so it had kind of become another layer of nobility on top of royal family so now it went Baron-Marquis-Count-Duke-King-Emperor. So the locals still saw themselves as Kingdoms with their own royal families. These various Kingdoms now form the majority of Nilfgaards ruling families.

The Bortrund family seemed to be relatively well to do. They were as fair as any noble families in that day and age, not oppressing their folks as much as some and being generally fair to the various people that lived in their territories. Importantly though, and this was the part that I was checking for, they had a reputation for honour. They paid their debts and once having given their word, they didn't go back on it. I took that on board and in the morning I put on my best “Witcher face” and rode up to the castle.

It has to be said that for everything that would happen later and in my life since then, that was one of, if not the, best and most courteous receptions that I've ever had as a Witcher.

It was a nice castle, smaller than yours (Frederick: my families) but it still had a nice “working castle” feeling to it. There were soldiers drilling, a couple of knights tilting at the dummy. Supplies being piled up and the whole thing was conducted to the music of blacksmiths hammers. I dismounted and walked up to the gate where the guardsmen there saluted me, which was a courtesy that I wasn't really used to, and a messenger was sentto let someone know that I had arrived.

A squire to the family came down, young lad of maybe fifteen years old, dressed in the castle livery and with a sword belted at his hip but he walked easily with it. Holding it properly so that it didn't trip him up which is something that a lot of younger people forget when they've been given an important task.

He was all courtesy, a groom took my horse and I was led up to the keep. I was asked if I had eaten and whether or not I needed or wanted to freshen up leaving me feeling as though I was being treated as a guest rather than as some kind of mercenary. I was led into the castle, I wasn't asked to remove my sword which is always a good sign when it comes to probably not being murdered on the spot and was led down some halls and into a private reception room. There was a table, a map, a desk and several chairs of various comfort levels ranging from solid wood to cushioned couch.

I met Lord Bortrund and Prince Jakob Bortrund who were talking before a fire. They were discussing a trade taxing tariff of some kind with someone I took to be a merchant. Lord Bortrund was a an older man, good looking in an elderly, distinguished kind of way. I thought that if he put his mind to it he could still cause a stir amongst the various maids in the castle. He waved me to a chair while they finished their discussions.

Now as I've said before, it's absolutely vital to listen carefully in this kind of situation. I was in a strange castle with strangers who I had heard very little about. I knew their language but at the same time that means absolutely nothing when it comes to things like idioms or codes. I listened carefully, reversed the chair so that I could sit and still get to my feet as quickly as possible, made sure that I had my back to a piece of wall that wasn't covered by a piece of tapestry so that I could see the door, window and all other entrances and spent the few minutes that I had while I waited, studying the room.

As I say, it was a private reception room that I guess was meant for those more private, back-room deals that seem to make the world keep moving in the direction that everyone thinks that it should be. The kind of place that two people who need everyone to think that they hate each other but actually get on quite well, that kind of place. There was a drinks table that had several bottles on it as well as a decanter of wine and water. The desk was covered with a map which I couldn't identify at this angle but there were also several other small bags and pouches on the table that had been pushed to one side. The bags had labels on them which I couldn't read.

Lord Bortrund finished the business with the merchant while his son listened closely while feigning disinterest. I had heard of such tricks before where the lord's son and presumed heir pretends to be incompetent and stupid in order to trick those people who are watching and listening into being overconfident. I didn't think that the merchant was falling for it though as after a couple of pieces of small talk the Prince was asked about his future marriage plans. The Prince shrugged offhandedly and made a non-committal comment that was trying to come off as though he didn't really care but again, I don't think that the merchant was convinced.

The merchant left and I rose to my feet as Lord Bertrand turned to me.

Etiquette is a tricky business. I had been taught much during my training about the various ways to bow and under what circumstances. This time I chose a wary looking stiff bow, the kind that soldiers might give, with my hands by my side and still maintaining eye contact.

Lord Bertrand surprised me by smiling and holding his hand out to be shaken.

“None of that Master Witcher,”

“Kerrass, Lord Bertrand. Kerrass of Maecht.”

“It is Master Witcher isn't it. I don't want to insult your guild by suggesting rank where there is none, or too little rank when the prestige should be higher.”

I smiled. It wasn't a new comment to me. This man knew how to deal with guilds-men and was aware that masters of their craft cost more money. He was already bargaining the price down.

“I cannot speak for other Witcher schools Lord Bertrand but I belong to the Feline school. If we are not masters of our craft then we are not allowed to walk our path. Anything other than a Master Witcher is rotting in a cave somewhere.”

The Prince laughed and Lord Bertrand smiled. “Very good, very good. I was just a bit concerned as you seem a little young to be a craftsmaster.”

Another common gambit. “It's the mutations Lord, I am actually much older than I look.”

I'm always careful not to call someone 'My Lord' in case it gives them the wrong idea.

“I see, I see. Well, the least we can do is offer you something to drink while we discuss the contract that we have in mind. Wine?”

“Yes please,” I was already used to the fact that they drank more wine in the south than the ale that I still preferred.

“Water?” asked the Prince who was pouring.

“Yes please, plenty of water while discussing things.”

I noticed Lord Bertrand nodding again as though I had passed another test.

“Is it too early in proceedings to ask if you have any going rates? Are there set prices and things?”

Lord Bertrand asked while the Prince handed over a pair of cups.

“There are not, Lord Bertrand as prices depend on costs, danger and required method. One monster is different from another but also... You have Centipedes on your lands?”

“Not us but a neighbour has. I saw one while hunting with him once. Terrifying. And we only saw the portion that came out of the ground.”

“Precisely. But there is also a difference between an old centipede that has been established in an area versus a young centipede that is new to the area but is also guarding their young.”

“What an unpleasant thought.”

The Prince seemed happy to let his father do most of the talking and was watching carefully. He had dropped the earlier pretence of lack of interest.

“It is, and should be. But one would require me to lure the beast to the surface and destroy it. The other requires me to go into the burrow and destroy the eggs as well. Two jobs that are about Giant centipedes but both are so different.”

“I see, I see.”

“The way I prefer to work, Lord Bertrand, is that the client, yourself, tells me what the problem is. I have a look at the problem and see if it's workable. While I'm doing that I tend to require Room and board. When I have a plan I can then deliver an estimate of cost to the client. You can then pay me or not as the case may be and if one or other of us is not happy, then I walk away with no obligation.”

“Sounds sensible enough.”

“So the question to be asked is, what do you need from me?”

“It is both complicated and simple. I will let my son explain as this is his project really.”

“Wait,” I jumped in. A sudden premonition gripped me that this job was going to be a political one. “I should say up front that I am not a politician. I am neither assassin (This was a lot earlier in my career) nor am I a bodyguard. I also make it a requirement that I know everything that there is to know about the job.”

“We understand. Perhaps it would be better if we all sat down to discuss things.”

I decided to risk a comment.

“This sounds like there might be a story to it.”

The Prince laughed and I decided that I liked the young prince as we all sat down.

“The long and short of it is this.” Lord Bertrand began. “My son is planning an expedition.”

“That's not normally Witchers work.” I put in.

Lord Bertrand smiled. “You know I've never met a craftsman so determined to talk himself out of a contract before.”

I smiled with him. “No, Lord but I find it saves a lot of time and unpleasantness later if I am upfront and honest with you.”

“Well said. Do you know of my son's position?”

“What my father means to ask is, do you know about the family situation?”

“Please be honest with us Witcher. Again, it will save time.”

I considered for a moment. A nobilities desire for honesty balanced with a Witchers desire to keep his own head.

“I know that you, Lord Bertrand married a member of the royal family. I know that the only result of that union was the Prince. Beyond that, I'm afraid I know nothing.” That wasn't strictly true, I knew plenty of rumour and innuendo but I didn't think it would be political to talk about that here and now.

“Well, the problem is a bit broader than that. The King, may he reign for many years yet, is advancing in years and is now on his third wife. Not a one of those wives has ever produced a son, they've only produced daughters. Those daughters were used in the normal way of being married off to the Kings nobles in an effort to try and maintain our loyalty. There have however been several sons born of several of those marriages however.”

“I think I begin to see the problem.”

“Indeed. To make matters even more interesting, the eldest Princes was born to the youngest daughter. My son is the middle Prince but born of the Kings eldest daughter. Several of the Kings advisor's, including me, want the King to choose an heir to avoid the prospect of civil war but what this means practically, is that people are playing favourites and jostling each other for position. There are three Grandsons. Objectively and within these four walls, all three have valid arguments as to why it should be them that sits on the throne. Obviously it should be my son who gets there.”

“Obviously,” put in the Prince with a smile,

Lord Bertrand smiled a little for himself. “But there is no telling, on any given day, who the King is going to choose. The King is also, no longer a healthy man and his physicians as well as his court Wizard claim that he could liver for another four years but at the same time, the next messenger at my door could be the royal herald that tells us that the King is dead.

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“Again, between these four walls, I secretly think that the King is enjoying himself. All of us attached to these heirs are throwing gifts and favours his way in an effort to sway him one way or another and he wants for no comfort. If it wasn't my son that was involved then I would say that he deserves his retirement. At the moment the whole thing is kind of funny to everyone and the populace are kind of enjoying the whole thing. However that might change at a moments notice. Some of the older and more steady lords are beginning to predict that the problem will erupt into violence soon and that it's only a matter of time before the first assassin is sent out.”

“As I say, Lord, I am no bodyguard.”

“No, no. We have people for that. But... this is where my son takes over the story.”

The prince cleared his throat.

“What this is all about is who can curry the most favour with the King as well as who can be the most deserving of the crown. My cousins and I are all relatively clever, none of us are married as the use of potential spouses could make or break our claims. So we are all doing things that would sway the King over to our way of thinking. I think I have found one. An artefact that is contained within the castle of a neighbouring Kingdom.”

“I take it that it's not as simple as just wandering over there and asking if we can borrow it.”

“Not quite,” the Prince grinned.

“Tell me Witcher. Have you ever heard of the tragedy of the Princess Dorn?”

(Frederick's note: I've since looked this up. The name roughly means Thorn. Making her name, in this case, Princess Thorn if it was translated into the Northern tongue.)

“I haven't. I've spent most of my career in the North,”

“Princess Dorn was from a neighbouring Kingdom although no-one goes there now. Around forty years ago, the Kingdom was cursed by a powerful Sorceress who was angry with the royal family there. Apparently it was some matter regarding an insult given despite services being rendered.”

“We have books on the subject if you want to read up on the subject.” Lord Bertrand put in. I nodded my gratitude.

“But anyway, the entire Kingdom was put under a curse which means that everyone within the Kingdoms bounds fell instantly asleep. There were other effects as well which means that huge Thorn trees have sprouted from the ground and grow at an unnatural rate which means that people can't get into the Kingdom itself.”

“There is also a dragon.”

I sighed theatrically.

“Don't worry. We don't want you to slay the dragon. We are well aware of Witchers feelings on that matter.” Lord Bertrand said with a smile.

“Here's the thing. In the valley itself is a tower which was where the centre of the then Kingdom used to be. What we want you to do is to help protect the expedition on it's journey to the tower. Do what need to be done there and then bring them back out again.”

“Why do you need a Witcher then?”

“We know several things about that area. We know that there is a large magical effect over the entire valley. We know that it effects everyone and that we have to spend some time getting used to the effects before we actually head in to the valley itself. We also know that just about the entirety of the original Kingdom died under the effects of the magic.”

“You are concerned about animated corpses.”

“And spirits. It can't be a pleasant death to die under the effects of endless sleep. Waiting for the morning that would never come.”

“You are not wrong there.”

“So we have a good tracker on staff. Several trained soldiers that are going along for the protection of the Prince himself and a Priest.”

“A priest?”

“Yes. To ward off evil.”

The ability to keep a perfectly straight face is a skill that is trained into you from a young age when you are a Witcher. The mutations help but there is also a certain talent to it.

“I see. So the job is that I escort this group into this magical Kingdom, spend enough time in there to recover whatever thing or artefact it is that we need and then come out.”

“That's pretty much it, yes.”

“Not exactly a common contract.”

“No it isn't but we have no doubt that you will come up with a price for that. It's an escort, but also consultancy. We understand that there are oils that you can give us to help us to fight the spirits and whatever else is in there that might have gone in there to feast on the many bodies.”

I nodded, already thinking. “You are concerned about Necrophages.”

“And whatever else might have crept in now that the place is all but free of it's natural predators.”

“I see.” I mused. “Do you have any idea as to how long we are going to be about this task?”

Lord Bertrand turned to his son.

“Most of the party are already in residence here at the castle so that will save time. The tracker lives locally, so say a couple of days for him to get his things together and get here. It's about a weeks travel to get there, a few days to get used to the magical effects. Then two to three weeks to get in, find the thing and get back.”

“Right then, so can the priest fight or are we protecting him as well.”

“The priest can take care of himself but at the same time, he shouldn't be fighting.”

I nodded.

“You also say that there will be several guards. How many is several?”

Both men opened their mouths to argue at the same time. “Two,” said the Prince. “Eight,” said his father.

“Right,”

They then had what sounded like an often repeated argument about how many guards the young prince would need to keep him safe on the road. The Prince wanted fewer as he reasoned, not incorrectly, that fewer people would draw less attention and that they would be able to move quickly. His father argued, again, not incorrectly that the more people that were sent, the safer that the Prince would be.

I stayed out of it and was doing some working out in my head.

The two men eventually settled on four guards.

“Right,” I said, “So the Prince, myself, four guards, a priest and a tracker. Party of eight to be equipped. Fair enough.”

The Duke nodded.

“So are you ready for the bad news?”

The two men exchanged knowing glances with each other.

“Go on then.”

“Room and board for the duration of the expedition which starts now and ends when the Prince gets back here, not when he gets out of the enchanted Kingdom.”

“Agreed.”

“For the oils, we're looking at eight people's worth of oils for shades, spectres, necrophages, draconids, insectoids and hybrids. That's the bit that's going to be expensive. I will need some kind of laboratory equipment. A cool and dry cellar would normally do the trick as I have some basic equipment with me. I will also need certain ingredients which I can give you a list of. The more ingredients that you can provide in advance will reduce the cost. If I have to go out myself then that will cost more but you're looking at around 600 Nilfgaardian Florins.”

The two men shifted their weight a little.

“That's a lot of money.” Lord Bertrand admitted.

“I am aware but you should also know that that is a lot of oil that you want me to make. Eight people, plus eight people's weapons as well as oils for all the different varieties of monster that might be on hand. The last thing that anyone wants is for us to to turn up and not have the required oil for the monster that's trying to eat the Princes face.”

“A valid point.” The Prince was smiling as he said it.

The Duke grimaced but nodded his agreement.

“As for my services. That is a long time for me not to be working and seeing to contracts. A full month during which I could normally expect to have earned around 800 to a thousand Florins. So I would want at least 800 florins for the time, plus a bonus of say 50 florins for every monster head that is delivered by my hand.”

The two men exchanged glances again.

“Agreed,” said the older man. “That is well within the boundaries of what we had expected.”

“Good. There is one last point however.”

“Which is?”

“I am a trained Witcher, a master of my craft. I don't care about rank, status or power. When I say that there are monsters present and when I start giving orders regarding placement of people and things to do and not do then I expect, nay, demand to be obeyed. I will not be moved on this point and if you are unable to grant me this then I shall leave now.”

“So insistent Witcher?”

“If I am responsible for your life Prince Bertrand, then I am responsible for your life and I will not allow anything to come between it, including your ego or the ego of your guards.”

The Duke laughed.

“Done and done. Shall we say 400 florins now plus the other 400 plus bonus payments when you get back. Ingredients and such things can be discussed and sorted out as you go. I'm fairly sure that we can find you a room to be used as a Laboratory.”

I nodded.

“That is acceptable.”

And that was that. I was hired. The Duke insisted on drawing up the terms of the contract on paper for his to sign and myself to sign. Under the pretence of going looking for ingredients I rode down into the town to leave the first part of my wages with a bank to prevent any ambitious people from assuming that it would be easy to mug me for my pay and then I got to work.

The number of people that would just stop by the laboratory to see how I worked and see what could be seen and if they could guess at any of the processes was almost comical in their frequency. In the end I made use of a formula that had been given to me for just this purpose. A few basic herbs, put into a bowl of hot water produce a steam which is noxious and causes people to feel faint and dizzy if you don't know the counter potion. I just set a bowl of this stuff to stand and my visitors soon retreated from the fumes.

The castle treated me well all things considered. I was fed, watered and ate at one table removed from the Duke and his family among the other men at arms. I didn't work particularly hard to make any friends but people were accepting of me.

In the end it took us three days to set out. The tracker that had been hired arrived with very little fanfare and we set out all but immediately. I say that but that even took us a good few hours to count, pile and pack all of the provisions. Pile up the food, water and various other things that we would or might need on the journey. For my part, the only thing that I had insisted on that everyone brought was spare water skins for when we were actually travelling into the valley.

It was a fairly congenial party.

The tracker was a man called Erick. He was a large man, massively strong and heavy with it. To look at him you would never be able to tell because he was rather fat to go with it but he could move with astonishing grace and silence when he wanted to. As I say, he was hugely strong and would carry massive amounts of luggage, by himself without complaint and would often boast about how he had once crushed a man's skull with his bare hands. I believed him.

The four guards were reassuringly professional. Hard worn armour, spotlessly clean but obviously so due to hard work and elbow grease rather than because their armour was ceremonial. The leather straps that held it all together was well oiled and greased, their swords were clean and spotless and the four men had spent their evenings caring for their gear with the slow determined care of men who knew that their survival depended on their equipment. They took the watches of the night which was fine by me as it meant that I could get some proper sleep rather than the light, fitful sleep that normally goes with sleeping on the road. Their names were Mark, Matthes, Gottfried and Gunther. The four of them seemed to spend most of their time together and rarely looked up other than to answer a query or to accept an order. They kept the camp, groomed the horses (other than mine) and did all of the little things that needed doing. Other than the cooking which was unceremoniously dumped on Erick's plate.

The priest was called Alphonse. He seemed like an ok sort of man. A little bit young for me though as I kind of want my priests to be old and bearded. I like my priests to look and feel as though they have seen a bit of the world and lived a bit of their lives before they start trying to tell me how I'm supposed to live my own life. He was fascinated by me to the point of annoyance, asking me questions about my history, upbringing and training. Disliking him would be disliking a small puppy in that he was cute and enthusiastic about everything but at the same time, he could still be annoying and disturbingly clingy at times.

The Prince was one of those rare nobles who had the gift of being able to keep company with both the higher echelons of the nobility but also being able to converse with the lowest peasants. The group soon split into two with the four guardsmen being one part and then Alphonse, the Prince, myself and Erick the tracker in one. Erick became very talkative in his wine, which he would drink plenty of as he claimed that it helped him sleep but his language was not the kind of thing that you would normally want to hear in the presence of royalty.

The Prince, however, took it in his stride. Laughing at all the right moments and adding the odd comments of his own. The journey itself was longer than we had first guessed because the Prince would often stop and talk to whoever was passing by and seemed to have a small but informative conversation with each person about whatever the person had to talk about. Whether that was trade, farming, tanning or the security of the realm. He was beginning to come across as that, oh so rare beast, man of the people as he always left people smiling or commenting along the lines of “I hadn't thought of that,” or “Good man the Prince.”

We got to the village. All but the same one that we find ourselves in now. I think some of the buildings weren't there. This inn is certainly new since then. But the villagers greeted us with kindness and friendliness. We paid for our way and had a good enough time. We were told the rules which made a couple of the men goggle a little bit at the thought of what was happening. You've (Frederick: Me) been here now so you know what effect that this place has on you. I slept the first dreamless sleep that I could remember having since before my Witcher training had begun.

I had been reading about the curse from the Princes library since the beginning of the journey. Much to the amusement of the other men that I was travelling with. Many comments about “An educated Witcher” and suchlike, jokes at my expense went on and on but I was absolutely fascinated by it all. At the time we knew both more and less than what the villagers now know. We still didn't know Sleeping beauty's name. We didn't know any more than the barest minimum of reasons as to why the curse had been cast. But there were several interesting works on the curse itself that I read with detailed and careful eyes. I'm not sure how much I can add to what you've already been told and a lot of the information was pointless and harmless.

We knew that the spell has a radius of fifty miles, centred on the princess herself although effects of the spell can actually be felt up to a hundred miles away. I don't know how much Marion has told you about some of the other effects that the curse can have but even today, men and women from this area of the world are known for their beauty. There were also other notes about the shape, and flow of the magical force which I didn't entirely understand but also a theory that the Princess herself is responsible for the spell and that if the Princess is slain then the curse would be broken. That theory had been tried in an effort to put the Princess out of her misery but it would seem that she is immune to poison and disease while weapons and such leave no mark on her.

We stayed in the village for four days. In case you are wondering, yes, I had a companion. Her name was Rose and she was a perfectly nice and amiable young woman. She was a little bit amused and dismayed about the fact that, being a Witcher, I was immune to some of the effects of the curse and was able to acclimatise a lot faster than some of the others but we spent an entertaining few days in each others company. I questioned her in some detail while also spending some time at the wall of thorns which was already an industry. I discovered that the community was adapting to their environment.

Out of wedlock childbearing was no longer a taboo and those children were taken in by the village as a whole. There was a decreased sense of parenting there. Children were brought up by the community as a whole rather than by their mother/father pairing. It seemed to work in a general kind of way but there was also more than a little bit of a sense of the fact that the reason that it was working was because the local people made it work as they had little other choice.

Until you actually go down there. There is nothing in this world that can prepare you for what it's like to descend into the valley of Thorns. Describing it as “The Valley of Thorns” makes it sound like it's actually quite a small place but it's not. It's vast. Remember that this used to be a Kingdom. Yes, that's from back in the day when Kingdoms used to be able to be walked across in a couple of days but this was by no means a small Kingdom. It's also a mistake to think that because the entire place is covered in Thorn vines...Tough, thick, sinewy things with thorns the size of short-swords that will just as easily cut through chain-mail as it will through flesh....Just because it's covered in those things it would be a mistake to think of it as being a dead place.

Dark? Yes.

But it's not dead.

For a start, trees and other plants still grow down there. Now I know, because extremely wise people have told me so, that plants need sunlight to be able to grow. I can't answer to that but there are places down there that haven't seen the sun, literally, in over 100 years and yet they still are covered in grass enough to support local herd-beasts.

Yes, there are cows, and deer, and rabbits and squirrels and sheep and whatever else you might think of. They soon learn not to go near the thorn bushes and I would say that those animals are a hardier lot than exist normally in the normal course of things as they have to move around the trees and the huge trunks of Thorn vines. But they are down there.

There is also the noise.

You see, here's the thing. Those vines, are obviously not natural. They grow at a rate that is ridiculous. Fast enough that if you stand still and watch, you can see them growing. But there are areas that it leaves alone so the best way to travel through the forest is to move between the thorns. That isn't always possible so you take a knife or an axe to them. But then the vines grow back. The dead vine will fall aside as though it's been pushed by the other vines like you or I might push aside a distasteful piece of food. Then the vine grows back. As though it's healing itself, and it happens at such a rate that you can hear it. Then you realise that that kind of groaning, stretching, cracking sound that you can hear all around you is the sound of thorns reaching for you. Reaching for any sign of humanoid life and then killing it dead.

Yes there are bodies.

No sooner had we descended into that old Kingdom than we found a camp of treasure hunters that hadn't taken proper precautions against the encroaching forest of thorns. Two had been stabbed while they slept. Another had clearly been trapped and cut off from the rest. Had panicked and then run on to one of the thorns. They had cleared an area for sleep without realising that the thorns would return to their own territory. You have to move with the forest. Move with the grain as it were.

The villagers don't send search parties to look for people that go in there. There's no point. You either know what you're doing in which case you will come back. Or you ignore their warnings in which case you deserve whatever happens to you.

They act as though what we're doing is pillaging their past. Which in many ways, we are. They can't stop us of course, but then again, why would they want to. Greed leads to a lack of caution which, in turn leads to death. They also know that their numbers are small. They haven't really increased in number over the years. Not many people can cope with their lifestyle and as such, young people from their village often leave. Whereas you would think that their numbers would grow if you assume a steady rate of growth, they haven't. As such, they also know that if they started to get angry about anything then the persons guards would make short work of them.

They are a hard people but they bend around force like water.

We descended into the valley. We took our time going carefully as we had listened to the warnings that had been given to us and, to be fair, we went rather well. Erick was a skilled huntsman and set traps every night around our camp-site, when we were next to a river he put down lines and was a decent shot with his crossbow. We lived well off the land and our party was fairly amicable. They listened to my advice and we circumvented some areas that were obviously infested with spirits. They kept within the lines of protection that I drew for them and the two or three times that we were attacked by necrophages, animated corpses and spirits of the dead. They used the oils that I gave them properly and stayed out of my way. There is little else that you might want from as merry a group of professionals as all of that.

We found the castle on the sixth day. It sounds absurd to say it like that. How does one find a castle? As I say, one of the things that you have to remember about the entire affair is that the thorns cover, everything. We found it because we all but walked into it. Suddenly there was dressed stone in front of us, not earth, brick or wood from some of the other buildings that we had found, searched and camped in.

It was an odd castle in that there's absolutely no reason for it to be there. I've spoken to some other historians and scholars on the subject of strategy and tactics on the subject and come to a couple of conclusions. The first thing that needs to be said about it is that there is absolutely no reason for there to be a castle there. Castle's are supposed to be places of strength where, should an enemy attack, you and your villagers can retreat to a place of safety where your enemy can't get to you.

There are things that you look for in having a castle. You want it to be easy to defend for a start. Preferably you want it to have it's own water source and method of taking in supplies while at the same time keeping enemies out. But above all, a castle is a fortification. Your (Frederick: my) father understood that. Even if his castle was more of a centre of commerce and trade, he went out of his way to make sure that it is also a working fortification. This place had none of those things with only a token effort to have any kind of garrison at all with walls so thin that it would only take a few strikes of a battering ram to bring a wall down, let alone a gate.

I have though about this since and one of the suggestions about this whole aspect of the Kingdom was that, as a Kingdom, they didn't really need a castle. If the Kingdom was under attack, there is only really one way into the Kingdom where you could get a decent sized invading force into it which is the way the we came in. So if you found that you were under attack, then you would simply move your army and militia there to defend your Kingdom.

So why did they even bother having a castle rather than some kind of elaborate manor house or something. What it might be is that they simply felt that as a “Kingdom”, they needed a castle because Kings live in castles. We may never know.

I should say as well, that it isn't really a castle any more. As I say, it wasn't really built to last and years of pressure from the growing thorns as well as a general lack of maintenance mean that the place has crumbled to a shadow of it's former self. You might walk past it now if you don't know where you're going. Now, there isn't so much a castle with rooms as it is a series of interconnected and geometrically sound caves that have been buried under rubble. Anyway...

We had a map of the place that had been given to us by some of the villagers and we followed it round until we found an entrance that was relatively accessible. In this case it lead is into the castle's Kitchens.

I've been in ruined castle's before. It might even be said that I wouldn't have a job if it wasn't for ruined castles but this place seemed different in some way. There were still corpses here although the decaying had long since taken place so that now they were skeletons in ragged, faded strips of clothing. A couple had been disturbed from their original poses by scavengers who had managed to make their own way into the castle. But those that hadn't been disturbed looked so peaceful. So quiet and collected. One skeleton sat at a table where he had clearly put his hands on the table to act as a pillow before laying his head down to grab a quick nap. You could even see where he had carefully moved his food aside to make space. In another room someone sat in the corner, legs stretched out, head resting on the wall and with their hands folded comfortably in their lap.

I went first, medallion held out in my left hand, silver sword at the ready but in truth, I already knew then that I needn't have worried. The spirits of this place were restless in the extreme but they weren't angry or as aggressive as they are now, given that they now know that they are dead. They were confused. Lost might be a better word. One came up to us and asked whether we were guests and whether or not we wanted to be taken to our rooms to freshen up before being presented to the King. Another offered to take our packages to those self same rooms. We said nothing as we moved through those hallways and galleries. It felt... disrespectful to speak in that place, like we were walking through this ancient cathedral.

We set up camp in a large room near the ground floor. I don't know what the room used to be but I do know that it was one of the places that had been suggested to use for this purpose. We laid our camp-fire in the hearth that was still drawing air so that we wouldn't suffocate on our own smoke, I set wards in case any of the spirits did start to become more aggressive in their agitation we cooked, ate and slept in relative silence. I kept the watch that night and was grateful to those spirits that I was mostly left alone with my own thoughts.

In the morning we were gathered together by the Prince. He ordered that Alphonse the priest and Erick the tracker would remain behind to guard the camp while the rest of us take some time to search the castle. At first Erick kicked up a bit of fuss as he was looking forward to doing some good old fashioned looting. I tried to tell him that the place had already shown signs of being picked clean but he wasn't having it and in the end the Prince just had to put his foot down and say that he expected to be obeyed. At which point Erick shut up. The rest of us left to perform our search.

The Prince was rather close lipped on the subject of what we were looking for. He described it as a “treasure fit for a King's treasury” and that he would know it when he saw it. He looked as though he was hungry, like a starving man being shown a succulent stake. He was licking his lips a lot and his hands would shake occasionally but even despite that we were cautious as we moved through the castle, searching slow and carefully. We checked the doors for traps, carefully worked out whether there were false flagstones or holes due to ruin, neglect or mischief.

We did find some other treasure, some gold coins, a necklace and a small trove of jewels in one of the servants quarters that I presumed a maid had kept quietly adding to in an effort to provide for some nebulous retirement or to pay for her own dowry or something. Nothing that we found seemed to satisfy the prince though and he became more and more anxious as time went on.

I should have known what we were looking for. I should have seen it. I should have seen the clues and actually listened to what was said. I should have seen it and then maybe I could've... I don't know. But in the end, we found the Princes treasure.

She was in an upstairs bedroom, the floor was already precarious and as we walked we had to be careful as we could feel, as well as hear the stones grinding in an effort to spill us down to the lower floors, but there she was, surrounded by decaying signs that this once might have been her actual bedroom. The walls, covered in too much lace with pictures of fairy tale scenes that young children might think are cute, but teenagers think are awkward.

She lay near what might have been her bed. She was in a wooden coffin that was slightly warm to the touch, painted in gold although later experimentation showed that you couldn't get the gold off. Inside the coffin, it was made up like a bed, the floor was padded and it was much larger than a coffin needs to be, certainly for her as she is not a large person, her head rested on a pillow as she lay there. To all intents and purposes as though she was about to wake up.

Yes, I know I'm not describing her. I don't know how to.

Looking at her was like looking into the sun.

I don't know how else to describe her. I've really spent some time trying to think about that as well but she's...she is beyond the realms of my capacity to describe physical beauty. To do so you would need a poet or an artist of some kind who could cast her likeness into clay or use oils to paint her likeness onto a canvas or other such situation but such things are beyond me. I tend to fall into the category of describing physical characteristics in the same way that I would describe a monsters anatomy.

She is blond, with long, golden, yellow hair that fans out underneath her head like some kind of blanket. Her complexion is healthy, she is neither pale, nor overly ruddy with her skin almost painfully smooth and blemish free to look at. Her facial structure is aristocratic, certainly with chin and cheekbones well defined. Her eyes are closed but her eyes are large in her face and her eyelashes are long.

Listen to me, I sound like I'm describing an animal of some kind.

I have known many beautiful women in my time. So have you Freddie, you surround yourself with them. From an outside perspective you should consider yourself lucky. Ariadne, in her natural form alone is breathtakingly, achingly beautiful with an added air of danger as well as an otherworldliness that adds to the attraction. Shani, your friend has the kind of beauty that makes men dream of home-coming. Of happiness and laughter at the end of the day.

Your sister is beautiful in the kind of strong, capable, approachable but untouchable way and it is no surprise to me that she attracted a similarly beautiful woman when she set her mind to it.

I have seen many of those women who might be considered the most beautiful women in the world and those that I haven't seen with my own eyes, I have sought out and seen their portraits. Francesca Findabair, Yennefer of Vengerberg, the soon to be Empress Cirilla, the Lady La Valette.

I have seen beauty in roadside taverns, in the eyes of tired prostitutes and bored merchants wives.

But her?

I have no words.

Some women are hard in their beauty in the same way that swords or axes can be beautiful. Others can be soft like looking at lakes or countryside.

She is neither.

To see her is to love her.

In all things she is Sleeping Beauty.

I was struck dumb. At first I could not look at her after that first glance, but after a while, I found that I could not look at her.

I remember being startled as the Prince spoke, his voice sounding ugly in my ears whereas before he had seemed refined and well cultured.

“There she is,” he said, his voice thick with an emotion that I should have recognised. “My treasure. Bring her, we will need more stable footing,”

The four guardsmen acted, despite their own slack-jawed amazement at this vision that was before them. Between them they lifted the casket with little apparent effort and it was carried down into what must have once been the main hall of the keep.

I should have seen what was coming. I should have seen it and I should have acted. I have spent the years since asking myself why I didn't act at the time. What possible reason could I have had for not stepping up and doing the right thing.

I have blamed my training for it and that is certainly at least partially true. We are taught not to get involved, to remain neutral in all things, not to express an opinion, to walk on by, to let matters be. That was certainly on my mind as I watched what happened next.

The Prince ordered one of the guards to summon the priest.

***

(Frederick's note: Kerrass went still for a long time after this. We were sat at a table during the entirety of this extraordinary narrative and when he's not eating Kerrass sits sideways on to the table, astride the bench with his left side to the table so that he has a proper view of the room. He had stopped talking for a long time and I sat there, pen poised for his next words in that strange, almost meditative state that I go into when taking down someone's words, similar to how I feel when riding long distances. I remember looking up at him. He had his left elbow resting on the table to allow his hand to stroke his chin. He didn't look at home in his body and when he did speak again it was as though he was speaking from a distance. The voice was quiet, monotone and detached. The way people talk when they survive something horrible)

The priest came. I was surprised when I saw him as when he had travelled it was in a plan cassock which told all who and what he was but now he was dressed in his full regalia.

I should have known. I should have seen it.

Erick, The Hunter came with him. He was carrying a set of candles and a large book. He was grumbling about being used as some kind of pack mule but the words seemed to dry up in his throat as he saw her. He stood for a moment, mouth slack. The Prince said his name and it looked as though Erick had been slapped. His face reddened and for a moment, rage flashed across his face before he remembered where he was.

I should have stopped it.

Erick had clearly been given his instructions though. He set out the candles on a table that the guards had carried over to be near the head of the casket. Four candles, spaced evenly along the table and the book was placed on the table.

The priest argued with the Prince. So much easier now to think of them as their titles. So much easier to think of them as things rather than men. Men who lived and loved. Who might even have been kind and loved their mothers.

The priest wanted something.

“This changes things,” he said. He was sweating, licking his lips nervously. “She is alive. You didn't tell me that she was alive.”

“I am not a necrophiliac,” said the Prince. He was putting on some finery as he spoke. Tow of the guards were dressing him in more ceremonial armour. “You knew what you were brought here to do. You had no complaints then but now that we are here you are full of misgivings. It would be worse, according to the scripture, if she was dead would it not? You are always telling women about how they should stay quiet and obey their masters and not speak out against their husbands are you not? So what are your misgivings?”

The Priest's lips moved, working silently.

“Shall I take a guess? How would a couple of hundred extra florins sound?”

The priest nodded.

The part of me that is a mercenary. The part of me that knows that I need money to be able to order food and survive wondered what would happen if I asked for more money. I hated that part of me then

But then the ceremony had started. Because it was a ceremony then. A marriage ceremony.

The guards had formed up around the casket as an honour guard. They stood, swords drawn and resting at attention. The Hunter stood on the other side of the casket from the Prince, openly drooling and fondling himself as he looked down at the Princess. The Prince stood, he had taken the Princess hand in his own and stood, looking at the priest.

The wedding ceremony was short. To the point. I was so stunned that this was what we had come for. I was dazed, confused and shocked I suppose. What could I say? What could I do?

I should have stopped it. I should have seen this coming.

I should have drawn my sword and turned that place into a red ruin. I could have. I could have made that hall into a room from nightmares.

I wish I had.

But it was as though I was frozen in place.

No that's not true.

I should be honest here. I should say what actually happened. I didn't move because I was still listening to that, oh so trite saying of Witcher's past. That Witcher's should be neutral. That they should walk apart from other men and not let events affect them.

I stayed still because of a Witcher's neutrality.

And I am still paying the price for that days inaction.

The marriage ceremony came to a close. It was heavily truncated as it was but it lasted all of maybe twenty minutes.

The Prince undressed quickly while the guards set a fire to keep the room warm.

“So we are married now?” The Prince asked

The Priest nodded.

“Then time to gather the first fruits of love.”

The Prince took a small knife from one of the guards and cut the Princesses dress from her.

I should have known.

I should have stopped it.

He climbed on top of her and raped her as she slept.

He laughed. One of the guards, I think, said something like “Lucky Bastard”.

He laughed as he did so.

He finished and climbed off awkwardly. The Princess still looked as though she was asleep. Just on the verge of waking up. One leg hung out of the casket now where the Prince had moved it for access.

I wondered why they hadn't put the leg back.

Some way off I could hear a beast roaring. It wasn't me though. I looked down at my feet.

“Can we,” Again it was one of the guards. They were wearing at this point and they had their backs to me so I couldn't see which one was which. “Can we have a turn?”

“Yes,” The hunters voice was thick and slurred as though he was drunk. “Let us have a turn.”

The Prince looked at them all. He was in the process of getting dressed.

He shrugged.

He just shrugged.

The others were frantic in their haste to disrobe. Pieces of armour and clothing fell to the ground in a clatter.

I remember wondering if they might kill each other in their haste to get at her.

It might have been better if they had.

But Erick the hunter had already forced her mouth open and pushed himself into the hole while the guards were still taking their trews off.

I remember it as if it was Yesterday.

Erick looked up at me after the Prince had left. He was slapping the Princesses face as he moved and spoke.

“How about you Witcher? Do you want a go?”

I tried not to run as I fled that awful place.

I should have known what was going to happen.

I should have stopped them.