“What is evil Frederick? What does it look like?” Kerrass asked me after describing the Hunter's death.

“Kerrass. Such a question has been asked by philosophers and thinkers since the dawn of time, we're hardly going to solve the problem here and now. A Witcher and a Scholar of history, sitting in a pub.”

“I don't know. Many important things have been decided over the years in back rooms of taverns and the like.”

“Yes, but here we're talking about the really deep questions.”

“True, but where else are we going to find proper answers?”

I sighed and put down my pen for a moment.

“My tutor once said that “Evil exists when good men do nothing.” He was quoting from some old philosopher and I was a twelve so I wasn't paying that much attention. He argued that because of this that True evil comes from apathy. To do nothing.”

“That sounds like your tutor was trying to persuade you that you were lazy and that laziness was bad.”

“You're probably right. I did read another argument once that said that there is no such thing as evil. The argument was long winded and tedious. In my mind it was written by a man who was trying to fill a word count in order to be published but he said that evil is in the eye of the beholder. There is no such thing as a truly evil person because even the most evil of people in history believed that they were doing the right thing. That there was an explanation for whatever actions that they had taken. Where there wasn't, it would inevitably turn out that that person was absolutely mad and had a side hobby of barking at the moon. Therefore if that person was successful. If that “evil” turned out to be victorious then history would then portray “us” as evil.”

“I've heard this argument before and it does have some merit although there are exceptions to every argument there. You have already pointed out the exception of the person who isn't thinking rationally. I am a Witcher and in theory my task, my entire reason for being is to combat evil. To destroy monsters and to protect those who lack my skills, conditioning and experience, from the things that lurk in the darkness. But the vast majority of those things are not evil. Not really. If you study the monster enough it nearly always turns out that the humans in question have encroached on their territory or have interfered with a breeding cycle or similar. Their behaviour is measurable, quantifiable and instinctual. Not really evil.”

“Precisely. So therefore, what we see is that evil, in whatever form it takes, is in the eye of the beholder. A farmer doesn't ask the griffin that's nicked his sheep whether it was hungry. He just says that the creature is evil and needs to be destroyed.”

“But saying all that, the answer that evil doesn't really exist is unsatisfying.”

“I know an answer to that as well.”

“Oh?”

“I'm not saying I agree with it of course.”

“Oh of course.”

“But it goes like this. Humankind is unhappy with the way the world exists. Bad things seem to happen to good people and good things happen to bad people. The chaotic nature of the world makes it so and we don't want to accept that this is the way it's meant to be. We want to inflict our own perceptions on it and invent God's, spirits and moral codes on it in order to reconcile it in our own minds. As a result of this we refuse to accept that there are simply creatures out there that happen to enjoy eating babies, or that the impaling of thousands of people on spikes is a valid terror tactic. We are terrified that, in that position, we might do the same thing so we call him evil and as such we feel better because that makes us better than him.”

“So in short what you're saying is that we need the terms “Good” and “Evil” in order to make ourselves feel better about ourselves.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Kerrass made a non-committal noise.

“I take it you don't agree.”

“No, I don't think I do.”

“That's good because I don't like it either. Which I suppose, in a roundabout way, also proves that that argument is true.”

Kerrass smiled.

“So good and evil are abstract concepts that we have invented so that we can make sense of an otherwise chaotic world.”

“Yes,”

Kerrass sat in silence for a long time.

“I have another answer for you.”

“Oh yes?”

“Evil happens in small moments. Just small moments, tiny little ones. It happens in the form of a decision. It can be a big decision or a small decision. But what's important is that you have plenty of time to make that decision. The evil happens when an otherwise normal person makes the decision to harm others for their own ends. Not for the good of the kingdom, survival or for the good of their children but purely for selfish reasons. Any man can commit murder on behalf of their children and I would say, in times like the recent wars where famine and disease has hit the continent hard and people have had to make lots of hard decisions upon which their, or their families survival depends. But when you harm others to satisfy your own ambitions, or greeds or comforts. That is evil. But also, evil is when you force otherwise good men to commit evil actions. That is also evil.”

I nodded.

“Why did you bring this up Kerrass?”

(Frederick's note: I'll hand over to Kerrass here)

Because I saw an evil man.

I decided to kill Alphonse, the priest next.

It's not really that big a secret as to why the decision was made that way round. I hated that man. I mean I really hated him.

Erick and Alphonse were the two men out of that group that I didn't really understand. The Prince was a prince and I was still a Northern man enough to think that royalty was a kind of breed apart. That they had their own reasons and their own methods for doing things. It never even crossed my mind that the prince might not know what he was doing when he commissioned that expedition out to another country. The venture was a risky one. He had been quite right to comment that if the villagers here had been feeling more belligerent then he wouldn't have survived the journey. He was lucky that he had made it out alive.

The other guards were just following orders and their princes example. He demeaned the Princess and as such he allowed them to do the same. That was no excuse of course but at the same time... I understood that.

I had hated Erick though. When I thought about all the horrible things that were done to the Princess it was Erick's face that came to mind. His pale, sweaty face as he licked his lips while thinking of degrading and humiliating that girl. Now though, I was free of that as Erick was dead.

But Alphonse? He must have known what was going to happen. He was prepared. He had the tools of his trade, the candles and the book and the vestments to conduct the marriage ceremony. He must have known what the whole thing was about. And he took money to do it.

In many ways, sitting here now in the calm day light of a Tavern tap-room, Erick's sin was cleaner than Alphonse's sin. Erick didn't know what was going to happen when we got to the castle. He wanted the treasure, he had spoken about the many wonderful things that he was going to buy when he got back, laden down with the wealth of a kingdom that he imagined that he could carry back with him in his saddle-bags. He had been as amazed and astonished as the rest of us when he had seen what the Prince's treasure actually was and had been driven to madness at the sight.

But Alphonse knew.

I wanted to know his reasons. Why would a priest do something like that. Why would a priest allow someone to take advantage of a helpless young girl in that way. Some might argue, and they have, that the Prince ordered him to do it. But to that I would always argue that Alphonse had been able to argue, successfully, for more money. He had been bribed to do this thing. To give the Prince's crime that thin veneer of legitimacy.

There was a commotion after Erick was found dead. It all happened surprisingly quickly really. The following day, when he didn't appear for his normal descent into drunkenness and debauchery the locals asked each other where he could have got himself off to. They held a brief discussion, came to the conclusion that Erick must have gotten drunk and fallen and hurt himself. A search party set out along the path from the village back to the cottage and they found him soon enough. I hadn't gone to any particular lengths to conceal my crime and they wondered over what they found.

The general consensus was that Erick had tried to force himself on someone's daughter or wife while in a state of drunkenness and that the woman's husband, father or brother sought out their revenge. I did have a little chuckle at myself when the guard were summoned and this theory was underlined by the fact that the stabbing stroke to the stomach was so inexpertly done.

They were right. I hadn't thrust so much as just held my sword out for Erick to run on to.

The town and the castle was always full of strangers however and nearly all of us were armed in one form or another. It was also thought that since Erick's disappearance, any number of merchants or travellers had departed and as such it was decided that catching the criminal was almost certainly a wasted effort. The story of Erick's life was decided as that of a good man, ending badly. Various people said that they chose to remember him as the man he used to be before the “demon drink” got hold of him.

The irony that this was said in the tavern when the same “demon drink” was being served and drunk with abandon was not lost on me.

Alphonse was the priest of a small church from a nearby town. This in and of itself was a little surprising. I had been lead to believe that Alphonse was the castle chaplain of Duke Bertrand but this turned out to not be the case. Instead he spent his time ministering to his flock from a small stone church in a nearby town.

Having asked around, Alphonse spent a lot of his time at prayer and had a habit of inviting people to come and pray with him. Predictably a large number of these people seemed to be young and pretty. The church in question seemed to be going from strength to strength. There was a small monastery attached to it which was populated by a small number of monks who kept themselves to themselves and seemed to do precious little else other than pray and disappoint the locals. It was one of the peculiarities of the south that they liked their religious people to be heavily involved in the community, working the fields, helping out with the elderly, looking after the sick and teaching the children and so on. But these monks stayed in their cloister.

There was also a large and well appointed rectory for Alphonse where he entertained many guests. The locals proudly claimed that many important men came by, nobles and travelling clergymen who would spend some time “in prayer” with the Reverend Alphonse before moving on.

Alphonse seemed to have an inexhaustible fund of money from which he drew considerable funds in an effort to further his goals. All the locals saw was his generosity in providing more and more things for their aid and local prestige but in my cynicism and dislike for the man, what I saw was an ambitious young priest who wasn't willing to make time and hard work lift him up the ranks of the southern church of the sun.

(Frederick's note: I don't know much about the prevalent religion of the area other than general things but generally at the time the Nilfgaardians were getting together to form the “Cult of the eternal sun” which would go on to form their more famous heraldic device. From there they started to see their Emperors as being personifications of the Sun. Whether this deification of their leaders was to put their claim beyond doubt or not? I'll leave to you.)

The locals were beginning to refer to Alphonse as “Bishop” Alphonse and one of the local woodcarvers was in the process of carving a large and ornate wooden “Bishops throne” for this purpose. Apparently all it took in those early days of the sun cult was a throne and a church to call a man a bishop and Alphonse intended to take good advantage of it.

The entire thing made me sick.

As far as I could see, Alphonse was simply an ambitious man who wanted to climb up the ranks before his time. He had taken the money that he was given and either invested it wisely to see considerable returns or was now using that money and his influence to become a great man.

I hated him. I wanted to kill him. But almost as much as I wanted to talk to the Prince. I wanted to talk to this man. I wanted to find out why. Why had he done this? Why would a priest stoop to this kind of thing? There were and are plenty of ways for an ambitious man to make his way in the world but in the priesthood. I struggled with that.

I wondered if it had been her beauty that had corrupted him, in the same way that it seemed to have driven Erick mad.

Or was it simply that the Prince had found his price. All men have one it is said and I wondered if they had simply found his. It was not a pleasant thought that one.

I had left Alphonse a note a little bit before I was actually able to catch up to him. I was confident of his ability to read but what I wasn't prepared for was just how popular he had managed to make himself in his local area. No sooner had I managed to creep into his house and leave him a note on his desk with a knife driven through it so that it wouldn't be mistaken for just another piece of paper than he had the entire countryside out and hunting for my blood.

I'm not ashamed of saying that I fled. He was promising salvation in heaven in return for my head and as he had spent the year since I had seen him last whipping the surrounding area into a religious frenzy, they were fair falling over themselves in an effort to see me dead.

I had some other things that I could be doing. I still wasn't satisfied as to the proper locations of the Prince and a couple of the guards that had accompanied us. Two of them were still in the Duke's service but I had some leads to hunt down on the other two.

I managed to wait for a month before I turned my horse's head back for him. A whole month waiting for his death. He had resorted to using threats and innocents to protect himself so I had no qualms at all about torturing him to death. I was also concerned that if he were to get more important, what else would he be capable of before I finally managed to catch up with him.

He was still terrified however, even after a month so I had to hunt him in the same way that I would hunt any other kind of monster. I put myself in his shoes which meant that I felt dirty but at the same time I needed to see results.

His followers were still looking for me and if there was ever something to confirm my opinions that this man needed to die then it was visible in his followers. People were neglecting their other tasks... I want to say duties.... to look for me. They were doing this at the urging of the priest and so, the blacksmith wasn't doing his work. Instead he was guarding Alphonse. The hunters weren't hunting game and skinning it for hides.

They were combing the trees and woods, looking for me. The Duke had sent some guards to look after him and they guarded Alphonse in his rectory and his church, both of which had been converted into veritable fortresses so as to keep me out. I even looked into whether or not I could sneak into either and catch Alphonse unprepared before coming to the conclusion that I could... and I could kill Alphonse while doing it. But he would certainly shriek or call for help which would mean that I would end up killing a guard or two on my way out, presuming I survived the adventure at all.

So I settled down to think. The searchers had passed my hiding spot so I was able to camp there in relative comfort and spend some time plotting.

What are the roots of corruption? What are the things that you use to corrupt a man?

Those were the things that I thought to myself.

The most obvious thing was money. But in this case? Alphonse had plenty of money. He was taking in huge sums of money from already taxed peasants. He also had the, not small amount of money that was brought to him by his visitors and other “donations” that more than satisfied his needs. I would later find out that he was spending a large amount of money in bribes in an effort to climb up the hierarchy of the cult of the Sun.

So I discounted money. If he was living in a more...rich area where the cost of living would be higher then I could accept that as well.

But he wasn't.

The next thing that is used to corrupt people then. Power? Influence? He was pursuing these things but they weren't that...He was already well on with them. He was already delivering bribes and talking to whoever they consider the “right” people to be in these kinds of situations. Powerful men and women were already making the time to come and visit him as they passed through the Duke's domain.

So what was left.

I'm afraid the answer was sex.

Regardless of what some people might say, sex is important. There might be some snickering but it is something that defines us, defines all sentient beings. The elves hate humans because of sex. Humans do it all their lives with a relatively high success rate whereas elves do it rarely during a particular period in their lives and their success rate is small. So they hate humans because they are grasping the truth that sooner or later there will be no more room for them because humanity has simply out-bred them. Some elves see this and have made efforts to integrate and breed with humans to ensure their survival. But many simply take solace in their hatred.

Alphonse was definitely not asexual. He had been just as...aroused by the prospect of the helpless princess as any of the other guards. So I reasoned that he would still want this. That he would also look for beauty to satisfy that part of himself.

So I did a bit of scouting around. I wasn't able to ask as many questions as I would have liked for fear that sight of me would result in people seeking my death. I found that there were several young and beautiful people around the area so I watched, and I waited for the opportunity.

I was extraordinarily lucky in many ways that this worked out. If I had seen Alphonse actually assaulting someone I'm not sure I would have been able to wait for another circumstance. I would have waded in, sword swinging and damn what happened next.

It was a farmer's lad that was Alphonse's undoing in the end. I watched them from a distance. As best as I could tell Alphonse had seen the lad while visiting the farmer in an effort to cajole more money or goods out of the father but that happened before I returned to the area. It was like a game of chicken. The most disgusting and reprehensible game of chicken that you can imagine. Alphonse would get closer and closer to the young man. Sometimes he would watch from a distance as the lad was busy tying hay bundles for movement off for fodder for the horses. Sometimes he would get close on some excuse or another, wanting to talk, exchange words or small pieces of advice.

As I watched I began to wonder if Alphonse even knew what he was doing. He was like a moth who had seen the flame. He knew that the flame would burn him but at the same time he couldn't keep himself away.

The lad was young. Muscled from his days working hard at the farm under his father's watchful gaze. Unruly blonde hair under a square jawed face. Blue eyes still showing the sign of innocence by which I mean he was still ignorant of the effect that he had on the local young girls. Just on the cusp of when girls change from being icky into fascinating. It was summer at this point so the lad was working hard, often sweaty and his clothing clung to his body in ways that passing women found interesting.

As did Alphonse as it happens.

I was watching. Always Watching.

Alphonse was never without his guards. Somewhere between two to four men. Only the basics of armaments. Arming jackets and pot helms carrying clubs and hay-forks rather than sword and spear but it wasn't that I was afraid of them. Far from it. It would be laughably easy for me to jump in the middle of them and cut them down like the local farmers would cut down their crops with a scythe. But these men were victims of Alphonse's corruption just as much as the Princess was. Killing them would be just as wrong. If it came to it and it was a choice between them who had chosen to guard Alphonse and the life or innocence of this young lad then I would happily make that choice. But only if I was forced into it.

I waited, and I watched. All the while Alphonse got closer and closer to his target. To his victim.

I never found out if the lad's father began to suspect anything. I did notice that the lad stopped going to the chapel to pray and attend services. I couldn't find out why but he could be seen angrily throwing bales of hay around as if they had done something to offend him.

I guessed that a crisis point was happening.

I watched and I waited.

Alphonse's path took him out to the farm and the lad fair shot across the fields towards the priests party. I wasn't quick enough to hear what was said but he spoke with Alphonse quickly and insistently for a few moments before the farmer bellowed something that I didn't catch. The lad ran off after a rather more hurried exchange with the priest who then walked back down the hill.

I watched, waited and made my preparations.

It started to get dark. There were still some rumours of “yellow-eyed demons” in the area so people thought it was better to be safe than sorry. They finished work and went home, doors were locked and windows shuttered. The more extreme people put lines of salt around the entrances to the homes (a precaution that I always found laughable) and left out saucers of milk. (A thing that only works in a particular corner of the north. Never laugh at this as the threat is very real but as it only works against these things. Do not think it will protect you unless you know it will protect you. No I will not tell you what it protects you from as to speak their name is to draw them to you.) Of the two players, I elected to watch the farm. The lad was innocent. Painfully so and like all who have lost theirs I found that I was driven to protect that innocence. I took up a position and waited.

The sun sank towards the horizon and sure enough. Just as it was seriously beginning to get dark, the shutters on one of the windows began to open. Carefully. Far too slowly they opened and the young man emerged. I dread to think how stuffy and unpleasant it was in that house and he took a moment to enjoy the air before sealing the shutters behind him. He lit a torch and set out. At first he moved quickly, presumably to distance himself from the farm house but then he slowed down to a more normal pace as he left a path between the fields and started to cross some of the pasture land to where there was a barn or shelter of some kind. A simple store house that needs to be built occasionally when it is better that some things are kept sheltered and away from the elements.

There was a light there. Quite a lot of light in fact.

When I was sure that that was where the lad was going, I sped past him towards the building and made my entrance as quietly as I could. What I wanted to do was to sneak in and abduct Alphonse before the lad arrived but I was too slow, or the lad sped up when he saw the building.

I got in and climbed into the roof of the building so that I could watch. My sword was drawn and lay on the beam next to me. There were no signs of any guards. My plan changed. I didn't want to involve the lad if I could possibly get away with it, so I waited.

Alphonse was already there. He had lit several candles which he had set around the place as well as having a large symbol of the everlasting sun. The blatant disregard for fire safety aside, he seemed impatient. On edge as it were.

The lad rushed into the candlelight.

“Sorry I'm late father.” he said a little breathlessly.

“It's alright my son, it's alright. Take a moment to get your breath back.” Alphonse put his hand on the lads shoulder in what I supposed he thought looked like a caring gesture. It made my skin crawl.

The lad nodded and took several deep breaths.

“Now,” Alphonse said after a long moment. “You said that you wanted to talk to me about something.”

He spoke slowly, carefully drawing out every syllable. His tone was low and careful. I guessed that he had practised this in an effort to sound more...priestly, more authoritative.

“Yes father.”

“Come then. Tell me what has you so afraid.”

Alphonse took the boys hand and led him over to a hay bale where they sat. I wondered if it was my imagination that made the distance between Alphonse and the boy seem too close to be proper.

“I'm afraid father.”

“Of what my son?”

“I'm afraid of my father.”

“Why?”

Alphonse had raised his hand, almost to the point of touching the lad's hair or face. I gathered myself to jump down but Alphonse himself changed his mind and stood.

“I...I haven't been able to come to chapel recently.”

“Yes. Your absence has been noticed.” The priest made his voice seem dark and dreadful. “Your soul is imperilled my son. I needs to be seen in the light of the sun so that your sins be cleansed in the light. So no darkness may hide in the corners of your soul.”

“I know that father I know. And I tell Dad all that but he won't let me come to the chapel any more.”

“I see. Does he tell you why not?”

“He says that I have work to do. He says that the harvest needs to be prepared for or none of us will be able to eat over the following year. That we won't be able to pay our taxes or our tithe to the church. He says that we would lose our home if I don't work.”

The lad was getting agitated.

“But I tell him. I do father, I tell him that it doesn't matter if we get kicked off our land if our souls are in peril.”

“You do right my son. We must see to our souls above all other things.”

“I think he might be in league with the yellow-eyed demon.” The boy whispered the words as though he was afraid of the very sound that they made.

“Why is that my son?”

“He keeps us from our worship father. He doesn't let us join in the hunt for that most dark of creatures. He keeps us from our proper duties (he pronounced it doo-tees) to the church and to you father. Why else would he do that?”

“Mmm.” Alphonse lifted his hand to his mouth. “You do right to bring this to my attention my son.”

I watched as a thought struck the priest. “I will do what I can to help you and to help your father but I will need your help to do it. I cannot do it without you.”

“I will do it father.”

“You will?”

“Anything Father. How could I bathe in the sun's eternal light without my father. How can I know true happiness if that same is kept from the rest of my family.”

“You are a good and dutiful boy my son. Come, pray with me now.”

Again, Alphonse took the lad by the hand and led him back into the candlelight. It was warm in the barn and I could see clearly that the lad was sweating. Again, causing his thin, night time clothes to stick to his body. The lad knelt and Alphonse placed his hand upon the boy's head.

After he read through the blessing they started to pray. I say pray but what actually happened was that the boy knelt in the centre of that circle of light while Alphonse walked around him in a circle calling out things for the lad to repeat.

I was not a student of the scripture of the holy sun back then and I cannot remember a lot of it now. The cult of the holy sun has since been absorbed into the cult of personality surrounding the Emperor but I remember thinking that Alphonse was making it up as he went along.

The circles that his foot-steps made changed size almost continuously. He would get closer and closer almost to the point of reaching out for the lad. I would grip my sword and make ready to jump down before he would seem to change his mind and the circle would increase in size.

That poor lad though. He believed so completely that I had no doubt that he was honestly praying for his fathers soul and trying to save that self-same soul from damnation. All the while his “priest” seemed to be feeding off that worship.

I was caught in the same spectacle. It took me a while to see it but see it I did. The entire ritual was sexual in nature. Alphonse was getting closer and closer before moving back and prolonging his pleasure. The sick fuck was actually getting physical pleasure from this. I saw him once. He was so fast that you could barely catch it, it must have been a skill that he was practising that as he walked, beneath his cassock or robe, he would occasionally shake himself, shiver almost. I realised that what he was doing was adjusting his genitalia.

My face must have been horrible. I was gritting my teeth with the effort of not jumping down into the barn. I still didn't want to destroy the lad's innocence.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

But then Alphonse jerked. Went rigid and almost shook for a moment before breathing deeply.

“Father?” the lad said. “Are you alright?”

“Forgive me my son. The spirit of the holy sun was upon me.”

I lost my shit.

I managed to do so in a relatively controlled manner but at the same time I knew perfectly well what had happened. The tension in that place, the proximity of a young, beautiful individual being completely in his spell, under his control. All of that had brought him to a climax.

I moved off the ceiling beam and landed on the dirt floor. Two strides later and I drove my fist into Alphonse's stomach. It was a cold fury though, how dare he? Regardless of what you think of religion, what had just happened was wrong. Alphonse doubled over as the breath left his body in a whoosh. I brought my sword pommel down on the back of his head and he collapsed.

The lad looked up from his position of prayer and his moth fell open.

“The demon with yellow eyes.” He whispered.

To his defence I must have been terrifying. A dark figure descending from the ceiling with my yellow Witcher eyes shining in the reflected candlelight. My expression can't have helped. I took a breath to calm myself but the lad left me no time to calm down as he charged me, arms out stretched.

“You killed Father Alphonse,” he bellowed.

There was a moment, just a small moment where I had time to realise that I was flying through the air as he bundled me off my feet.

I was lucky though. He had little training and I was able to roll as we fell so that I ended up on top of him.

“Careful you fool or you'll have us all on fire.” I yelled at him.

I climbed off him and stamped the small flame that was beginning to lick at the hay from where we had knocked a candle over.

He wasn't listening though and bellowed as he charged again. But this time I was ready for him. A half turn and a push sent him staggering away. I had let my sword fall when he had first hit me and I scooped it up with my foot and held it out so that the point faced him.

“I don't want to hurt you boy.”

“You killed Father Alphonse,” he snarled he began to circle me. I kept my sword pointing towards him as he moved. He bent and picked up one of the candles that was still lit and brandished it at me.

“Begone demon. I may not be a priest but I still know the... the exercism.”

I sighed, in what I hoped came across as a very human kind of exasperation. “Flicking my wrist I snuffed the candle out with my sword. “It's pronounced “exorcism” son. It won't work but if it will make you feel better, go right ahead.”

He started to say some words. Put together correctly they might have come to some kind of banishment spell... but I doubt it.

He stopped speaking when Alphonse gave an incredible groan.

“Listen,” I said after a while. “Will you just listen?”

“I won't listen to you demon.”

“Not a demon. Just a Witcher. But regardless. Go and fetch your Dad for me. Tell him everything and then bring him back here.”

“And leave you alone with Father Alphonse?”

“Alphonse and I are old friends.”

“Do you greet all your old friends like that?”

“Only the ones I hate. Listen... Go and fetch your Dad. Tell him he can bring as many men as he likes but I mean him, and you no harm. I promise that I will not harm Alphonse....”

“Father Alphonse,” the boy corrected.

“Oh no,” I let my anger show for a minute. “He is no-one's father.” I took another calming breath. “I will not harm him. I will, however tie him up to wait for your Dads arrival.”

“How do I know you won't kill him in the meantime?”

“You don't. But on the other end of the scale. If I wanted to kill him, do you think you could stop me?”

I was pleased. He was still thinking calmly and rationally despite the fear and anger that he was displaying.

He darted out into the night.

“Take a lantern or something.” I shouted out after him. “You won't do anyone any good if you fall and break your neck while you're running.”

He sheepishly returned, took up a lantern and sped off. I watched the bobbing light for a few minutes.”

“We're alone Al,” I said. You can stop pretending now.”

The priest didn't move.

“Let me make things very clear.” I said after a while. “I hate you with a considerable passion. You did not take up my challenge which means that I have absolutely no qualms about torturing you to death. If you do not wake up and start talking to me I'm going to take one of those candles and pour molten wax into your open eyes.”

Alphonse groaned and tried to sit up.

“Begone demon.” He tried.

“Try harder Al.”

He sat up properly and glared at me.

“What do you want Witcher?” He spat the word Witcher as though it was some kind of ultimate insult.

“What do I want? Interesting question. I dearly want to torture you to death but for now I'm going to settle for tying you up.” I grabbed him by the collar of his cassock and dragged him over to the pillar of the barn where I tied him securely using some of the string that tied together some of the hay bales.

He screamed and yelled throughout the entire process.

“Oh be quiet.” I snapped eventually. “It's not that tight and believe me, I know how to tie someone up. Also if I wanted to hurt you, you would know about it.”

“Is that meant to be reassuring.”

“Not in the least. What it is meant to do is to get you to be quiet for a moment while I work.”

He started screaming for help. I grabbed his arm and elevated it in a direction that nature didn't agree with and he groaned in pain.

“See what I mean?” I let him go and he subsided. I finished his bonds, dragged over a hay bale and sat on it facing him.

“So what do you want Witcher?”

“Your death. But I think that that ship has sailed. So instead I want you to answer a couple of questions.”

“What's in it for me to answer them?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Then why should I answer them.”

“No reason.”

I stared at him for a long time. At first he was defiant but gradually I saw him begin to shrink in on himself.

“Why?” I asked him

“Why what?”

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

I sighed.

“You know, out of all the people who went with us on the expedition into the valley of Thorns to get the Princes “treasure” you are the one that I can't understand. To be fair it was you and Erick but I know what happened with Erick now. He saw the Princess and lost his mind. He went looking for some actual treasure and instead went mad. That expedition cost him everything.”

“Which one was Erick again?”

I nearly killed him. My hands actually clenched with the desire to close around his throat. I took a couple of calming breaths.

“The other soldiers...” I stopped and swallowed. “The other soldiers were just following orders. I don't know but I think they were just swept up in the entire thing but you.... you must have known why we were going there. You must have known that you were going to perform a marriage ceremony. You must have known that what you did... what we did was wrong. But you did it anyway. I want, I need to know why.”

“I don't expect you to understand.”

“Try me.”

“You are a godless, deviant, mutant freak. A veritable crime against nature. Who are you to decide what is right and what is wrong? Who are you to sit in judgement over me? You want to know my reasons? We know what your reasons were. You were paid. So what elevates you above me. Why are you right and I am wrong?”

“Even if all that was true. I have the same answer a soldier does. I was paid. But then, knowing that, I have come to make it right.”

“Heh. You were paid. So was I.”

“Yes you were. But you are a priest. You are supposed to be better than the rest of us. We went there in ignorance of what was waiting for us but you... you had a choice. You cannot tell me that it was right and according to the teachings of the holy sun. That deity that you are so quick to worship. I know for a fact that marriage is supposed to be a joining of two souls. Not the forcing of one on another. You must have known that it was wrong but you did it anyway.”

“And look what has happened since then. I have taken the money. Yes, taken all of that money that I was given and I have given it back to the people. The people of this land knew nothing of the Holy sun before I came here. I have saved their souls Witcher. I have gone amongst the heretics and brought the light of the sun into their lives. I have saved them. I serve them. Not some Lord. Not some...holier than I Witcher. I serve them. I serve the sun.”

“You serve yourself.” I snarled. “I saw what just happened there. That boy was not the first was he. You relish your power over them. They're neglecting their tasks. Neglecting the harvest. Even now, some people are in danger of starvation because you had them out looking for me. You are a priest. You are supposed to protect us. Guide us away from evil and into the light. Whether that's the holy sun of the south or the Sacred fire of the north. But you did the deal with the evil. You had that girl in your power. You legitimised that crime and your excuse is that you did an evil thing so that you could do better for more people?”

“I said you wouldn't understand...freak.”

“You know what? I'm glad I don't understand.”

“She was not a girl Witcher. That was the thing. She wasn't a girl she was just a thing. An object. A culmination of all human desire. Physical and spiritual. She is a toy, a plaything. You could not rape her in the same way that you could not rape a tree or a stone. People talk about the magical curse that exists on that place and around that place but it's all nonsense. Magic, yes but who would be so....arrogant who would hate so much that they would curse an entire Kingdom because of the existence of one beautiful girl. That entire place was an example of the evils of magic. I bet that if you look into it you would find that she... that it was the result of some Mage's experimentation. That a mage decided that he wanted a perfect girl, a perfect thing to slake their unnatural lusts on before it went wrong. The evil was already there.

“Yes, I took payment. I took payment from a stupid Prince who had fallen under the spell of a magical device. He will pay for that sin in hell. But I took his money and created a place where the holy sun is properly revered.”

I nodded. “You are just as mad as Erick was. She was no mere thing, priest. She was breathing. She had a pulse. Also, I notice that her status as a magical deviant didn't stop you from raping her or marrying that self same prince to her.”

“Alas, that I am a weak man sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” I could hear people approaching. “Even if I accepted what you say as truth. Even if I accepted that moral argument that you did nothing wrong in forcing a marriage on an unconscious girl because it wasn't a girl at all. You had a young boy in your power in this very barn. A young man. You drew him in. You... you seduced him and then took your pleasure from him. He wasn't a thing, a toy for you to slake your thirsts on.”

“I was his spiritual guide...”

“If you were doing nothing wrong then why did you meet him in secret?”

“He asked me to. He told me to keep it secret.”

“That's all well and good on his end. But what about your guards. Why are they not protecting you. You came out here, in the evening when you were aware that I was around and you did your....whatever that was supposed to be without guards. What's your excuse?”

Alphonse had no answer.

There was shouting now and I stood up and went to meet the approaching men. I took up my sword and held it out by the blade in an effort to show that I meant no harm.

The farmer appeared to have brought a good number of the various farm hands that were staying in his stables and in various parts of the farm itself and were carrying an assortment of weapons that would have been laughable on a battlefield but when you're facing them by yourself in a circle of firelight, they look wicked, sharp and unpleasant. They were carrying torches, because of course they were carrying torches.

The farmer stepped forward. His son beside him and seeing me he sighed and scratched his head.

“A Witcher then.” he called to me.

“Just so,” I answered still holding my sword upside down.

“Not a demon?”

“Not as far as I know.”

The man nodded.

“Don't listen to him father. He's a demon. He attacked Father Alphonse.”

“Quiet boy.” The father spoke without anger or inflection. I gathered that it was an often used phrase even though the boy was no longer really a child. “Is that true then Witcher? Did you attack Father Alphonse?”

“Oh yes.” I carefully put my sword away doing my best to appear nonchalant. “I punched him good and hard in the gut. I enjoyed it too.”

I saw a couple of people in the crowd hiding smirks behind their hands and decided that I was out of immediate danger. I have found that a mob is most likely to attack in the opening seconds of a confrontation. Anything after that and their blood starts to cool and they start to think along the lines of “someone's going to get hurt if we all rush that man and I don't want it to be me so I'm just going to hang back over here, well out of the way.

“May I ask why?” the farmer asked carefully. I gathered that he had also begun to sense the changing mood of his companions.

“Why are you talking to him Dad? He's evil.”

“Quiet boy.”

“Dad?”

The farmer gave me a look that seemed to communicate Paternal exasperation. “Franklin?”

“Yes Dad?” Another, older lad stepped from the crowd. He was carrying a scythe over his shoulder and was hugely muscled.

“Hold onto your brother for me would you? Just while I talk to the Witcher here.”

“Yes dad.” Franklin stepped forward and grabbed the younger boy by the scruff of the neck and hauled him back into the crowd.

“Take him back to the farm house while I deal with this.”

“Yes Dad.”

“But Dad?”

The sound of brotherly love gradually faded into the night.

“His mother will be worrying.” The farmer said to me.

“I understand.”

“They call me Farmer Mott.”

“Kerrass of Maecht.”

“So, my own personal feelings about the man not withstanding but Father Alphonse is an important man in these parts. So why did you attack him?”

“Did your son tell you what was happening in the barn?”

“He did. He said that he had come out here to pray with the Father.”

“That's what he did. Father Alphonse had a different idea.”

“I see.” I could see the farmer fighting to keep his cool. “I take it you have proof of this. Not that I disbelieve you but he's a priest and you're...well...”

“A dirty mutant freak?”

“I couldn't have put it better myself.”

“I dare say that if you look up the front of his cassock you will see what I mean.”

“Are you trying to be funny Witcher?”

“Not in the least. I found it rather...He didn't touch your son. He wanted to but in the end it was too much. He...”

“I see. Watch him lads. I'm going to talk with the good Father.”

He walked past me and I waited. There were some words exchanged and some ripping cloth sounds.

The farmer walked back out. He was pale.

“You uh...” he took out a piece of cloth and mopped his brow. “You couldn't have stopped it sooner?”

“I will admit that I could have. But I thought that I might hurt your son in some way.”

“My son was lost to me a while ago. My own fault too, trying to get him some learning. Seeing if he could get a better life for himself. But where do you send a lad like that when he's clearly twice as clever as you are and bored with everything you show him.”

“I can't pretend to understand what you're going through sir.”

“Don't call me “sir” Witcher. I work for my living.”

I let myself grin. This wasn't the time to be the stoic Witcher.

“You weren't to know.” I told him. “You were trying to do right by your son. It's just that in this case, your local priest was a piece of scum who thinks of people as objects to use for his own pleasure.

The farmer nodded.

“Thank you for your kind words Witcher but I should have stepped in sooner. You had prior business with the priest?”

“I did.”

“What was it?”

“He was party to a rape. A rape of someone I care about.”

The farmer's eyes flashed. “Then I suspect you share my views.”

“I might.” I answered. “He must never be allowed to...prey on anyone again.”

The farmer nodded. “My son will never forgive me.”

“Then blame me.”

“No. I think that my son would never forgive me, whatever happens.” He took another breath. “I agree with you Witcher. Kill him quickly, then we'll burn the place down. Nothing will be said. Meet us at the farm house. The least I can do is feed you and send you on your way with a good breakfast.”

I nodded and strode back into the barn.

Alphonse sat there, back to the beam. His cassock had been torn up to his naval and the inner parts of his robe were indeed wet and glistening. He looked pitiful.

“I never touched the boy Witcher. I never touched him.” He blubbered at me. He had obviously been crying for some time. Tears and snot streaking his face.

“I know Al. I know.” My hate had been leached away from me and all I felt now was a kind of pity. Pity and shame. “I will kill you quickly Al, a better woman than us both insisted on it. If it exists, your God can judge you.”

I drove my dagger through his eye socket and into his brain. As far as I could tell, he died instantly.

The farm hands were already stacking straw and fire wood around the barn and dousing it with oil as I walked out. I was on the way to collect my horse when there was a kind of Woomph noise and the night's sky glowed orange with flame.

I spent the night with the Farmer drinking scrumpy. A liquid which made my eyes water despite his seeming ability to drink the stuff by the pint. His wife was upstairs in tears with a couple of his daughters. The place was in an uproar. The young boy who was the cause of the entire problem had been locked inside a store-room for fear that he might do something to hurt himself as he had tried to grab a Kitchen knife and attack his elder brother. The elder brother seeming, and I say this without meaning insult, to lack the imagination and intelligence necessary to worry about such matters had taken the knife away without comment and thrown the boy into the store-room. In the morning I was fed and was getting ready to go while also listening to the family try to talk some sense into the boy.

They were unsuccessful.

He was calling them all demons and the spawn of the devil. The fact that I had eaten in their kitchen that morning didn't seem to be helping anyone at all and I was in the process of making myself scarce when the farmer came out to say goodbye.

He was obviously upset.

“I just don't know what to do with him Witcher. That Alphonse has got his claws into him good and proper and, well his mother's beside himself. He's calling us all demons and such like and...well, I tug me forelock towards the sun in the morning as much as the next man but he's taken it to an extreme.”

I remember looking away for a moment. I wanted to be back on the road so badly that I could taste it. I had just murdered a priest and although the locals seemed relatively OK with that I was a bit disconcerted by the fact that I seemed to be treated like an honoured guest.

“Here's a thought.” I suggested. “I'm on my way to a monastery now. Small place about two days ride away. The Father Abbot is supposed to be a good man and a man of the world. How about I take the lad with me. He won't enjoy himself and there's a real possibility that he won't come back and end up staying. He also won't enjoy the journey as I'm pretty sure that he will try to escape me or kill me and will have to take precautions that he will not enjoy, but...”

“Would you do that Witcher?”

I remember distinctly wondering who had suggested such a blatantly stupid idea.

“Least I could do.”

I was delayed another few hours while a mule was found and the boys mother insisted on packing the lads clothes.

Of course it went wrong. How could it not?

In the end the farmer had to physically hold his wife back while I tied the boy to his mule. He was lucky that I kept him in a sitting position. I also had to gag him to keep from being bitten. I waved farewell and we trotted off down the road.

Longest three days of my life. There have been some close ones but those three days were something else entirely.

A two day ride turned into three days of hell. The boy, whose name turned out to be Jack, screamed and shouted. Pleaded and scolded. He tried to escape four times. Each time I promised myself that I wouldn't go after him but I had made a promise after all and I brought him back. One time I did so while holding him by the ankle.

When he wasn't gagged he would sing hymns loudly or pray, equally as loudly until eventually he passed out from exhaustion. That happened sooner than I might like as he refused to take water or food from my hand or that I had cooked.

I took to just travelling through the night as I could see and Jack was tied to his mule.

We arrived on the morning of the fourth day. I was tired, dirty and grumpy.

Jack for his part finally shut up when he saw where we were going.

“You're taking me to a church?”

“A monastery actually?”

“Why? Are they some kind of cultist monks who are summoning dark forces?”

“You know what Jack? The way you keep talking about that kind of thing, I'm beginning to think that you actually want me to hand you over to sinister cultists. Good morning.”

I said this last to a monk who came out of the buildings to take my horses bridle.

He waved cheerily, pointed to himself before placing his finger across his lips.

“Vow of silence?” I guessed.

The monk nodded happily and made a gesture which I took to mean waiting.

I hauled Jack out of his saddle and held onto him with one hand to prevent him from running off. I had learned from previous mistakes but I was probably safe. He was gawking.

An older man came out of the main building. He was stooped with a hunched back and walked with astonishing speed and the aid of a stout walking stick.

“Witcher,” he greeted me with a large and hearty shout. “It's been a while since we've had so obvious a heathen come to visit us.”

As I say, he was old, his face was misshapen and hideously ugly. He was bald but a curtain of long white hair ran around the back and sides of his head. He also wore a beard which was equally long and as snowy white. His eyes were crinkled as though he looked at the world with much amusement and he smiled often. In many ways he reminded me of your (Frederick: my) Father Jerome.

“You'll have to forgive our lack of hospitality. Most of the others are out in the fields at the moment.”

“Any hospitality at all is a welcome change.” I managed feeling a little buffeted by the sheer charisma emanating from the small wizened man.

“I am Father Abbot Radulfas.” he sketched the outline of a courtly vow.

“Kerrass of Maecht Father Abbot.”

The Abbot cackled loudly.

“You're no more from Maecht than I am a comely young maiden.” he said. “Northern Kingdoms I would say but who am I to question it. And who is this?”

I was still holding him by the scruff of the neck.

“Devil Worshipper. Demon. Filth and unholy thing.” the lad spat at the Abbot.

“I see. Your latest apprentice then Witcher? He seems well suited to the task.” The Abbott grinned. “You'd better come inside. Take your boots off though. They've got this horrible thing about bathing each others feet when you enter into the place here. Old tradition apparently, always seemed dreadfully unhygienic to me. Come on this way.”

As I say, he walked with astonishing speed and I had to scramble to keep up.

The same monk that took our horses had a basin of water, some soap and a towel. We sat and he scrubbed at our toes. The monk expertly wrangled Jack into a seated position and I fancy he could have cleaned that boys feet even if I hadn't been restraining him.

“We go barefoot here Witcher and Young master Devil.” The Abbot chatted gaily as the younger monk worked. The stone is cold at first but you soon get used to it.

“I am not the devil here.” Jack insisted. “Why do you call me Devil?”

“That's how you introduced yourself. I asked your name and you said “Devil Worshipper. Demon. Filth and unholy thing.” I think I've got that right anyway. Was that what he said?”

“I think that's what he said.” I found I was enjoying myself.

“'Unusual names,' I thought to myself but there you go. If those are your names then that is what I shall call you young master Devil. Come along.” He lead us down a corridor and into an office. There were several large and comfortable arm-chairs with rugs underfoot in front of a roaring fire. The stone walls did indeed give the place a kind of chilly atmosphere and the fire was needed. There was also a desk with a strange stool shaped thing behind it. The desk was covered with papers which looked to be correspondence of various types gathered haphazardly.

“Now then Witcher. What brings you to my neck of this ungodly country?”

“Two things actually.”

“If you are a man of God why are you talking with this demon?” Jack demanded.

“A demon?” The abbot exclaimed horrified. “A demon. You say this man is a demon?”

“I do.” Jack seemed to think he'd won a point.

The Abbot rushed up to me and peered up at me before spinning and fixing Jack with a stare. “However can you tell that by just looking at him?”

“I...”

“No, no. I must take you at your word. BEGONE FOUL CREATURE.”

The Abbot brandished the holy symbol of the sun that was hanging round his neck in my direction. Then he appeared disappointed before peering at his holy symbol again.

“Stupid thing can't be working.”

He walked over to his desk and slammed the symbol on the side of the desk a couple of times.

“Right then. Let's try that again.” He struck a pose. “BEGONE FOUL CREATURE.”

Then he glared at me. “How are you feeling Witcher?”

“A little tired. Bit hungry.”

“No sudden desire to vanish, flee or otherwise go some-place else?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Ah, Now I have it.”

The old man went over to the desk and opened a drawer pulling out an old prayerbook that was dog-eared, stained and worn with much use.

“Half a moment. I should have the correct incantation here somewhere.” He flicked through some pages.

“Ah here we go.” he started chanting various words in an old sounding archaic language. Jack's eyes went round. The Abbot peered at me again.

“Anything?”

“No.”

“Well there you have it young man. Not a demon. Just a Witcher which makes him a mutant and general worrier of decent people but... not a demon.”

“But...” his words petered out.

“But....what?”

“Father Alphonse said...”

The Abbot's face darkened for just a second before turning to kindness. “Father Alphonse was mistaken lad. It happens. For we are but mortals and only the divine light of the sun sees everything. We will talk more soon, you and I but for now, why don't we get you something to eat mmm?”

It looked as though Jack's world was falling apart. He nodded. “Brother Leroy?” The silent monk poked his head in the room. “Take this young man, get him cleaned up and something to eat would you?”

Leroy nodded his head, beckoned to Jack who followed along nicely.

The old man became fierce again after that.

“Father Alphonse. Dreadful little man that.”

“I agree.”

“I take it that the boy is one of the two things you came here about?”

“He is. He was being...seduced by Alphonse.”

The Abbot sighed. “Poor lad.”

“I was heading this way anyway and I offered to bring Jack with me to see someone of whom I had heard nothing but good things.”

The Abbot nodded.

“I remember Alphonse when he was a young priest. So full of himself. He had a vision you see. A vision of the church of the eternal sun as well as his place in that church. The rest of us had absolutely no bearing on that at all. Silly fool. You must be the yellow-eyed Demon he wrote us about.”

“Yes.”

“How did you know Alphonse?”

“I worked with him on something once.”

“That was awfully cryptic of you Witcher.”

“I apologise for that but it is necessary.”

“People who say that, often only say that things are necessary because they know that the people hearing them are going to object.”

“Possibly so. Still. The boys father found out what was happening and asked me to bring the boy here in the hopes that you would be able to untangle whatever had been done tot he boys mind. I am told he is highly intelligent.”

“Mmm.” The Abbot grunted. “Also imaginative which can be a problem. Still, we shall see what can be done of course. If we can correct a harm that one of our so-called brothers has inflicted then we shall do our utmost. When is he expected back at the farm.”

“The farmer is well aware that he might have already lost his son. He would rather the boy be lost to holy orders than be the prey of a predator however.”

“That's as maybe. Now lets turn to the other thing.”

“I am looking for a man named Gottfried.”

“Gottfried?”

“Yes. Guard Gottfried, formerly of Duke Bertrand's guards. I'm told that he came this way in an effort to seek both holy orders and to avoid the erstwhile Father Alphonse.”

“Another fan of Father Alphonse was he?”

“Similar to myself Father, similar to myself.”

“I see. So many people who thought so highly of the good father.” The Abbot seemed sad for a moment.

“Still, I can't say that the name rings a bell.”

“Tall fellow, blonde hair, slim, lithe in his movements. I'm told by his wife that he left her towards the end of last winter so that will be about five or six months ago.”

That was making a long story short.

Gottfried had returned back to normal guard life along with the other three men that the Prince had brought with him. But like Erick he had changed upon his return. Like Erick he found his duties to be... un-fulfilling but unlike Erick it wasn't a lack of morals that made the problems. It was his gaining of them. He began to take a holier than thou attitude towards everything. He would get angry at even the slightest perceived sin and fly off into a rage. When he did get home he was withdrawn and desperately unhappy.

I found his wife was still living in the home that they had built together. He had taken to sitting and staring moodily off into space. The blackness of his depression had become like a cloud that pressed down on the family as a whole. At first his wife hadn't thought anything of it. Her husband was, by all accounts a good man, a good father and fine husband. It had been remarked that although a skilled soldier, many people had thought that he housed a far too gentle soul to be a proper guard where sometimes the line between right and wrong is decided for you rather than something that you can choose for yourself.

At first, his wife had been able to break through his fog and bring him out of it in one way or another. His children too, seemed to have that skill but gradually, his depressions got worse and worse. Then one day he had lost his temper at work. Shouting at the Duke for some reason that no-one, including Gottfried, could later remember. The Duke had been as understanding as a feudal lord could be given the circumstances. Gottfried was whipped with a relatively gentle nine lashes and stripped down to private in the Duke's guard. Then he had been given leave to “sort himself out.”

He'd lived for the winter, with his wife, taking care of household chores but now that he spent his time indoors and not able to keep himself active, the depression became severe. He would often apologise for the smallest thing. The tiniest thing that didn't deserve an apology. He became very tactile with his wife, constantly wanting reassurance and comfort. She was not a stupid lady and quickly realised that something must have happened on the mission when he had been travelling with the Prince and asked him about it several times. To no avail. He kept tight-lipped and told her that he had sworn that he wouldn't talk about such things. She respected his privacy but became increasingly concerned as he started handling his knife more and more.

In the end she suggested that he seek help for it. He felt that he couldn't go the castle chaplain as the chaplain was new following the departure of Father Alphonse and as such, had not earned the trust of the other inhabitants of the castle and town. She then suggested Alphonse himself to which she was surprised at the almost violent response in the negative. Alphonse had been seen as a rather weasel like man. Weak and easily manipulated by others but at least he had been fairly even-handed in the penance's that he handed out when people went to him for confessional so she was surprised at her husband's dislike.

Then this Father Abbot's name came up. He was a good five days ride away from Duke Bertrand's guards but had a good reputation for being fair, honest and spiritual. He had a tendency to send his monks to help those in need rather than in keeping with the general fashion of the time which was to hide away in spiritual contemplation rather than for tending to the public which was one of the things that the public did not enjoy.

Gottfried sought permission to go from the Duke who gave his permission and off he went. Gottfried's wife was skilled at taking care of the children of others and was generally well thought of in the castle community, helping out where she could so she was allowed to keep her family in the same place while Gottfried got the comfort that he needed. Gottfried had a year to sort himself out or not come back. If he didn't come back inside that year then it would be assumed that he was dead or had taken holy orders and would not be coming back but he was reassured that the Duke would take care of his family if that would be the case.

The Duke seemed to take the attitude that Gottfried had been wounded on duty and was trying to take care of his man as if the injury was more physical in nature.

Gottfried packed a few things and left, seeming more free than his wife remembered having seen him in some time.

This was the monastery that I found myself in now. I had chosen him for the first guard that I would tackle as his location was further away from Duke Bertrand's castle and as such, news of his death would not cause as much fuss.

The Abbot suddenly looked very old.

“You must be talking about Brother sword.”

“Brother Sword?”

“Yes. As you say he came to us shortly after winter was over. He had a haunted look in his eyes that I found...upsetting. He was like a mirror in many ways and he had this way of looking at you that made you think that he was judging you in some way. Judging you and finding you wanting, reflecting all our own sins back on ourselves. Something that you and he have in common I think.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes Witcher. You are not the first Witcher that I have come across in my years. Your kind have a... trait that I don't think your creators had thought about when you were first thought of all that time ago. You are a sign of our own cowardice. We did not have the courage to face the beasts, monsters and.... things that live in the darkness so in our arrogance we created you. We created servants that would do those things for us. Slaves that we could abuse. Then we invent such stories as “The child of surprise” to justify the fact that we send our unwanted young children off to what we laughably call “Witcher schools” where they can be tortured and mutated into becoming killing machines. And then, when you come back and perform those tasks that we created you for, we hate you for it and resent having to pay you for the privilege of having to fulfil your unhappy purpose.”

“You say that without meaning to give offence of course.”

The Abbot grinned although he was obviously upset by the words spoken.

“Of course, my son. You were a victim just as much as the first Witchers were. Otherwise the mages who first came up with your... mutations would have been the ones to clear out the darkness themselves. Oh the arrogance that magic gives.”

“No different from the arrogance that a sword or a crown gives someone. Or a priests robes for that matter.”

“Quite right Witcher. I deserved that. Still, brother Sword came to us seeking guidance. He had the clothes on his back, his weapons and was close to starvation. Apparently he had given his food to the first beggar that he had seen and made the rest of his journey without food and drinking stream water. We fed him and asked how we could help. He asked me what he should do. I said “about what?” and he wouldn't tell me. I won't deny being frustrated with him on that subject. He was obviously distressed by something in his past and I resolved to wait until he was ready to talk to me. We called him “sword” as it seemed appropriate being one of the only things that he had on him.

“We worked him hard. He spent his time up on the roof or out with the peasants in the field but he was a morose presence. A deeply unhappy man. I suspect he was suicidal and took care that he was never left alone so that he couldn't find a way to end himself.”

“Where is he now?”

“Out in the graveyard I'm afraid. Six feet down.”

“What happened?”

“We failed.” The abbot shrugged sadly. “He saw a group of bandits one day attacking one of our villages for some food. He sent his companion back here to call for help and attacked the bandits single-handed and unarmed with inevitable results. Poor man.”

“I thought that churchmen were supposed to be against suicide.” I was surprised to find myself quite angry. My vengeance had been taken from me and I...realised how selfish I was being in that anger. Caught between anger and shame I wanted to hit things.

“Supposed. Such a big word Witcher with so many different meanings. I take it you weren't fond of Brother Sword... Brother Gottfried I should say.”

“No,” I took a deep breath to calm myself. “I will admit to not knowing him very well.”

“Interesting that despite not knowing him he was still able to generate so much hate and anger in you.”

“Interesting to you maybe.” I rose to my feet. “I should get going Father.”

“More monsters to slay?” The Abbot had a sly smile.

“As you say,”

“Can you answer the mystery of Brother Gottfried for me?”

“Probably.”

“But you are not going to.”

“No,”

“Why ever not?”

I sat back down as the question seemed to reverberate around in my skull.

“Because...” I began. “Because I am ashamed.”

“I thought I recognised it. There's a scent to it you know. Do you want to talk about it?”

“What a stupid question?” My anger flashed suddenly. “Do I want to talk about it? If I wanted to talk about it I would be talking about it wouldn't I?”

My anger washed around the old man like water round a rock in a stream.

“You would be surprised at how often that isn't the case.” He sniffed hugely. “But you are not being a Witcher at the moment are you?”

I deliberately misinterpreted what he said. “How could I not be a Witcher? I am a Witcher.”

“You are trying to lead me astray my son. You are a Witcher but “being” a Witcher is an occupation. I will not pry as you are so obviously set against discussing it with me.”

“I am. I apologise father.”

The old man waved his hand negligently. “No need to apologise my son. I am an abbot, people get cross at me all the time. I just thought you might want to talk about it.”

“I do,”

“Then why don't you... you know... talk about it.”

“Because I think you would tell me to stop.”

“Do you want me to?”

“I don't know.”

“That's a yes then. It is an interesting thing this world. We live here and we are told, so often, what is right and what is wrong. We are given codes to live by. Knightly codes, chivalric codes, feudal laws, Witcher codes, church commandments,” he looked at me with a sly grin as he said this last. “But what to do when we feel we must go against any of these things or when circumstances make following any of these rules...wrong or even worse.... force us to commit evil?”

“I do not know the answer to that?”

“Neither do I my son. Neither do I. It is the hardest question that is posed to us all. Right up there next to “Why?” We don't know the answer. If anyone came close to me and said that they did know the answer I would hit them with my stick.”

“An unusual position to take in a churchman.”

“Not really. It is an unusual position to take for a churchman who wants to climb the hierarchies though as if I was more ambitious I would be saying things like “Church law is above all other law” but then that causes all kinds of problems.”

He laughed at his own joke.

“Anyway.” He went on. “All any of us can do is to do the best we can with the information as it is given to us at the time. I won't keep you from doing the best you can. I would ask a favour though.”

“Which is?”

“Two of them actually. I should write to the Duke and to Gottfried's widow to let them know the circumstances of his death and I would ask you to deliver the letters. That is one favour. The other is...would you come back when you are done with....whatever it is that you're doing. Would you tell me what was going on here, with Gottfried Alphonse and yourself and whatever sin it was that caught you all up in it?”

“So you can pass judgement on me?”

“Would you like judgement?”

“I might.”

“Then I shall judge you and offer penance. But no, I just hate mysteries. They give me this terrible pain, here, in my forehead and the matter of Brother Sword was praying on my mind.”

“Then I shall. If only to cure your headache.”

“You are a good man Witcher.”

“I doubt it.”

“Any man that takes a headache away is a good man. Anyway, I shall write these letters which, coincidentally, should give you enough time to eat something and bathe. I don't mean to be rude but you stink.