(Frederick's note: Straight into Kerrass' narrative here)

It was absurdly easy to get into Duke Bertrand's castle. Ridiculously easy, so much so that his entire guard should have been thrown out.

There was a castle. A moat, high ramparts and a keep. The ramparts were guarded and well patrolled while the countryside was covered in well-manned and maintained watch towers. The castle was further reinforced by the fact that there were numerous siege engines for the protection of the keep, as well as all of the then-modern methods of repelling attackers that the more devious military minds could come up with in an effort to murder their fellow man. The men were well-trained, well equipped and fiercely loyal to their Duke and his officers.

So how did I get in?

I walked.

The entirety of the castle and the surrounding area was designed to identify and protect against armies attacking but one man, being careful, could easily sneak past the patrols, avoid the lights and the torches.

That's not to say that they hadn't considered the possibility of the lone attacker. The walls of the castle were made with dressed stone but were then covered in a wet kind of sludge that dried hard on the outside. Into that sludge was embedded loose and sharp rocks as well as broken pottery and bits of glass. The castle paid a premium for broken crockery, bottles, bits of metal and cast off bits of this and that. This needed to be maintained of course and once every so often, or so I was told, people could be seen hanging off the walls by ropes, reapplying this coating. It was designed so that if anyone tried to scale the wall then the very wall itself would come away in their hands while also cutting into said hands or ropes that might be used to climb, making the prospect a chancy one indeed.

As well as this there were a set of wooden archer nests that overhung the wall so that arrows, rocks and oil could be poured down onto attackers from the top. The wooden frames were designed to be rickety and flammable so that if anyone made it to the ramparts then the defenders would be able to fight off the men by simple virtue of setting the place on fire. If you were to hang a rope off it or try to grapple to get a good grip, or if you used a pair of daggers in the same way that a Skelligan or Kaedweni mountain man might use a pair of climbing axes then the boards might just come away while you trusted your body weight to them.

They had fires set at the base of the walls that were lit in the evening so that anyone who did try to make a covert entry would be seen well in advance.

Also, the archers on the tops of those walls could shoot. I mean really shoot.

But it was absurdly simple to get in.

This is not me exaggerating either, nor am I trying to show off how clever I was.

So how did I do it?

I walked.

There is a simple truth in life, Frederick has remarked upon this truth before and indeed has gone out of his way in an effort to try and address his own societal conditioning, that the Nobility look down on other people. The guards are there for their defence. The common folk are there for the production of things including but not limited to taxes, food and luxury items. The prospect of a peasant simply walking up to them and sticking a knife in their neck is something that they simply don't think about. Duke Bertrand's castle was a testament to that fact. It would have been a formidable obstacle to an invading army. It would have been extremely difficult to get a man up and over the walls to get to any member of the ruling family.

There were check-points and various other things, visitors were checked thoroughly, wagons and produce inspected for random people hiding underneath or in amongst the contents of the wagons.

But.

One man, carrying something that looks like a heavy sack of....Stuff?

Peasants, and I know that Frederick doesn't like that term but here it is rather applicable, peasants are even taught not to look up into the eyes of their social betters. They're told to just do the work and keep their heads down. It's ingrained, habitual...almost embedded in their culture. This is beginning to be reduced now that, especially given the recent wars, your average farmer is beginning to realise that if they have a long spear and poke it into a horses rib-cage then the over-dressed idiot sitting on it is going to fall off and then struggle to get up. But then it wasn't thought of that a peasant, be that peasant a villager or farmer, would seek to kill a nobleman. Let alone a Duke.

In the defence of the Duke's guards, the reason they didn't think of it was because their enemies didn't think of it either. Politics was a game played by the nobility and assassins were tools of that self-same nobility.

But peasants are simple folk really. They want to live from day to day. They want to eat, pay as little tax as possible and live long enough to be able to order their children around. If you leave them to it they will work reasonably hard because they have generally figured out that if they don't work then they don't eat. That equation is not lost on them.

At some point in the future some villager or farmer is going to start to wonder what why he or she should do all the work so that the nobility can live well enough to be able to wage war, live in comfort and play at politics. If enough of them start to wonder this together in the same, rough, geographical location then the world could become a very interesting place very quickly.

But I digress.

The other truth is that people don't want to work too hard because it is all to common that the reward for a job well done is another, harder job.

So.

When I got there I tied my horse up well out of the way, stole some villagers clothing, a hood, shirt and trousers. Bundled up my gear, including my sword with as hefty a bundle of firewood as I could manage and just walked up to the castle gates.

I wasn't stopped. Not once.

Once inside the castle grounds I made my way up to the second courtyard which was where the keep was situated and hid my gear near the stables.

Then I took my bundle of fire-wood inside to the kitchen where I left the wood in the pile of fuel that was

used to keep the ovens burning.

Then I set to work.

Peeling vegetables.

Another little titbit. If you are doing an unpleasant job, and no-one else wants to do it. Generally, people leave you alone.

I kept my head down and purposefully kept moving complete vegetables into their smaller, more chopped variety. In doing so I learnt more about the inner workings of the castle than I could have ever wanted to know. I learnt the names of the more prominent soldiers, who they were sleeping with and what they liked to eat. I learned a good amount about the layout of the castle and a significant portion of the business of things.

The castle had received word of the Prince's departure from the capital and were worried that he hadn't arrived back yet. The gossip was that he might have angered his father by making his way north to where he had a number of friends in the Imperial court rather than return home to where his father was.

I ate with the rest of the kitchen staff and slept in one of the cubby-holes that was provided for their use. The cook even told off one servant for trying to take my place saying “When you've worked as hard as he has you can sleep on straw, until then it's the floor for you my lad.”

Heh.

I slipped out and had a bit of a look around. Just to acquaint myself with the place, to check that my gear hadn't been moved or interfered with. Mostly I was just confirming a lot of the things that I already knew.

In the morning I went back to work. Fetching and carrying and generally doing what I was told, keeping my eyes down and tugging my forelock any time someone came near me that might have any kind of authority.

I learned something important. That the Duke spent his evenings in his room, generally alone. It was rare that he called for a girl to keep him company nowadays and spent his evenings reading or writing letters by candlelight.

I used the same trick that I had used before, a large bundle of firewood, to conceal my weapons and my gear and marched them into the Duke's chambers where I concealed them under the bed for my planned discussion with the Duke.

Again, I wasn't stopped. I wasn't searched. Nothing.

One of the guards even held the door open for me.

I should say here that the Duke did employ a food taster to see to his food on the grounds that he wasn't that stupid, but I always thought that poisoning someone's was a risky business at the best of times. Unless of course, you didn't mind some collateral damage.

I returned to the Kitchen then and carried on working. Fetching and carrying and doing things that needed doing.

That night I even had the offer of a Kitchen maid to keep me warm. I pretended shyness. If someone got a good look at my eyes then I was done for.

The following day I worked just as hard but towards the end of the day I began to feign a bit of weakness and complained of a sore throat and sneezed a couple of times. This quickly got me banished from the kitchen as the cook didn't want me slobbering all over the food.

By this point I had found out where the guards kept their uniforms and I changed so that I looked like a guard and made my way to the Duke's chamber. I used the oldest gambit in the history of armed forces everywhere when the guard who stood outside the Duke's room questioned my presence I told him that it was a surprise inspection. The poor lad almost wet himself in fear as I screamed at him about regulations and found hundreds of minor infractions about his kit and his appearance. I made a show of inspecting the rooms but by staggering coincidence I happened to be in the Duke's chamber when he was relieved of duty.

Once inside I made a quick show of inspecting the place until I was sure that the guard hadn't told his mate that I was around and to make sure that I wouldn't be disturbed. Then I changed into my own clothes, feeling immeasurably better once I had my own sword on my back and comfortable boots on. I threw the guards uniform onto the fire that was already lit to warm the place before the Duke entered and quickly searched the room for weapons or any secret doors.

You never know with these old style castles. It wasn't the highest room in the castle and although it did have a window it was also not the grandest room either so it was feasible that this room had an escape route out of it but I couldn't find anything. I attached my own grappling hook to the window frame, made sure it was nice and secure so that if it all went wrong then I could go out the window. So, escape route planned. Concealed weapons were in my belt. Everything ready?

Then I settled down to wait.

It was a few hours in truth. But I was ready to wait. In some ways I was feeling rather foolish. After all what was I going to talk about when the Duke finally did arrive in his chamber. Why didn't I just straight up murder him like I had so many of the other people. But no, I had to wait. I had to talk to him. I had to know. I had to be told what the entire thing was about.

So I waited.

The door opened after a while and I waited there in the darkness as the Duke walked in, bolting the door behind him. He was wearing an over cloak and a hat which suggested that he had been outside recently. He hung the cloak and hat on a peg on the back of the door. He had a piece of paper in his hand. He fell into a chair that was near the desk in the corner and read the words on the paper again. Before tossing the paper aside and onto the desk at his elbow before covering his eyes with a shaking hand.

He gave all the impression of a marionette that had had his strings cut.

Much to my astonishment he started to sob.

Once again I was finding that my shield of hatred was being rocked by the prospect of feeling pity towards one of my victims.

I cleared my throat noisily.

“I trust that I find your Grace in good health.” I said, carefully avoiding looking at him to give him time to recover his composure.

“I've been in better humour I will admit.” The Duke said after an extended moment.

“I found your wine collection Your Grace. May I offer to pour you a cup.”

The man sighed. “Grateful to you Witcher.”

He rose from his seat and moved to sit opposite to me with a table between us that looked as though it was most commonly employed as a surface for the playing of chess. I pushed a goblet across and poured from one of the stoppered bottles.

He downed the cup and gestured so that I could pour another.

He took a sip from the cup before leaning back in his chair and watched me through narrowed eyes. I copied his gesture, taking a sip from my own cup.

“I notice that you've taken the knife from under the table.” He said after a long while.

“And the long knife from behind the headboard your Grace.”

He nodded and steepled his fingers underneath his chin.

“I could call the guards,” he began.

“True, or the servants.” I said. But, first of all you would need to go to the door and unbolt it. Then you need to call. All of this without my reaction which. Then, I would have to kill more than just you. I would need to kill whoever you called before making my escape.”

The Duke nodded.

“Do you know what's in that letter on the desk?”

“No. But I can guess.”

“Guess for me Witcher.”

“You have received word about your sons death.”

For a moment I thought that the man would begin to weep again. He stared at the ceiling for a while before lowering his gaze to meet mine.

“It says that he died on the road. They say that it was assassins. They guess at a couple of assailants.”

I could not help but smile a little as the Duke continued.

“According to the trackers and hunters that found him, they claim that my son fought and fought hard to make sure that the wet-nurses could could escape with his children.”

“If that's what they say.”

“But you knew that that was what the messages would say.”

“Yes.”

“You knew that he was dead?”

“Yes I did.”

“Did you kill him?”

I sighed and took another sip from my cup. There was a rage in the Duke's voice.

“No. No I didn't”

“You lie.”

“No. Although I will admit that that was what I went there intending to do.”

“What happened? If not you then who killed him.”

“He did. He ended himself.”

“Ah,” He paused and took another drink, looking thoughtful. “Of course he did. To spite me of course.”

“As you say. Also in an effort to save his children although I had no intention of killing them. Even when I didn't know of their existence.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“He was running. Running hard. He had decided not to return to you as he feared that his children would not survive that returning.”

The Duke nodded and lowered his gaze.

“He was right wasn't he your grace? His children would have sickened and died a few weeks or months after their arrival here?”

The Duke said nothing.

“Your silence speaks volumes your grace.”

He slammed his fist onto the table suddenly causing the cups and bottle to jangle.

“If it helps at all Your Grace, he also killed himself to spite me.”

“Why on earth?”

“Because I went there to kill him. Because I wanted to kill him. In many ways I needed to kill him.”

“What happened?”

“I figured your sons route from the direction in which he chose to leave the capital.”

“You knew that before I did.”

“I did. But it wasn't easy. I suspect that I was lucky in catching them.”

“Lucky? For whom?”

I smiled, rather nastily I'm afraid. “For me. Your son ordered his guardsmen to attack me and I killed them.”

“All of them? Those guards were good men.”

“Good men? At least one of them was a rapist.”

“That's not the point...”

“It's exactly the point, your Grace,” I snarled the title like an insult. “That was the entire reason I was there. At least one of those men had every reason, every reason to deserve everything I did to him. And more. He died quickly at least, which was far kinder than the death I wanted to give him.”

“Which one was it?”

“Which one was it? Which one was it? How dare you, Your GRACE? These men fought and died for you and your son and on your orders. The least you could do is to remember their names.”

I stared at him. I am well aware of the figure that I cut when I'm angry and I must have looked terrible.

He looked away.

“I killed them. Your son prevailed upon my good graces to allow his children and their wet-nurses to escape which, not being a gentleman and being unaware of the political situation. I agreed. I must say that being a foolish Witcher with a foolish sense of honour I had no intention of killing a pair of children. Let alone her children.”

The Duke stared at his hands that he kept in his lap.

“We fought. Your son and I?”

“Did he?...Did he fight well?...”

I took a long breath and took a moment to adjust my thinking. I was dealing with a grieving father.

“Being brutally honest...”

“Because you've been less than brutal up until now?” The Duke raised an eyebrow.

I stared at him. Then suddenly, before either of us could help it, we started laughing. I rarely laugh any more. You, (Frederick: me) have been very kind in describing my brief outbursts of emotions. I smile, at most I chuckle. But mostly I am well aware of what state my feelings leave me in. Wherever possible I don't like to display my emotions as displaying emotions have often left me feeling as though I am giving people an advantage over me. Some people claim that the Witcher mutations keep us from emotions. Some people have also argued that our upbringing, training and experiences as well as the longer lives that we lead mean that we have had the emotions burned out of us. I cannot speak for any of this. I cannot say whether or not I lack in emotions as I cannot remember feeling any different and in any way at any other point in my life. I have rage. I have anger that keeps me warm at night. Anger that lights the fire in my belly and gets me out of bed in the morning. I have a bitter sadness and grief that knows no equal and that no anger, love or happiness has ever been able to dismiss. But for the rest of it?

I do not know.

I have never known. That is my tragedy and I must live with that.

But that sudden burst of hilarity. In that moment. In that place, we laughed and laughed like two old friends.

“Is now a time for plain speech your Grace?”

He nodded.

I took a moment or two to gather my thoughts. Vengeance, justice or whatever it was that I was pursuing at that point in time were forgotten by the wayside. Now I was just a man comforting a grieving father.

“I was trained and brought up a fighter and a killer Your Grace. Without wanting to boast...I have killed many monsters in my time and I have killed many men. I do not say this to boast, but rather as a simple statement of fact. In the time since I have sought...whatever it is I am looking for... I have fought and killed your huntsman...”

“Not much of a huntsman at the end...” A shadow and a smile crossed his face then.

“Never the less. I fought him. I fought Mark, who for me was the best of your guardsmen that I faced. Then I fought many in my pursuit of Gunther. Then I slew those five men with Matthes. Nine men at the very least, probably more. But your son fought and died harder than the rest of them put together. Even when he died, he did so to spite us both and because he felt that he could not fight any further. He said that he was tired. So very tired of living his life as well as so many other things. He claimed that he felt free at the end, free from worry and care.”

A tear rand down the old man's face and old man he was in that moment.

“So I used up my son in all of this as well. Poor child.”

He found a kerchief in a pouch somewhere and wiped his eyes.

“I don't suppose, I don't suppose we know what happened to his children Witcher...to my Grandchildren?”

I took a long moment to weigh up the situation.

“I was able to figure out where your son was heading. When I had arranged matters to my satisfaction....”

“Yes,” The old man rubbed at his face with his cloth again before suddenly, before my eyes he became the Duke once more. “Why did you do that? I thank you for it of course, arranging matters so that those who came after you would not think that my son had killed himself. The Cult of the eternal sun does not look kindly on people that end themselves.”

“For what he did, Your Grace, I hated him. I will not lie, I hated him and I looked forward to his death. But as well as hating him. I found that I liked him as well. He did fight well and I am enough of a northerner that that still means something to me. He also... When he did...end himself. He wasn't doing it to kill himself. He was striking at me.”

“And me I suspect.”

“I more than suspect it.” I said. “But as such, I saw it as fighting. Others might see it as ending himself but I think he was still fighting. I found that I didn't want people to think otherwise. He died on the field of battle, despite my not understanding his battle. He deserved to be treated with honour for that.”

“Grateful to you Witcher, Grateful to you.”

There was a moment's awkward silence.

“But anyway,” I went on, “After arranging things to my satisfaction, I followed after the two ladies.”

“Ladies?”

“Regardless, I went after them and they...”

“They dumped the children didn't they?”

“Oh quite the contrary. They were taking very good care of them...”

“I see. They meant to sell those children to the highest bidder.”

“They had moved off and were already talking to some agents of a man called Count Var Attre.”

“I know of Var Attre. A professional middleman. He probably stood to make a tidy profit.”

“I can't answer for that Your Grace. All I knew was that those men attacked me and I had to defend myself.”

“I can well imagine that Count Var Attre is down a couple of...agents?”

“He is. I took charge of the babies. As I say, I reasoned out where your son was going?”

“Can I ask where that was?”

“I think that they are quite beyond your power now so I have no problem telling you. I gave them into the arms of a man called Torres.”

“Torres? Ha, Well played Witcher. Well played.”

“I thought you'd like it.”

“Any sign of when he's coming south?”

“No. The future Emperor of all of these lands is a clever man. Much cleverer than you, your son, this Henrik person and whatever or whoever else is in the running for your Kingdoms throne.”

“He might well be at that. Thank you Witcher.”

“I still hate you Your Grace.”

“I thought you might. Some more wine?”

“Thank you.”

The Duke poured and we drank.

“So,” said the Duke. “Henrik will take the country. He will have the throne for a year, maybe two or three but Torres is a less than patient man. Careful yes, but not patient. Then he will bring the entirety of our Northern neighbours down on our heads. Now all I have to do is preserve these lands and the people on it.”

I sighed.

“I am afraid that I will not permit that.”

“You hate me that much?”

“Oh yes. I mean to see you dead Your Grace. Before we leave this room, I will see you dead.” I hissed that last with all the venom that I could summon.

“You hate these people enough to make them do without my protection, without the protection of their feudal lord.”

I looked at him over the top of my cup. Then I carefully put the cup back down on the table between us.

“Look me in the eyes Your Grace. Look me in the eyes and make the same appeal, word for word, while looking me plumb in the eye and making me believe, really believe, that you care for all of those people. Make me believe that you care only for them, rather than thinking of preserving your own skin. If you can do all of that, then I will walk out of here to whatever fate awaits me, leaving you in peace.”

He took a deep breath after a long moment.

“I feel the need for more wine Witcher. Would you care for some?”

“Yes please.”

The Duke got up, unbolted the door and called down. I listened carefully and heard no code or cipher. Another couple of bottles were brought and I opened one of them with a small knife and poured for us both.

“So we have disposed of the future.” The Duke said, “Henrik takes the country. He wins this battle but Lord Torres will win the war and avenge us. All of us on that sad old boor of a King who started this whole problem by having the bad grace to not name a proper heir.”

“Seems so.” I commented. It really was a fine wine. “Shall we turn to the present, and the immediate past?”

“I'm not getting any younger.”

“What happened Your Grace? With the Princess and everything?”

“Do you know Witcher? I've never heard you call me “Milord” or “My Lord” or any of the other common terms of address for someone in my position.”

“I don't think it would be appropriate Your Grace. Such terms would suggest that you have some kind of hold over me. You are not “my” Lord, nor am I your servant nor man and I don't want to give you, or anyone for that matter, the impression that you can order me about.”

“But I was your employer.”

“Yes, but then I was a mercenary. At most, in that situation, I might call you “Sir” to acknowledge a chain of command of some kind. But even then, I am not a military man and even that is an assumption and presumption. I prefer to keep a distance in that matter.”

The Duke took another sip.

“You're a much cleverer man than I took you for Witcher.”

“If you don't mind Your Grace I think that you are incorrect there. I think rather that I am much better educated than you were expecting.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Noble etiquette, history and heraldry are two required subjects of learning at the Witcher schools and there has been more than one occasion where I have been grateful that that is the case.” I smirked a little for effect.

“This being one of them I suppose?”

“Indeed.”

“May I ask what else your education had in it's curriculum?”

“Alchemy, although that term is a little incorrect. Those of us in the know prefer the term “Practical chemistry.”

“Why is that?”

“Alchemy is a magical art of turning the one thing into another by application of magical energy. What we do is mix two or more ingredients together with some strong alcohol and make use of the results.”

“I see, what else?”

“Tracking and hunting. I suspect that if I wanted to I could make a decent enough living as your new hunts-master.”

“I don't suppose you would consider taking the job?”

“I like the job I have Your Grace, being able to go where I wish and do what I wish and work for whom I wish. Besides which, I don't think I would be entirely happy calling you “Milord”.”

“You are possibly correct in that.”

“What happened your Grace? With respect you seem to be a relatively good man as Lords go. What could have possibly convinced you to send your son out to rape an innocent young girl? The Princess has only been under her enchantment for around forty years. That puts it within living memory for some folks. I wouldn't like it but I imagine I could understand it if she was gone for over a hundred years. But even you must remember her and her family. Your father might even have visited them.”

The Duke sighed and scrubbed his hands across his eyes taking a long drink.

“Will you excuse me if I stand?”

“Not at all.”

He rose and paced around a little.

“Do you know what the title “Duke” means?”

“From memory, it comes from the Toussaint term Duc which in turn comes from the old term Dux which was a military term for leader. It was used as a title to give to someone who was a military person without an official rank. Later it came to mean the leading military commander of a province. They stayed in place and the title stuck. From there it varies. In some places in the north the title even has...precedence over royalty in certain circumstances although most Dukes and Princes tend to take certain... steps to avoid such conflicts.”

“There's that “extensive” education of yours at work again.”

“I will take that as a compliment Your Grace.”

“Yes well...” He sat back down and stared into his hearth for a long time. “In this part of the world I am a pre-eminent man. I don't have many means but out of what little I have, I have built my Duchy to a place that is one of the most important pieces of land in our Kingdom. Strategically and economically. I have fought to make it so. I have been fighting and at war for my entire life and yet I have never fought a battle. I have never even drawn my sword in anger.”

He sighed and kicked at the floor.

“Thinking about what you said earlier. About how my son felt free in the moment of his death. Free from worry and free from care. I can well imagine how he felt, or rather I can't and that's part of the point. But so long on the battlefield... I feel it and I know what weight was taken away from his shoulders. I looked upon him as a weapon and a tool. I did so with both my, and his, eyes open. He knew that he was a tool for my hand and he did so, while learning to craft his own tools.”

“None of these things are excuses Your Grace.”

“No they are not. But they are explanations.”

“I will grant you that point Your Grace.”

“Thank you. But I'm not sure you understand. I am not a man Witcher, I am every man that has come before me and will come after me. I am every man who makes his home in this castle or makes their living out of it. I am every man, woman and child who has worked within our lands and has worked in an effort to make this place better for their children and their children down to the last degree. I am not a Lord, although my position makes me one.”

“Your position rather than your rank?”

“And what is my rank? An accident of birth and little more. I am under no illusions Witcher. I had the immense fortune to be the first born and also to be born male. But I am not a Lord of men. I am... a steward, a custodian of everything that I have worked so hard to maintain.”

I waited. He was coming to the point. The skill of listening is an interesting one and another kindness of Frederick's little stories is his observation of such a skill.

Yes, I've realised that you've made a note whenever you refer to yourself.

“It was a wizard who told us of it...of her.

“We were losing you see. Losing badly. Without wanting to look for problems we suddenly found ourselves with my son being considered as a potential as heir to the throne.”

He chuckled.

“It seems absurd to me now but I remember the two of us being excited as we spent time planning out our strategies and tactics in the coming campaign. Because that is what it was. A campaign where victory mean that we would survive for another day and defeat meant that we would all be dead. My father told me that. He said that every day was a victory, so that when all else is said and done, play for time.”

“Witchers have a similar saying although it's a little more brutal. We say, “If you are to be hanged, ask for water. Anything could happen while they are fetching it.”

He laughed at that.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“I know so little about Witchers. It strikes me that there may even be wisdom to be found there.”

“Little wisdom Your Grace. A lot of knowledge I would admit. Knowledge about many varied things but I think that there is little wisdom to be found in a group of men who make their living by walking into monsters dens and then killing them.”

“I suppose you are right.”

“Is that what you are doing now? Playing for time?”

“No. You want an explanation so I am giving it to you.”

“Then don't let me stop you.”

“We spent a long time working on our strategies. It was going fairly well and we were making our advances...”

“Did you ever consider remaining neutral? Of doing nothing?”

The Duke smiled.

“Ah, a Witcher's neutrality. A rather naïve concept if you don't mind my saying so. My son was a potential heir whether we wanted him to be or not. To not fight meant that we would be swallowed up in someone else's cause. In our world even not choosing is, itself, a choice. We could have thrown our weight behind Henrik or one of the other contenders to be sure but even then there was risk. From your man Torres for instance.”

“He is not my man, or my Lord for that matter.”

“If you say so. So anyway, we were entertaining a Wizard. He was gathering herbs in the nearby area or at least that was what he claimed that he was doing. I suspect he was examining The Curse and it's effects on the rest of the local environment, same as anyone. I always believe in keeping people friendly when it costs us nothing so I extended an invitation that he should stay with us. Our campaign was proceeding apace but the simple fact of the matter is that I have very little liquid capital. No money. I keep my castle and lands and maintain a personal army for the King's call should he ever decide to need one and as such, My sons nearest competitor had a considerable advantage over us. He was rich you see, much newer money than ours and much more of it to throw around. My son spent most of his time at court in an effort to counter this but even so, we were losing and our enemies were circling.

“So we had a Wizard over for dinner.

“We were aware of the Princess Dorn, of course we were. I remembered her father's exploits as a young boy, he had come to our lands in search of some kind of cure for his wife's or his infertility, had made eyes at my mother before riding off into the sunset but the tragedy of that family had long ago been overtaken by our own particular set of tragedies.”

“There being only so much tragedy to go around after all.”

“You jest Witcher but you are quite correct in this matter. The Wizard spun a fascinating story about the entire thing and brought it very much to our minds. There she was, lying in state, in a funeral casket. He came to visit us on his returning to...wherever it was that he was heading off to. He even had an artist with him who sketched the poor girl for us.”

I must have shifted my weight uncomfortably as the Duke paused in his telling.

“Oh yes Witcher. I felt pity for her. Even though what actually happened to her is something of a mystery, there is no doubt as to who the girl is, or was. I had seen her father and the family resemblance was visible to my eyes despite her rather striking beauty. He described her as a thing, as an object that had all signs of life but none of the...he called it “mind activity”. He said that in all external and medical ways, she was alive but that she had none of the things that make us...us. That make us thinking, reasoning individuals. That if she had a mind at all then it had long since fled, leaving the body in it's continued existence. He even went so far as to say that it might even be a mercy to put her out of her misery.”

The Duke stared into his wine.

“I remember asking him whether the girl was, in all other ways, alive. Whether her body was functional. He said yes. We still hadn't come up with the plan by that point, I don't think it had even occurred to us, but he specifically said that she could digest food although she didn't need it, that she breathed the air and that her reproductive systems were fully operational.

“I didn't ask how he was able to discern that fact.

“As it turned out though the man was an incredible physical coward, although I suppose that one must forgive a lack of bravery in the face of an angry dragon. He was only part of the way through his tests when the dragon became agitated and started attacking the castle. He and his entourage were chased fair back to the village at the mouth of the valley.

“We entertained the Wizard for a couple of days as he did his best to consume the majority of our winter stores in a one man crusade against our pantry and then he left.

“I called my son to me. I know you won't believe me when I say this but I honestly can't remember whose idea it was originally. I can't say for certain whether it was my son or myself that decided that the thing that we needed to produce, in evidence of my sons suitability for the crown, was a male heir. I do remember that he was insistent that the entire thing would have to be legitimate though and so Father Alphonse, my castle chaplain was brought into our circle...”

“I have a question,” I said. “If the production of an heir was the tipping point, then why couldn't your son produce an heir with any passing woman of any particular station in life. Your son was handsome, intelligent and charming. Surely he wasn't wanting for admirers.”

“Politics. There wasn't a lady, pre-eminent enough to be a suitable wife who would then become Queen, who was willing to tie herself and her family to our cause. Most of the noble families in these parts were still trying to be as neutral as possible in an effort to...keep themselves out of the coming conflict.”

“So?” I said. “Passing woman, forged identity, heaps of money, instant heir. The Princess was already going to be an absent mother and wife. You honestly expect me to believe that there wasn't some willing servant girl who's family wouldn't be prepared to put up with her being pregnant as some kind of surrogate in return for sacks of money.”

“Could we depend on them remaining quiet though? I doubt it although if I'm honest, it didn't really occur to us. Here was the opportunity, the fact that she was of royal blood was also...attractive. A royal heir with royal history and royal blood.”

“Taken by force, Your Grace. Taken by Force.”

The Duke shrugged at that.

There was no way that he could have known it then as I was still carefully controlling my outward appearance, but that was the moment where I truly started to plan his death. I had decided to kill him a long time ago but up until that point I was almost willing to let him get away with it. But that shrug, that indifference just made my blood boil.

“But it didn't go to plan?” I prompted.

“No, Did my son tell you what happened?”

“That you had underestimated one opponent while being obsessed with another.”

“Heh, that just about covers it. Simplifying it down but at the same time, that's just about it in a nut shell. We were so fixated on Baron Hoffman that we forgot poor old cousin Henrik. Who could have guessed that he kept such a sharp mind behind such a stupid looking face?”

I sighed a little. “Oh but Your Grace. It's the oldest trick in the book. Literally, it's one of the first rules of war, even of life. If you are weak, pretend strength which is what you were doing was it not? But if you are strong, pretend weakness? He played you like the fiddle that you are and may I say that you deserve every moment of it.”

“Yes, I suppose that I do.”

“What were you going to do?”

“Do?”

“If I hadn't caught your son?”

He sighed.

“It was already in motion. Henrik didn't like Hoffman, the worst that could be said of my son was that he was less... unpleasant to Henrik than Hoffman had been while they were off being pages to each other's houses.”

(Frederick's note: Looking it up, there was a fashion in the south that the sons of various Lords would spend time travelling from one castle to the other and acting as pages, squires and heralds. The idea was a nice one. They would get to know each other and the courts in which each would eventually come to preside over. History is uncertain as to the results however. For my own analysis, I would say that situations like what was presented above were a lot more common than people might think. Childhood prejudices become adult prejudices all too often and grudges tend to get carried over far more than childhood friendships do.)

“We were going to lose. Militarily Henrik could overwhelm us and defeat us on the field. He has the advantage of both the numbers, the equipment and the strategic lay of the land. He would barely trip over us on his way to the capital for his own coronation. My forces are so much in tune with the King's at the moment, due to our trying to gain his favour, that we were in no position to defend ourselves. We were going to be eaten alive...”

“You don't need to defend yourself to me.”

“I know.” A sly smile crossed his face. “But I do need her to defend myself... to me.”

I smiled nastily.

“So I am your confessional.”

He returned an equally nasty smile.

“No. No you are not. But I remind you, sir, that you asked me what happened and now I am telling you. Be grateful that I do, for I am tempted to call the guards and be damned to the results.”

“Then do so. I was going to offer you a chance but call for them if you must. A sudden and violent solution to be fair.”

“A chance? What do you mean by that?”

“A chance, no more or less. Do you wish to continue?”

The man took a deep breath.

“I wrote to Henrik and we came to terms. It is not any more complicated than that. My son would return here and not move from this place until he went to the capital to swear his allegiance to King Henrik. Henrik's younger sister would then marry my son and he would follow me into the Dukedom.”

“What about his children?”

“Ah well. The turns of this game that we play come round and round. We would have lost this battle but we would win eventually. I would guess that no more than a decade would pass before people would be displeased with Henrik's decisions and then suddenly people would remember my son. Things weren't certain but I intended his children to be used, and trained to be his tools in his own game. His son, could be an heir still and his daughter would bind someone to him. I hadn't thought too far ahead but a distant fostering and training sounds likely to my mind.”

“Not to kill them?”

“No. Not to kill them. Killing is so final. It should be the last step, the final choice for it can never be taken back. The person is dead then.”

I nodded and the two of us sat uncomfortably for a moment.

“So Alphonse didn't come up with the plan?”

The Duke snorted. “No. Alphonse had all the wit and good sense of a plank. To be honest I was grateful that he left as he didn't suit me as chaplain. He had a sense of his own superiority and thought that serving as my chaplain was beneath him. I am glad to be rid of him. I was even looking forward to his eventual destruction at the hands of whichever up and coming churchman would decide to that he was...”

“Un-churchman-like.”

“Close enough.”

I nodded to myself.

“I have a question to which I already know the answer.” I said to him, “Do you, or any of your peers ever think that the reason that people hate you so much is because you think of all of these manoeuvres as a game? Referring to this person or that person as pieces on a gaming board or tools for your hand?”

“It is not a new question and my answer is the same as the standard answer. I did not elect to play the game, I was born into it. I was my fathers playing piece just as he was for my Grandfather. Though my house might fall from grace to the lowest in the land and my descendants tell the other beggars and prostitutes stories about how their ancestors ate from silver plates and drank the finest wines while they argue over the correct portions of the rat that they caught. They will still be part of the game. I hate the game. I do and until recently I thought that I was a halfway decent player of it until I met the better player. I hate the game but I do not hate my opponent. Henrik played well and defeated my son and I handily.

“I see you are not satisfied with that answer. So here it is. Yes, the thought has occurred to me. Yes, I accept that hatred as my just desserts. Yes, if I had my time again I would do things differently but looking back, I don't think I would have done something different given what I knew at the time. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Yes I hate the game and I hate myself for playing it. But do not condemn us for it for the game is rigged by hands other than ours.

“For my part Witcher. I think of those ancient players. Those men and women who first started the game all that time ago and wonder if they would change their actions if they knew what that game would become. Or would they rub their hands in glee?”

“Valid questions to be sure.” I answered. “But for you and I, here and now. With your eyes open and with plenty of other options. You ordered your son to rape a helpless girl and steal the fruit of that rape. Those were your sons own words. He referred to his children as treasures even though he did so with love in his eyes. You could have tried to lift the enchantment and rescue the Princess which would have strengthened your position as an example but you did not. You ordered your son to rape a young girl. That prevents you from being some innocent party to some scheme beyond your own control. That's not a move in a game. That is evil. That makes you a monster. I am a Witcher and I kill monsters.”

“Should you not be drawing your silver sword then Witcher. I thought that was the one you use on monsters.”

“They are both for monsters your Grace.”

He nodded.

“Then why did you offer me a chance?”

“Because in this...we are both monsters. Two monsters, sitting here by a fire putting off the one trying to murder the other. It would be funny if it weren't so...”

“Tragic?”

“I was going to say, “Fucked up.” My evil was inaction. For not asking enough questions and I must live with that. So then there is the matter of the chance.”

“So we are here at last. The final game.”

“Now you're just teasing me.”

“A little, I might be about to die here Witcher. You might let me have a little fun out of it.”

“But only a little fun.”

We sat in silence for a short while.

“So what happens now?”

“Now? I will be honest Your Grace. I didn't expect things to get this far.”

“What did you expect?”

“A short, sharp and angry conversation followed by violence which I expected to be fatal to at least you and probably me in the long run. I had an escape in mind of course but I would have had to be extremely lucky to reach my plan.”

“You are possibly correct in that. What happened in all of the other cases of your seeking your justice?”

“I made the others aware of my presence. I made my identity and my grievance plain and told them that I would be waiting for them outside their homes or at another place where I was confident that we wouldn't be disturbed. I would be armed. They could choose their weapons and then we would have at it.”

“Interesting. Why that way? My understanding of Witchers is not comprehensive but I am aware that you are renowned as excellent swordsmen so the odds would favour you but at the same time, there is always the chance that you could slip, fall or some other calamity might occur.”

“That was always the chance but that was deliberate. I am well aware that I am not entirely blameless here. I could have... I should have done something when I realised what was happening but I did not. I failed both as a Witcher and as a man. As a man I should have fought to defend the girl. As a Witcher I should have rode away the very instant that I realised that things were going to be political. But I did neither. Instead I waited, hiding behind my... Witcher's neutrality. So there should be some risk on my part. I had no control over what my...targets would then choose to do. They could fight, flee, alert the authorities, shoot from a distance. One thought that occurred was that a man could gather three friends, arm all with bows or crossbows and shoot me from a distance and from different directions. There would still be risk on their part to be sure but....”

“So luck had something to do with it?”

“Luck always has something to do with it. If you believe in luck that is.”

“Do you? Believe in luck?”

“Yes and no. I believe that we dictate our own fates and that we can make our own luck. That doesn't mean that I don't avoid black cats or walk between mirrors or anything if I can avoid it.”

The Duke laughed. “I like that. You don't believe in luck but you still take precautions just in case luck believes in you.”

“As you say.”

“So you have made yourself plain to me. You have declared your intent to see me dead and you have told me why. I have explained the situation to the best of my abilities and you are dissatisfied so you still seek my death?”

“I do.”

“So what, I choose my weapons and we fight?”

“That would be the way of things yes.”

“I see. Are you open to alternative methods of combat?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I was a much better swordsman when I was younger but I think that the wise man would still be betting on yourself to come out of this conflict ahead. Hardly a fair fight.”

“I had thought about that. I thought of offering you a handicap.”

“You would hobble yourself?”

“So to speak. I would give you a knife and remain unarmed and sat. I judge that would give you a better chance.”

The Duke winced at the thought.

“I can't say that I like that though. I would flatter you and say that you are deadlier with your hands than most folk, including me, are with a dagger.”

“Maybe, but that's the risk.”

“I am unsatisfied with that risk.”

“Do you have an alternative suggestion?”

“I don't know, chess?”

“I think, therefore that the majority of the favour is reversed there. I do not know the game and you would not offer it if you were anything less than a master.”

“True. Dice then?”

I chuckled. “Certainly, your dice or mine?”

The Duke smirked. “Fair enough.”

“Have you heard of a dwarven game called Gwent?” I asked.

“No. I've heard of it but never had the opportunity to play it. So I would imagine that the opportunity would be the same as chess only reversed.”

“Shame.” I felt a smile cross my lips. “I will admit though that the thought of playing a game where our lives were on the line was attractive though.”

The Duke's smirk answered my own.

“I'll draw the line at a coin toss though.” He said.

“Likewise.”

“How about a duel of wits?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I heard that it started maybe twenty years or so ago. There was a big fashion at the time that the men of the various kingdoms were having to move into alternative means of making their living other than being knights or soldiers and carving names for themselves out of surrounding bandits and enemies so they started to turn to making names and money through trade and other means. However, because they spent their time at this, their martial skills were somewhat neglected.”

The Duke poured some more wine for us both.

“Those men who still used their swords to solve all their problems had formed the duelling traditions and saw this as an opportunity for some fun. The wealthier but less athletic men would attract the prettier wives but women being women would still go after the handsome, athletic men and affairs of the heart would occur.”

“A little unfair on the women I think”

“Possibly but that was the way they thought. They would seduce the women, successfully or not, and their husbands would be forced to fight a duel against the much more able man and inevitably lose. Then the knight could either marry the woman and inherit the fortune, or move on to his next conquest.”

“Ah yes.”

“I'm told that one duel happened like this and the athletic knight went to the intended site of the duel where the fat and ugly opponent was waiting for him in his plain clothes with a plate of sausage. The athletic man asked what the meaning of this was and the fat man said...”

“I have heard of this.” I said as the memory came to me. “The idea was that one of the pieces of sausage was poisoned and the other was not. The athletic man would eat one piece of his own choosing and the less athletic man would eat the other. One would die and the other would live. Duel fought. The argument was that duelling is supposed to be a test of courage rather than a test of martial prowess, but that there's no courage in a man fighting a duel against an opponent that he knows he can beat.”

“You have heard of it then.”

“Yes I have. The story is very romantic. The truth as to what happened was that the martial man was obviously terrified and ran his opponent through on the spot claiming further insult against the now dead man at the use of poison. He then went on to be hanged for cowardice.”

The Duke laughed.

“But the principle is sound, do you not agree Witcher. I call for a strong drink and two cups. There is a poison. I provide the poison, you pour it, secretly and away from my sight. I then choose a cup and drink it, you drink the other and we wait until we see which one of us dies.”

“An interesting proposal.” I said carefully. “There are of course many facets to this though. This would come down to how I place the cups on the table for I know which cup is poisoned.”

“Indeed, and if you refuse to drink after I have chosen I can condemn you as an honour-less dog and have you torn to pieces by my guards.”

I nodded as I thought.

“What is to stop the guards killing me anyway if I win and you die?”

“I will write a letter of pardon and safe passage for you.”

“Will your guards obey that letter?”

“They will or they would be dishonouring me. I would like to take a moment to write a letter or two to make some plays in my political arena, should it be my death that occurs.”

“May I read the letters to make sure that you are not leaving instructions for my death?”

“Certainly. In the event of my death I want to set my enemies against each other. I shall write to Henrik and tell him that I have received word that there are assassins after my life and that I suspect his rivals. I shall also write to his rivals saying that I believe that Henrik is after my blood. I shall also write to Torres to tell him that my grandchildren are charged to his care and that I leave all my holdings to the male. That I ordered my son to send them away for fear of their lives.”

“I see. So, just to be clear. You will write these letters. Then call for strong drink. You will give me a poison, I remind you that I am an Alchemist and will, in all likelihood be able to identify the poison.”

“I understand.”

“I take the cups off and apply the poison. I return to you and place the two cups between us in any manner that I choose.”

“Correct.”

“You choose one cup and drink the contents and I drink the remaining cup.”

“Correct.”

“Then one of us dies.”

“Yes.”

“You are happy with this arrangement.”

“I am.”

I took a moment to think it all through.

“Then so am I. Write your letters.”

The Duke set to.

I hated the fact that he saw it all as a game. But as the philosopher said, “Hate the game, not the player,” I could admire the fact that he was preparing to use even his own death as a move in his game. I read the letters and could identify no codes or ciphers. They seemed above board or as above board as something like this could be.

The Duke laid the letters out on the desk, signed and sealed with the addressee's clearly written, before going to the door and calling for his page who slept just outside the door. The castellen was called and after a half an hour wait he arrived, bleary eyed but nevertheless dressed and with a sword strapped to his hip. He managed to keep his surprise hidden when he saw me sat quietly in the room sharing wine with the Duke.

“My Lord?”

“The Witcher and I are about to have a Duel of Wits with some brandy and a vial of poison.”

The castellen looked from one to the other of us and I could almost see his efforts to get his brain working again.

“My Lord, I think you should...”

“No, None of that. I know it's a risk but the Witcher is quite right. I have done wrong and need to be judged. Call it fate, luck or whatever but this ends tonight, with my death or with his. The Witcher issued the challenge and I chose the method so now we will see what comes of it...”

“My lord that's not what I...”

“Be silent Castellan.” The Duke hissed. “I have made my decision and I will not go aside from it. Order the best bottle of Toussaint brandy brought up.”

The Castellan grimaced unhappily but nodded. He was a heavy set man who was well bearded. I judged him to be a man of commoner stock who had risen as high as he could. Probably a knight of some kind and he would rise no further but hoped that his sons might make the next step on the ladder. He glared at me and I shrugged. I saw him sag visibly before he went to the door and called for the spirit.

“The best brandy that you own Your Grace?” I asked.

“I was saving it for a special occasion. But if I'm going to die then I want to die drinking the good stuff.”

I shrugged again. “Brandy is the best choice for a poisonous brew. It is the best way to hide a poison, traditionally speaking.”

The castellan came back, looking very unhappy and the Duke gave him his instructions regarding the letters.

“Then you can stay and ensure that we both finish our cups rather than trying just a sip to see if we can discern poison.”

“Yes my Lord,” The man hissed.

“Should I die, I order that the Witcher be allowed to leave my lands un-molested and that no man in my employ or currently under my orders be allowed to seek vengeance. This is a duel and that should be the end of matters. Do you agree Witcher?”

“I do, Your Grace.”

“Good.”

The brandy was brought.

“Now, there's a practicality that I hadn't thought of,” The Duke said. “If you're going to add the poison then the drink level will rise will it not?”

“It may,” I said “But that could easily be evened out at the same time.”

“Fair point.” The Duke went to his desk and opened the bottom drawer and took out a green bottle that made me think of a woman's perfume bottle which he handed over to me. “Well then Witcher, do you know what this is?”

I examined it in the light, peering at the liquid through the glass.

“Is it safe to sniff?” I asked.

The Duke laughed. “I should have thought of that. Offering you a poison that kills you when you breathe it in.”

“That would run the risk of poisoning everyone in the castle as well though my lord.” The Castellan intoned. He looked pale.

“Probably.” The Duke looked as though he was enjoying himself. “It's safe Witcher, also safe to the touch. It is only fatal if you ingest it when mixed with alcohol.”

I nodded and took out the lid and gave it a good sniff.

“That narrows it down then. I don't know it's southern name but in the north we call it “Drunkard's respite, in that it kills you before the hangover reaches you. There are more scientific names of course. A cunning poison in that it's perfectly safe unless combined in the digestive tract with alcohol. But even the smallest amount of alcohol makes the stuff fatal. There is a suspicion that the poison is magical in nature but it can be mixed by someone without magical powers given the right equipment and ingredients. I can give you a list of it's victims if you like?”

“Soon to be a Witcher added to that list.” He said with a smile.

“Don't be too sure.” I said. “The process of the poison's effects is that it combines with the alcohol to eat into the interior organs like an acid, unlike the acid found in the stomach, this stuff will eat through the stomach lining. Death is certain and there is, currently, no known antidote. Several alchemists have tried various alkali's but the cure is worse than the disease and the subject dies anyway. The death is said to be excruciating,”

“There is that.” he said looking, for the first time, a little afraid. “But it's the deadliest poison in my collection and if we're going to poison one another then we need to make sure of it.” He had gone pale and started to sweat.

“Then may I propose an addition to our pact.” I said drawing, slowly, my dagger and placing it on the table.

“I live or die by my tools and that dagger is sharp enough that neither of us would feel it should it be used with enough speed and power. When one of us is more obviously dying than the other then the dagger can be used.”

The Duke nodded. “The castellan is not allowed to kill me so you will have to do it if I am the one who drinks the poison. But in your case he will kill you quickly. Won't you?”

“Yes m'lord.” He was staring into the distance.

“Well, then. Off you go Witcher, pour the poison and the brandy if you will.”

I took the cups, the brandy and the poison over to a corner of the room and poured, carefully, before bringing them back. After a moments thought I placed them next to each other and sat back down opposite the Duke.

“I notice that one has more liquid in it than the other.” The Duke commented. He was frowning in concentration. “A ploy?”

“Perhaps.” I answered, “or maybe a mistake.”

“Also with the cups next to each other.”

“Yes,”

“Another ploy?”

I smiled in answer.

The Duke frowned before looking up at me.

“This is an interesting game.” He said. “If I'd thought about it I wonder if you could do this for fun. Only with a less harmful poison.” He stared at me intently.

“Maybe a laxative? Or a lust potion?” I suggested.

The Duke chuckled. “May I make a move?” He asked.

“Certainly.”

The Duke looked up at the Castellan who was frowning at the two cups in concentration. Then he looked back at me. Slowly he reached out and pushed the cup on my left towards me.

I did my best not to blink and to just meet his gaze steadily.

He swallowed and cleared his throat.

“Interesting,” he whispered.

“Did you get your answer?” I asked.

“I am unsure. That is the cup with the most in it.”

I looked down at it. “You are quite right.” I looked back up at him. Just concentrating on keeping my face straight. “It is.”

He kept his gaze locked to mine and then swapped the two cups, the one with the other.

“Would you like me to turn away while you re-arrange the cups to your satisfaction?” I asked.

“No no.” he said. “Just as a thought though Witcher. What's to stop me from calling for the guards now and backing away from this duel?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Interesting,” he mused.

“But your Castellan will know that you chickened out.”

“That is true.”

“Have you made your decision then Your Grace?”

The Duke took a long moment, staring at the two cups before shaking his head.

Then he lunged, knocking the table aside, he snatched up the dagger that I had left on the table and screamed as he he went for my face and tried to plunge the knife in my chest.

I knocked the lunge aside with my left forearm and punched him in the chin with an uppercut. He fell to his knee's, but he was still reaching towards me with a horrible grin of hate on his face. I grabbed hold of the arm with the dagger and used it to twist the man to the ground and knelt on his chest. I quickly drew my boot knife and plunged it under his chin and into his neck.

The entire fight must have lasted no more than two seconds.

The Duke died in five.

I stood, the effects of the wine, the long conversation and the fight suddenly took their toll and I began to shake.

“I don't believe it.” I had forgotten about the Castellan until he spoke. He had stepped back a little and was staring down at the Duke's body in horror and shame.

“What don't you believe?” I asked gently. I was astonished that he hadn't tried to kill me yet.

“That he was a coward.”

“You knew the answer though didn't you?” I asked him gently.

He looked up at me. “Yes I did. Both cups were poisoned. He didn't know, or had forgotten that Witcher's are immune to poison.”

I nodded.

“I'm sorry,” I managed

“Don't be. I tried to warn him and he didn't listen. He was a good lord but he was always lacking something as a man. But I didn't think he was a coward.”

“People do strange things in the face of death.” I said “We can never ask him now but the sudden thought of calmly waiting for death may have been the point of terror. The only thing he had left to do was to choose his cup. Hardly a proactive choice.”

The Castellan grunted, “I've known good soldiers who would sneer and laugh at the thought of walking into a breach in a fortress's wall but would weep and beg at the thought of going under a surgeon's knife. It's the thought of having to be passive, to be unable to get angry at something.”

I sighed and collected my two knives.

“If you want,” I began slowly. Adrenaline was flushing out of my system now. “If you want, the crash and bang was the poison causing his body to spasm and I put him out of his misery. He died as part of the Duel. If you want?”

“Would you do that?”

“I hated him Castellan. For the crimes that he committed I hated him. But I didn't hate you, or any of the others that served him whose names would now be tarnished if it became known that he tried to back out of a duel. Or his grandchildren for that matter. Do you think he knew at the end? That I had poisoned both cups?”

The castellan smiled sadly. “No Witcher. No I don't think so. I think he thought of Witchers as beneath him and so simply didn't know that you were immune to poison. Or if he'd been told he dismissed that information as unimportant. I think you can be easy on that score Witcher. You killed him fair and square. He lost his duel the moment that method was agreed on. You used your wits. Not him. ”

“Thank you Castellan.”

“I will give orders that you will be allowed to leave the castle and the realm.”

I nodded and collected my things.

There isn't really that much to tell after that. I collected my things and my stash and rode out almost immediately. I was done with this place and wanted to put it behind me as fast as possible. I rode south back to the valley and collected my things from Rose. She had waited patiently, just as she had promised and she seemed genuinely sad to see me go. But the village hated me. I can't say I blame them and the feeling was mutual.

I loved her you see, I still do really. So I hated them for their inability to keep her safe all the time realising that it was impossible to do so. They hated me for being party to that most ultimate of sins that is and was conceivable to them. The rape and desecration of their Princess, their Goddess. That I had avenged that wrong didn't matter to them and did not got nearly far enough to purge that wrong.

It is quite correct to say that the villagers here think of sleeping beauty as their Goddess. They worship her and in turn, she governs just about the entirety of their lives with a power that they are utterly helpless before. They could no more protect her than they might protect the wind or the sun. On the one level I knew that and I still know that. They see her physical body in the same way that the north views relics of the various saints. A thing to make pilgrimages to and so they have no right to prevent people from visiting her.

It's an endless cycle of self-hatred that is quite seductive if you let it. She must be protected and preserved and yet that can't be done. I must protect her and shelter her but it can't be done.

The other possibility is....As you know when you are in this area, your perceptions and thoughts are not necessarily your own. For all we know, the Princess wants to be visited on some kind of subconscious level.

We know that the reaction to the rape was violent but she could absolutely influence her followers, her subjects in a way that would prevent that. But they don't. They can't.

All I do know for certain is that to see her is to love her and with that comes all of the little madnesses that go with being in love with someone. I think that this is made worse by the fact that she is so utterly unattainable but at the same time being able to touch her.

It's a unique situation.

I left a significant amount of money with them from the small fortune that I had taken from the body of the Prince suggesting that they might use it to arm themselves. I suggested that they might not want to or be able to prevent people from visiting her. But they know when something bad has happened and that maybe they could find their own kind of justice.

I also left ways that I could be contacted in case anything or anyone needed to be dealt with in a specific kind of way.

They hated me and I hated them. But they took careful note of the information that I left them.

I rode away but I had to force myself to do so. I so wanted to stay but I knew that if I didn't break away then, I wouldn't be able to. I once spoke to a Fiss-tech addict who told me what it was like. He described his addiction as being like a weight on his back that pushed down on him until he took a hit of Fiss-tech. It was like that.

So I left.

I fled.

It felt good to have both swords on my back again and I took the first contract that I could find. It was glorious to have a simple task with a simple solution and I almost laughed during the entire thing. It was like being out from under a cloud and I could see the sun for the first time and taste food and live life again.

Then one day I realised that I was riding towards the Abbey of Abbot Radulphas.

I rode down into the yard and tied my horse up. It was a different monk that came out to take my horse. It was early Autumn by that stage and the harvest was fully underway. I found the abbot outside in the Abbey orchard inspecting the trees to see if the fruit was ripe enough yet.

“Witcher,” He greeted me loudly. “Have you done sinning?”

“I suspect that I'm not done by a long way Father Abbot.”

“Oh that's a shame, still I live in hope of your eventual redemption.”

“Then I hope that you'll be living for a long time yet as I have no intention of retiring.”

“Retiring from sin? Or retiring from your work. They are not generally mutually exclusive you know?”

“I sometimes suspect that they are.”

“You may be right there. A man who makes his living by the sword is bound to do some sinning in one way or another. May I hold out hope that you have come to cure my headache then?”

He threw an apple at me which I caught.

“Your headache?”

“My mystery headache? You remember that I get headache's from mysteries?”

“I had forgotten.”

“How's the apple?”

“What?”

“How's the apple? They want to make cider out of them. I told them that alcohol leads to sinning but they seem rather insistent on the matter.”

“I'm not sure what you're....”

“How's the apple Witcher? It's only more complicated than that because you are making it more complicated than that.”

I bit into the apple.

“Well?” He asked peering at me anxiously.

“It's a little bitter.”

“Damn shame, ah well.”

“Is there a lesson there?” I asked.

“Yes. It means that they won't produce cider that's to my taste. You seem to want things to be more complicated than they are Witcher.”

“I will admit to have been around people who think like tangled balls of yarn. All twisty and turny.”

“What a horrible thought. You'd better come in. You remember the feet washing business?”

“I do.”

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Meet me in the study then.”

My horse was stabled, my feet were washed and I walked into the study. The abbot was eating from a bowl.

“Sorry Witcher, I had meant to wait for you but it was so delicious.” He mopped up some gravy with a hunk of bread.

“Quite alright.” It was pork with a stewed apple and onion gravy. It was delicious.

“So do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

I took a deep breath.

“No. No I really don't.”

The Abbot nodded. “Do you need to talk about it?”

It took me a long time to answer.

“I don't know. I don't know any more.”

The Abbot nodded. He leant back in his chair and waited.

After a while I started to talk. The story was a long time coming and it needed to be brought out of me with pliers. I told him everything. Not just about Sleeping Beauty but about myself as well.

It was getting dark by the time that I was done and we had been sat in silence for some time. I remember looking up at the Abbot and was astonished to see the tear tracts that had run down his face.

“Father Abbot?”

“I am so sorry my son. So very sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

He wiped his face.

“I think it's a very sad story. A tragedy in fact. I cannot condone your path of vengeance you understand.”

“I understand.”

“Even though I myself must wonder at my own sense of satisfaction that Father Alphonse is no longer with us. That man was a snake.”

“He was at that.”

The Abbot nodded.

“Now what would you like me to do for you my son. Normally at this point in a confession I would offer some kind of penance. A way for a person to atone for their sins but I don't think that that is fitting here. You set your own penance I think. I also think that it has hurt you much more than you realise in the long run. I hope it taught you something.”

“I hope so,” I said.

“Good then.” He blew out his breath in a long, low sigh. “You know I met her once?”

“Who?”

“The Princess Dorn. Do you want me to tell you about her?”

I thought about that for a long while.

“I would. It would please me to think of her as a person rather than a thing, object or abstract concept of pure beauty.”

The Abbot smiled.

“She was a spoilt brat and I hated her on sight.”

I looked up at him aghast. I will never forget it. He leaned forward slowly, maintaining perfect eye contact.

“I'm joking Witcher.”

I laughed so long and hard that I hurt.

“No but seriously.” He went on, “I was just a lay monk then. I already knew what I wanted to do with my life but they wouldn't let me take my vows for fear that I would hit puberty and run off with some pretty young girl. The truth is that there was never that much of a conflict. I'm not an attractive man and an ugly face from low born parents are not qualities looked for in a potential husband or lover. Now that I am older I understand the need for such a delay, so many young people don't know what they want to do with their lives until they are quite a little bit older.

“But anyway.

“We were visiting their castle, King Stefan and Queen Leah. The Queen was a remarkably devout woman. According to the bishop that we were travelling with she had wanted to take holy orders before she fell in love with King Stefan and she clearly loved him dearly.

“I had been given to this wandering Bishop. He used to travel around a lot, essentially begging for money so that he could help make a name for himself in the church. He was devout, I will give him that, but he was also worldly enough to comment that if we stopped by Queen Leah would insist on throwing us a feast at which we could eat to our hearts content as well as stock up on supplies and hassle visiting nobles for money.

“I never found out why but their Kingdom was hideously rich. The bishop suspected that they had a hidden gold mine somewhere in their Kingdom and were taking it for everything that they could. I was born on a sheep farm so I was rather over awed and all of about fourteen. Having said that, one nice serving lady took pity on me that night and I lost my virginity at least...”

“Too much information father Abbot.”

“Yes well. What can I say. It has a tendency to weigh on a young man's mind. But I remember being led into this Grand hall. There was the Bishop and two older monks and then a few of us who were you enough to be allowed into the hall and could be trusted not to embarrass the Bishop too much.

“We met the King and the Queen who were gracious in their reception despite a kind of knowing glint in the King's face that I guessed was something to do with his cynicism at his visitors. Then we were introduced to his daughter.

“Working it out, she must have been about nine or ten at the time but even then, she held the prospect of infinite promise. She was luminous to look at and although she was, undeniably spoilt, she hadn't let it affect her. I noticed, even then, that she knew everyone's name and could remember some small fact about them that she must have been told at some stage. And then, and this is important, she could converse on the topic as if she was interested in it.

“She insisted on spending time with the Bishop, asking rather deep questions of him, especially for someone her age. Then she danced with us. She laughed at me, gently enough to lessen my embarrassment when I confessed that I didn't know how to dance before promising me that she would help me through it.”

He wiped more tears from his face.

“Forgive me Witcher. An old man's memories.

“I loved her. I sometimes wonder if meeting her had an effect on me. I knew my first woman that night and I knew a few more before I was finally ordained a full priest. But I remember that girl.”

The Abbot skewered me with a stare.

“She would be horrified at what has happened since then Witcher. She would hate herself and blame herself for what has been done in her name.”

“I know that Father. I really do.”

The old man nodded.

“I remember the time of the curse of course. How could I forget? I remember thinking that she was too beautiful for this world. Too beautiful of face, mind and character. I hope that she wakes up to a better world than the one that she left.”

“I doubt that Father. I doubt that very much unless the world is completely cleansed of human, elf, dwarf and half ling. I've thought about it a lot. I don't know if I believe in true evil, a black face or mask that we can work against. But she brought it out of those men and I would protect her from that.”

“You love her too then?”

“Of course I do.”

The Abbot nodded.

“Do you wish for judgement?”

I took a long drink from the cup in front of me.

“I do Father. I want an honest judgement from a person from outside the whole situation. My morals are skewed, I cannot pretend to know what is right or wrong any more other than in general terms. I want someone else to tell me what happened, what I should have done and what they think about what I did do.”

“Would you have done differently?”

“I don't know really. I didn't do anything for a long time and I spent a long time thinking about what I was going to do so no, I don't think I would have done anything differently and I don't think I could have done differently given what I knew at the time. I might have changed my methods but...”

I shrugged.

“Any regrets?”

“Plenty. I regret the deaths of those innocent guards who I killed for doing their duty. Yes I can argue that they were guards and they were following the orders of bad men and that the potential for death or injury comes with the job but I can't say that I like it.”

The Abbot grunted.

“Well I find that I can't condemn you My son. I will admit that I really really want to though but I am old enough and experienced enough with my own feelings to know that that feeling is a visceral and unfair feeling. It is the feeling of Radulphas the man rather than Radulphas the Priest. I want to condemn you for your inaction in allowing harm to befall the Princess and I want to condemn you for the deaths of those men that fell under your sword.

“As a priest I would say that the only real monster in the number of men that you killed was father Alphonse. That man was sick and his sickness had no cure. But for the others... Even the Duke had his redeeming qualities even if he thought so little of other people that he thought of them as playing pieces.

“But he was a product of his world and his upbringing.

“As are you Witcher.

“I pity you young man. I really do. You are a product of intensive and abusive training. Even though you probably look back on your training as being necessary and are now beginning to think of your tutors as friends. You probably even feel gratitude towards them. But the fact is that if you described your apprenticeship to anyone else then they would be horrified and rightly so.

“But I don't think you could have done other than you did. I don't think that you have the....tools...”

he was pointing at his head as he said this,

“...to do other than what you did. Witchers are neutral. We all know this, even those of us who only have passing knowledge about them. That training kept you in place while the Princess was being raped. Then, over time, the men who performed those crimes transformed from being normal men to being monsters in your mind.

“You know what Witcher's do with Monsters?

“You kill them. So that was what you did.

“You are right to feel regret over the other men's deaths. Personally speaking you should have spared the soldier Mark and it's easy to look back on those events with the benefit of hindsight and say you should have done this or that but that is impossible. For anyone to live up to.

“So no, I'm not going to condemn you.”

“That's something of a relief.”

“You're not getting off that easily Witcher.” The Abbot smiled at me, he looked sad. “You hear so much about this person or that person, often knights who are willing to lay down their lives for the good of this or that. They say that they will willingly give up their lives if it will clean them of sin. Then they depart on long crusades which inevitably end up in their deaths.”

“I have heard of such things.”

“Yes, well. I will admit to always finding such things rather cowardly. Dying for one's beliefs or to purge one of one's sins is relatively easy. But living... That is hard. So that is your penance Witcher.

“You must live.

“I see in your eyes a great cloud, dark and heavy. It spreads out from you in all directions and presses down upon you like a blanket made out of razorblades. Never give in to that blanket Witcher. It will be tempting to allow that blanket to crush you and to let some monster end your life. To let it take away that burden from you. You must never let it. You must live and continue to slay the monsters of this world in the hope that one day in the future, she may wake up into a better world than the one she left.”

(Frederick's note: I take over from here.)

Kerrass stayed silent for a long time. He had been talking for most of a day in fits and starts. We had stopped for something to eat at one point but other than that he had just been talking. I checked to make sure he was still awake and was on the verge of reaching over to wake him when he stirred.

“That's it,” he said brightly. “Any questions?”

I smiled and stretched.

“What happened to her children? Might they be used to lift the curse?”

“It's actually been tried,” he said. “Unfortunately Duke Bertrand was not the only person to have the idea of using Sleeping Beauty as a brood mare for the production of clean and un-sullied children. There have also been several cases where her beauty has overwhelmed otherwise ordinary visitors to her resting place. I understand that the village took on a child once and told them about their mother but the attempt to lift the curse was unsuccessful.”

“What about Prince Bertrand's children?”

The Witcher smiled sadly. “He died of a childhood disease at the age of four. She went on to marry into some Imperial line of succession, had a couple of children before dying in one of the outbreaks of Catriona but she was noted down as a ward of Emperor Torres and as a result her links to this Kingdom are...vague. The Princess' other children are scattered now. Most of them left but it is not surprising that people in these parts are markedly more attractive than their neighbours.”

“Did you ever go back?”

“To visit the Princess? Many times.”

“No, to the Bertrand castle.”

“Yes, some sixty years later. It's unrecognisable compared to what it was. King Henrik destroyed it as the Bertrand's fled north to join up with Emperor Torres. The castle was all but pulled down and then rebuilt twenty years later but... trade routes change and the castle is not as strategically important as it once was. It's now a residence of some noble house I believe.

“I did go back and visit Abbot Radulphas though. He was a grumpy old man and served in that place for a good decade after I first visited. I was in the north when he died but I came south as soon as I could. They call him Saint Radulphas now and keep his body in a stone coffin in the crypt. Personally I think he would be horrified at that turn of events. Poor old man.”

I smiled at the image.

“He sounds like an interesting man.”

“He was. You would have liked him, I'm sure. So what now?”

“I was going to ask you that same question.” I answered.

“Do you have any ideas?”

“About waking the Princess? No, not really. I do have a couple of thoughts though. A few things I want to check up on with the village records keeper.”

“Oh?”

“I'm interested in the dragon. Is it the same dragon? If so how long do Dragon's normally live for. It obviously has a link with the Princess in that, according to your narrative, it reacted both to the attack, and the presence of the Wizard. That is interesting to me. They aren't solutions but I think there's something there.”

The Witcher nodded then shrugged.

“All that matters is that you try Freddie, that's all I'm asking. Shall we say that we'll go visit her in a few days, giving you time to check up on things?”

“Sounds good,” I answered.