In the end, it was five days before we started our expedition down into the valley. This is because, on the second day after Kerrass had finished explaining his history with the place the Princess must have had one of those dreams. One of those dreams that are the entire reason for the assigning of a companion to people in the village.

It was eye opening to say the least.

I'm not going to talk about it too much. All I can say is that when it began to happen, Marion looked at me as though I was a piece of meat. As though she was hungry.

Kerrass was right. I'm glad I experienced it. I'm glad I felt that...that level of emotion but next time, if there is a next time. I would like to rest up for a week before hand just to make sure that I'm not going to expire from the circumstances.

As it was I needed a day to get my breath back.

Not unpleasant but, whooo boy.

Anyhow.

I spent the couple of days I had free exploring a couple of things, reading from the several diaries that Marion was good enough to make available to me and making some notes of my own. I managed to get a sample of the thorn vines and tried to identify the particular species and type of plant family that it belonged to. And then another day saying goodbye to Marion.

I'm not going to talk about that day.

In the end it was a cool morning as we set off down into the valley. The villagers had promised to keep our horses for us, along with the rest of our belongings that Kerrass had declared that we wouldn't need. We had a pony for the carrying of our gear, food for a week, several water skins, camping equipment and what Kerrass referred to as his “professional equipment”. There was also another smaller leather bag that Kerrass attached to the harness without referring to. He didn't offer any information about it and I didn't ask. He had a strange, sad, wistful expression as he tied it on.

Some thoughts are so private that you just don't try to impose on them.

The two of us went without any packs or anything as Kerrass informed me that we would need to keep our hands free. As well as having both his steel and silver swords on his back which he had prepared carefully with oils for beasts and spirits respectively, he had a long, broad bladed knife at his waist. I had my spear, although I hadn't attached the pole end as Kerrass had warned me that I wouldn't have room to use it properly, and my long dagger in my belt. Kerrass would be taking the lead while I led the pony behind us.

Pony instead of horses because apparently there wouldn't be enough room for us to ride without having to duck our heads all the time.

Only a few people watched us go.

When I looked back, just before we entered the forest of thorns by shifting sideways through one of the openings, there were only two figures watching. I could recognise Marion by her red hair and green dress so I thought that the other woman must be Sarah the innkeeper who had her hand round Marion's shoulders.

Neither woman waved.

We had been warned. If we weren't back in two weeks then they would assume that we were lost and erect a head stone for me in their sad graveyard.

They said nothing about a stone for Kerrass.

Ten minutes later we could no longer hear the sound of the village men singing out the cutting rhythm as their axes bit into the thorn vines. Twenty minutes after that, we could no longer hear the sounds of the axes themselves. I had stopped counting when I realised that I could no longer see sunlight and that I was surrounded by darkness.

But it wasn't completely dark though, that was the thing. You could only call it dark when Kerrass had lit the torches, passing one to me and holding one high aloft. That made the darkness seem more pressing as though the entirety of the forest seemed to want to push down on the flames. To snuff them out and prevent our scurrying progress in the same way that I might stand on an insect that was encroaching into my bedroll.

What there was instead was a kind of luminescent glow about the place. I had examined some of the vine chunks that had been chopped and cut away from where it continued to try and take over the land that Marino's people had claimed for their own. It was largely made out of a sticky, water like substance, I imagine that you could drink it if you were desperate although my own experiments in that area revealed the stuff to be rather bitter. But what I guessed was happening was that the sun was filtering through the trunks of the vines and through that water and down through the hollows and onto us.

It was enough to see by.

But it wasn't enough to move safely by.

The thorns on the vines were huge, much easier to measure in feet rather than in any other way. They were also tough and amazingly sharp. It was this extra hazard that meant that we had to light the torches. It would have been all too easy to just trip over something and plunge head-first onto one of those spikes. They were so sharp that it was doubtful that you would even realise that you were dying.

It was slow going and I managed to see, first hand, the incredible regenerative effects that the vines possessed. At one point we had to cut our way through one of the thicker vines to make room for us to pass between them. Both Kerrass and I could have made it but we still needed the donkey for the carrying of supplies. We got through but when we had Kerrass tapped me on the shoulder and held his torch close so that I could see what happened. With a kind of liquid groan the old vine that we had chopped clear fell to the ground and then a new vine grew out to replace it, two minutes later and it was back in place. Five minutes after that and you wouldn't have been able to tell that there had ever been a gap there in the first place.

At one point I had a theory that if we could harness that regenerative quality then it would mean that medical science could be revolutionised as it seemed that the rapid self-repairing of the vines was biological in nature. But Kerrass had been holding his medallion next to the vine as it grew. The small Cat-head danced in place all the time.

Magic then. Not the kind of thing that a medic could carry around in their satchel.

We moved on.

There was sound. It wasn't like in the woods near ambers crossing. Or any of those situations where the entirety of the trees seem to go quiet in the presence of anything supernatural. There was noise. You could hear birds singing in the trees and flapping about. There was rustling in the undergrowth, later in the journey we could hear the sounds of cattle braying and at one point Kerrass managed to produce a wile boar for us to eat. What it was, was muffled. Like that feeling you get when you have water in your ear and everything seems subdued and withdrawn. Echoey was the best word that I could think of to describe it.

Kerrass took it all in his stride, because of course he did. In many ways, it seemed as though he was coming home to this place. He didn't talk much other than to give the odd piece of advice or to suggest this or that. He was thoughtful, lost in a world all of his own and it felt wrong somehow to try and interfere with that.

There was one other thing that was odd about journeying through that place. The surface that we were walking on was a road. There was cobbling in some areas as well despite the fact that it was now showing signs of wear and neglect. We would occasionally have to detour away from the road but otherwise we could travel in a rough line. There were even signposts, written in old-elven but they were still there. They had been annotated and added to by other travellers and guides from the village telling us where the various places were and how we could get from this building to another.

According to one of the signs we passed what the old inhabitants of the Kingdom thought of as an outlying sheep-farm. The couple who ran the place had been looking for a shepherd to take care of the new and larger spring flock. Room and board supplied as well as potential apprenticeship opportunities for the future. Some joker had written underneath saying “I'll take that offer,” in modern script.

It was slow going. Painfully slow. It wasn't like marching up and down a highway with toll-booths and regular patrols where you can expect potholes to be filled in. This was slow and careful picking our way around dangers. Careful manoeuvring of bodies and donkey around the trunks and over tendrils. Kerrass had told me that the plants moved when you weren't looking. I could well believe it. The other thing that happened was that Kerrass insisted upon our resting to eat something in the middle of the day. In the times of a normal journey we would barely stop. Often eating in the saddle while making sure that we had a large breakfast and main evening meal to keep us going. But he insisted and to be fair to him, I could see the reasons for it. We needed that food to keep us fresh and keep us....alert. It was all too easy to trip.

I don't know how far we got on that first day but I would guess that it was somewhere around seven miles. Not a good amount, even if we were injured.

So imagine my surprise when Kerrass seemed absolutely fine with the utter lack of any progress.

“Five days out,” he said. “A couple of days to do whatever it is that you think you might be able to do. If we fail, which is what I expect to happen, then I pay my respects and then we leave. Five days back.”

“I hate to say this,” I pointed out. “But we only have enough food for a week.”

Kerrass nodded. “We won't struggle,” he said while drawing a strange symbol on the floor with a stick of chalk. “There are supply dumps on the route to and from the castle and the forest is teeming with game.”

“That's good.” I commented. “Because these trail rations that they gave us taste like feet.”

I threw a hunk of what had once been described as “salted pork” into the undergrowth.

Kerrass grinned at me. “I thought that they would go easy on us given the fact that they don't know you as well as they know me.”

“They must really hate you.”

“Not really. I think they just like to tell me that they're in charge.”

I nodded and carefully tended the fire. We had stopped in one of the roadside cottages. It had once been some kind of inn. Near the border, a nice big place where people could stop when they had just got into the Kingdom. It was easy to imagine merchants, nobles and ambassadors stopping here to meet and arrange things before putting them before the royal court. A large trunk of the vines had pushed one of the walls down and opened it up to the elements.

I so desperately wanted to go and explore but Kerrass forbade it.

“Why?” I asked.

“Wait until nightfall. Then you'll see.”

And see I did.

At first it was just their outlines but gradually, as the night went on and things got darker and darker, their features began to fill themselves in. At first, just the outline of clothes and features until I could pick out a nose, or a mouth. But then, piece by piece, the rest of them came into view, glowing with a strange blue light which was ethereal in the dark green jungle. You could watch them as they went about their business absolutely, deathly silent. Like watching a mime show as the inn went about it's business, pouring ale into invisible tankards, eating invisible food from invisible plates. Talking and laughing together with absolutely no sound at all.

Eerie is not the word for it.

It turned out that Kerrass had chosen a small storage cubbyhole for our resting place. As I watched, an inn-worker came to the door of the cupboard and tried the patch of air that seemed to be of roughly the same height that a latch might have once been. He struggled with the air, tugging at it and shoving, seeming to get annoyed before eventually calling a friend over so that they could try and force the door. They bounced off air for a few moments before giving up and moving on.

I looked over at Kerrass who was sat in front of the fire, legs crossed and looking at me. The blue glow of the spirits reflecting in his eyes.

He looked frightening and demonic.

“Don't disturb them.” He said. “They don't know they're dead. They wander around the ruins of the Kingdom, living their daily lives, only visible in the depths of the night where the moon shows us their forms and they reflect and refract the moons light so that we can see them. Hidden from us during the day they go about their business. Working, always working and laughing. Living their lives oblivious to the passage of time.”

He tossed a small piece of firewood onto the blaze sending a shower of sparks twisting up into the pitch blackness above us.

“Never get in their way. During the day it doesn't matter. The most that we might feel is a shiver or a sudden sense of danger where none exists. Maybe they feel the same sort of thing but who can tell. You can't communicate with them and it seems impolite to me to try. The only time that we can interfere with each other is during the night. When, in the darkness it seems that their world and ours seem closer together. It is another effect of this place and no-one knows why. But never get in their way. If you see one walking towards you, move. If you see one reaching for you, duck. If you see one looking at you and you think you can see it focusing on you, or recognising you? Run. Run for your life because the next thing you hear will be the shriek of the spirits on the wind. The night terrors that have no name and they will come for you.

“They will chase you down until you slump exhausted by the wayside and then you join them. I've seen it happen. Because what you will have done is confront them with the fact of their death and they hate you for it.

“If you hear them scream, or if you see the green glow of the awakened dead. Coat your blade in the oil, stand inside the circles that I draw and avoid them. Parry their strikes for they have speed but not strength and hope...Hope and pray that they will be solid enough to accept your strikes. If they are not. If they... are as insubstantial as air, then make your peace with whatever powers you hold dear and hope that your end comes quickly.”

“You make it sound so hopeless.” I managed. I hadn't heard him speak like this before. His voice was almost chanting as though reciting words and rimes from half remembered books and tales long past. He had warned me of the dangers of ghosts and wights and wraiths before now and told me about the oils and the circles but here.... He seemed distant.

“It is hopeless. This place is like.... You have a respect for the holy places. I have seen your reverence for shrines and churches. Whether it be a shrine to Melitele, the holy fire, the sacred sun, St Lebioda, the Prophet or any of the others, you always leave an offering. I can understand that. But this place has a similar effect on me. It's like, coming home in a horrible kind of way. I know every building that stands in ruin. I recognise many of the ghosts and know their habits and how they will behave. In this place I feel...It's as though every part of my being. Every skill or piece of knowledge that I have been given, leads me towards this place. Was given to me so that I would know how to work in this environment. It pulls at me time and time again. More than any other place on the continent, this place is home to me. More than the Wolves keep of Kaer Morhen, more than the Feline keep in Northern Redania, more than any other place. This place is home. A place so inimical to human or sentient life and I like it here.”

He smiled a little ironically.

“That probably says something about me that I won't like very much.”

“What will you do?” I asked. I moved to sit to one side of him, poking at the food that was cooking over the fire. “What will you do if we lift the enchantment?”

“Honestly? I don't know. It's an odd feeling bringing you here. I will admit that you're not the first person that I've brought here in an effort to cure the Princess and lift the curse. I've failed every time and I'm self aware enough to know that we probably won't succeed this time either. It's the strangest thing though.

“I know the Princess better than anyone else alive. I've been coming here on and off for a little under eighty years. I've watched her, and waited for her for years, waiting for her to open her eyes. I've lived inside this forest of thorns for months at a time, living off the land until I couldn't bear it any longer. I return north and spend a year, two or more walking the path and earning my money. I try and set down roots or make my way in another craft but sooner or later I will think of her face and my mind will shy away.

“I do not have the luxury of being a romantic. I've seen it fall apart far too often for belief in that. I've loved many women but sooner or later, I compare them to her.

“If I'm lucky I manage to leave before the girl in question sees that in me. That...disappointment as I realise that I'm substituting one person for another. I owe each and every woman in my life more than that.”

“But what if she does wake up Kerrass? What then?”

“I can't think about that. I daren't hope.”

“I know. But...”

“I know what you're getting at. I've idealised her now. She's the ideal person to my eyes and how will she, how could she live up to that.”

“It's not just that Kerrass but she's sixteen. My little sister was sixteen when you and I met and I can well remember how she could be sometimes. Even despite being gifted with “Wit and Goodness” she's still sixteen. I can remember being sixteen myself. I was an absolute ass-hole when I was sixteen.”

“Some might say...”

“Yeah I know. Some might say that I'm an ass-hole now. Yeah, thanks for that. They say that the old ones are the best but I should have seen that one coming. What I'm saying is...What if she wakes up and simply doesn't like you?”

“Then that would be her right.”

“And what will you do then? Follow her around like a faithful dog, sleeping outside her door with naked sword across your knees and protecting her from all comers.”

“Oh it could be a lot worse than that?” said Kerrass smiling. He seemed a little more like his old self with that smile and I found that I was no longer as worried. “What if she wakes up and likes me? What if she wakes up, takes one look at me and throws her arms around me in a huge embrace and kisses me soundly. What if she wakes up, takes one look at me and it's the rumoured, often sung about but oh so rarely happening love at first sight? She's sixteen and the Queen of a fallen Kingdom. A lost Kingdom. The same problems await her as awaited Ariadne when she first woke up. She's going to be living a life that's a long way from the life she used to have. She's going to be lucky if she isn't married and whisked off to some far-flung corner of the Empire within days of waking up. What do I do then?”

He laughed and I laughed with him.

“Oh I've had plenty of time to think about these things Freddie. Plenty of time. There's also the whole thing of what do I do with myself after she wakes up. Will I be satisfied with just being a Witcher then? Just a Witcher with no long term goal to aim for, travelling the roads and wintering with whoever will take me in?”

“I think we both know that you are not just a Witcher Kerrass. You are a man and you will find something to live for. Apart from anything else, I imagine that Emma will always be happy to give you somewhere to live over the winter. You can always stay with me in Oxenfurt, or....” I blew out a breath. “Or in Angral when Ariadne and I get married.”

“You're going to do that then? Blatantly changing the subject. Marry the vampire Queen?”

“I don't know.” I said. “Honestly? She terrifies me and I can't tell what my own feelings are, underneath the terror I mean. I like her, she's beautiful, makes me laugh at the strangest times and we can talk about all kinds of things. But I sometimes feel as though she's playing me. Like I'm a puppet on a string that dances according to her whim. I feel so swept up in things when I'm around her that I'm always trying to breathe or struggle against the current as it were. And she always seems so calm and collected so I can never tell what she's thinking or feeling. I feel like.... I feel as though she treats me like some kind of pet or lab experiment to her. “Ooh, look what I can make the human do if I just look pretty and smile at him,””

I subsided.

Kerrass was just looking at me.

“In the end.” I said after a moment. “I want to make sure that it's my decisions. That what I'm feeling about her are my feelings and not the work of a beautiful vampire woman playing with my emotions for her own amusement.”

Silence fell for a moment.

“You don't know what she's feeling about you?” Kerrass asked. His face seemed stony and unreadable.

“No. That's the point. I suppose the way round that is for us to spend more time...courting I suppose is the right word for it but....”

Kerrass nodded and started laying down to get some sleep.

“For my money, you should marry her. It might be terrifying but she will show you things you can't even imagine.”

“I find that so reassuring.”

“You should. Wake me when it's midnight.”

I don't remember sleeping that night. I must have done because I certainly don't remember the entirety of the night. I remember getting up to relieve myself a couple of times in a pot that Kerrass set aside for that purpose and each time Kerrass was sat, cross-legged with his silver sword across his lap. He appeared to have slept like a baby when it was my turn to watch. As it was I was sleeping on a strangely cold chunk of the floor. There wasn't any surprise there, most of the time the ground is warmed by the contact with the sun but in this case the sun was behind the canopy of trees and thorns that covered the sky. Instead, the heat was provided by the fire and I woke up shivering with my breath steaming the air in front of me.

We ate a breakfast of porridge and bacon which warmed me up nicely before marching into the dense undergrowth.

It was not easy going but Kerrass ensured regular rest stops along the way. He told me that on one of his first visits back after the business with Duke Bertrand had long been done away with, had been to help map the place. The villagers had set up little supply dumps and depots where firewood and fresh stores were stacked neatly in piles next to areas that were clearly signposted as being safe from spectral interference. There were also notes that Kerrass showed me about the various hunting parties that had gone this way and that way hunting for the treasure that everyone seemed certain to be hidden here and there about the place. Kerrass seemed to find the whole thing amusing.

We did come across one man who was dressed in full plate armour. The armour itself was rusting and it was plainly obvious that animals had been trying to get at the meat inside it. They must have found it difficult as the man looked as though he had been impaled on a couple of vine spikes. He was a tall man, but even despite his bulk and his armour, he was suspended off the ground on a couple of the thorns. I guessed that he had fallen off his horse and onto the spikes before hanging there to either bleed to death or die of pain and exhaustion. He carried a kite shield with a lion emblazoned on the front and a jewelled sword rested at his feet. Kerrass recovered the sword and left it with some supplies.

“We'll pick it up on our way back.” He said without comment.

“Who was he?”

“A knight errant of some kind. A fool with too many romantic notions about True Love. Ran into the forest without listening to the warnings.” He sighed and shook his head. “I'm being unfair. He got quite far in considering.”

We rode on. Slowly, my eyes seemed to adjust to the gloom and I needed the torches less and less. On the third day's journey, Kerrass didn't bother to light them and I didn't realise for several hours that we were walking easily, leading the donkey carefully. The odd and very brief shaft's of light were blades down from the heavens that stabbed into the eyes. We avoided them.

“So, do you have a plan?” Kerrass asked on the second night that we spent in that place.

“Plan, no but I do have a couple of questions now that my mind has had time to settle in around the problem.”

“Oh?”

“You're so sure that “True Love's kiss” doesn't work?”

“I am sure.”

“Why?”

“Because I've tried it.”

Kerrass was staring into the fire as he said this. He appeared carved from stone and I found that I didn't want to disturb his thoughts further that night but I tried again the following night.

“So true love's kiss doesn't work.” I said as I turned the spit that had two rabbits roasting over the fire. We were camping in what looked like an outer farm building. It was clearly labelled as being a safe place to camp and the spirits left us alone that night although we could still see them in the distance.

“It's not that it doesn't work. It always works, no matter what the curse is, “True Love's kiss” is the guaranteed cure of it. It always works although no-one knows why. I once knew a wizard who claimed that it was something to do with the inherently magical nature of love that, because that magic could always break through anything then the curse would fall apart under it's light. The problems with it being that it has to be true love. Not for one's own gains or surface desire, simple affection or lust. My working theory has always been that in my case, as well as in the case of any of the other pilgrims that come to try and wake her, they fall for the Princess as a symbol or as an object rather than as a person. As a woman or as a girl.”

“Possible.” I pulled one of the books that I had brought with me from the village library. “According to Strengen the Wizard: True Love's kiss is the ultimate charm. Anyone can cast a curse if they have a sufficient depth of feeling towards their intended target but that raw, un-tempered hatred can have considerably damaging effects on the caster as well as the target of the curse. Hatred is power, especially as it so regularly goes hand in hand with unchecked rage which is so often the case when it is used in the manner of cursing. The poets tell us that the line between love and hate is thin indeed so perhaps that is the reason why “True Love” works to counter the curse. That Hate and Love cancel each other out.”

“I have read that book several times. Unfortunately it seemed that Strengen then went on to try and and distil Love and Hate into their purest liquid forms and his failure to do so drove him mad.”

“That would strike as true as both things are so abstract in their nature. There are also many different forms of Love and Hate that they defy codification. What was it the poet said about Love?”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“That it is like a pear. Sweet to the taste but defies any kind of description other than the fact that it is pear-shaped. Thank you by the way.”

“What for?”

“For not saying that the reason my kiss didn't wake her is because I am a Witcher and as such cannot feel any emotion.”

“I will take your thanks although I feel sure that that old slander can be dismissed as the falsehood that it is.”

Kerrass smiled and turned the rabbits again so that their fat spilled free and sizzled in the fire. I had been surprised as to how fat and well fed the rabbits looked given that there was little sunlight here. One of the things that is known about what causes plants and creatures to grow and thrive is sunlight so the rabbits and other animals that I had seen should have been dying, if not dead. But these things seemed healthy. Indeed we were flavouring the rabbits with wild garlic that we had found at the side of the road.

“Reading further,” I went on, “Strengen claims that proper curses as cast by magic users...”

“Doesn't he define magic users as hedge wizards, witches, witchers and other uncouth things?” Kerrass asked with a slight smile.

“He does but I decided not to bother with such blatantly ridiculous things.”

“Fair enough,”

“But he says that proper curses that are worked out in advance, targeted against a specific individual and codified into a spell, are relatively easy to perform. The real craft comes when the caster tries to work out a way to get round the old loophole of “True Love's kiss”. He claims that if only people knew how useful “True Love's kiss” was, then there would be no such thing as curses given all of the different forms of love that there are.”

“Parental, familial.”

“Friendship.”

“If you're going to kiss me Freddie then I have a rule of no tongue.”

“Thank you for that. I'll bear that in mind.”

I checked to see how the meat was coming on and stirred the vegetable mix that was going to accompany the rabbit for our evening meal. Beans carrot and onion.

“But anyway, what we have to do here is figure out the loophole.”

“People have been working on that problem for years Freddie. Do you have anything new?”

“I might. I need you to tell me about Dragons.”

“Dragons? Why dragons?”

“Because it's the dragon that's out of place here. It doesn't fit anywhere. According to the accounts of the villagers. The Dragon was first sighted by those people who returned to the Kingdom after the curse had been enacted. They saw it in the sky, swooping and dancing in the air. At the time they couldn't get any closer because the curse itself prevented them from doing so. Have I got that right?”

“You have.”

“So the next thing of note is that the dragon doesn't really attack visitors to the Princess. I've looked and there's no real statistical basis for the theory that it hunts the people that visit the castle specifically over random people that are searching the rest of the Kingdom. It just, occasionally, likes the taste of human over cow or sheep.”

“I sense a “but” coming.”

“But,” I grinned at him. “The only time the Dragon gets agitated or angry is whenever you get close to the Princess. Or whenever another magic user gets close to the Princess. It also gets angry whenever the Princess is...assaulted.”

“You mean raped.”

“I do.”I cleared my throat in discomfort. “Think about it. From your account, Duke Bertrand told you that the dragon got upset when the wizard that he had been speaking to went to the castle. It gets angry when your party was....assaulting the Princess. There are also records that say that the Princess has been raped multiple times. Every time the Dragon goes nuts and sets fire to vast swathes of the countryside. It also doesn't enjoy the presence of magic users. Which includes Witchers. Did you know that another Witcher had visited the Princess?”

“I didn't.”

“About twenty years ago a Witcher called Merten of Haakland came here in an effort to lift the curse. Apparently a border lord had wanted the curse lifted so that he could expand into the Kingdom and get at all the juicy lumber to be found. Merten came, the Dragon got cross and he left. He told the villagers that he assumed that he had really been hired to hunt the dragon for the Lord and given that Witchers don't hunt dragons...”

“Interesting. The Rabbit's done.”

We ate, mopping up the juice with half a loaf of bread each.

“That's another thing.” I said taking a drink from the bottle that Kerrass offered. One of the things that was regularly in the supply caches were bottles of local vintage. “Oof that's good.”

“One of the benefits of the south.” Kerrass agreed. “The beer might be piss but the wine is excellent. You were saying?”

“Yes. What the fuck is it still doing here?” I wiped the neck of the bottle and passed it back. “Dragons are... valuable. Their blood costs a fortune in alchemical circles. Their scales make better than average leather armour. I don't know for certain but I'm pretty sure that whenever a dragon is found, people are paying a fortune for their toenails and entrails. So why is this one still here? Hell, I've heard that famous Dragon hunting mercenary companies like the Crinfrid Reavers are having to branch out into hunting Griffins and joining regular armies because there aren't enough dragons to keep the money in their pockets.”

Kerrass passed the bottle back to me.

“But here we are.” I took a swig. “In a valley where the dragon visibly flies overhead in the distance. Why haven't half a dozen Sorcerers and Sorceresses turned up with a ballistae crew to blast it out of the sky. I know why you haven't done it but, why haven't they? A mage could retire on the claw of one of those things, or so I'm told.”

“And you'd be right.” Kerrass said.

“So tell me about Dragons.”

“In the morning.”

We marched on and Kerrass talked about Dragons. His lecture was relatively short and to the point.

Condensing it and my, many, questions into a readable format though it goes like this.

Dragons, along with cats which possibly goes a long way towards explaining why cats are the way they are, are the only creatures that actively absorb magical energy which is why they are so useful in the alchemical arts. Those people that argue that Dragons are the last manifestation of chaos on the surface of the continent are mostly incorrect. They are simply large beasts that have an incredible capacity for violence and destruction but the truth is that they very rarely go out of their way to hunt humans. Humans tend to make life so much more difficult to be hunted and, being relatively intelligent creatures, preferring an easy life, Dragons would prefer to sneak off with the odd sheep or goat than attack humans that might shoot at it or otherwise harm it.

In the vast majority of cases, what is actually going on is that the humans in question are hunting the beasts for access to the beasts horde of treasure. This is also largely a myth as such hordes are rare and occur according to the character of the dragon themselves. Many dragons are nomadic and as such are unable to carry their wealth around with them, so they don't bother gathering it in the first place.

Unfortunately for the species, the exception proved the rule and that is why people hunt Dragons. Witchers don't hunt Dragons for two reasons. The first being that Dragons don't really kill humans unless the human attacks it first. In which case, the person who decides to attack the several tons of teeth, scales, claws and wings gets everything that they deserve. The other reason is that Dragons are relatively intelligent. In some cases highly intelligent and can be reasoned with.

Personally I suspect that this is the Witcher's small act of rebellion. One of the reasons that the Witchers were created was so that they could help the mages drive the dragons away and tame the countryside. In refusing to hunt dragons, the Witchers are telling their creators to go and fuck themselves. I also suspect that they feel a certain amount of kinship with the beasts. Lonely creatures, hunting and living according to their own rules before “civilisation” drives them off into the wilds where they are more acceptable.

If you wish to learn more about the species then may I recommend “About Dragons” by Jan Borren of Zerrikania. An interesting text although I guess that the name is probably a pseudonym of sorts.

“So are Dragons intelligent?” I asked after he'd finished his lecture.

“It varies. Some are known to be highly intelligent, magical creatures. But on the other hand, some are as dumb as posts.”

“A lot like humans then,”

“I'm glad you see the resemblance.”

“So There are five types?”

“Yes. White, Black, Green, Red and Rock Dragons.”

“Not Golden Dragons.”

“If they exist at all, which I doubt despite the tales from the bard about one such, then I have never seen one. Nor have I heard of any academic sources that have discussed one. To my mind and memory, Golden dragons only turn up in stories. That includes the one that turned up in The White Wolf's adventure with the Dragon.”

“Well anyway, that's beside the point. We know that this one is Black.”

“We do.”

“Is the thing about them sleeping on mounds of treasure true?”

“It is. But it's more of a preference thing than anything else. They primarily prefer to sleep in places of intense magical power.”

“And then absorb that same power?”

“Yes.”

“What do they do with it?”

“No-one knows.”

“Lovely. So here's the big question Kerrass are you ready?”

“Was that the question, asking whether or not I'm ready?”

“You're a sarcastic bastard at this time of day. Here's the question. What's different about this Dragon compared to other dragons of your experience.”

Kerrass took a while to think about this.

“Ok, I haven't got really close to it but one of the main things is that it's black. Really black. Not the dark brown with caked mud that normally goes along with a black dragon.”

“Why do they call them “Black” dragons then if they're not really black?”

“I suspect it's to give them classifications. People prefer to put their fears in boxes and that way they feel as though they're in control.”

“That was awfully profound Kerrass, are you feeling alright?”

Kerrass glared at me.

“But as I was saying.” He went on, “Black dragons prefer to live in Marshes and bog areas. Volcanic springs and hot mud springs that kind of thing.”

“Hardly the local climate. It's quite cold up here. There's snow on the peaks and the place is full of fur trees, pasture land and scenic valleys and dells. Not exactly volcanic mud pools and things.”

“No.”

“Anything else?”

“It breathes fire. Black dragons breathe a kind of corrosive liquid, that gives off noxious fumes that are deadly to most living beings. That's why hunting black dragons is dangerous...”

“It strikes me that hunting dragons in general is dangerous.”

“Yes but in different ways. For Black Dragons you have to be careful of marsh lands. Sinking pools, sucking mud and quicksand. Also, Black Dragons mark their territory by spraying that corrosive stuff around the area. That way, anyone who gets close to it is too busy worrying about the fact that their eyes are bleeding rather than hunting the dragon itself.”

“So it looks like a black dragon but it behaves like a green dragon and has the breath of a red dragon.”

“That's pretty much the size and shape of it.”

“Anything else about it.”

Kerrass mused for a moment.

“It's ruff is smaller than most dragons...”

“You mean the spikes coming out of it's neck?”

“Yes, but it's horns are much larger. Much more pronounced.”

I nodded.

“So what we're looking at here is the very real possibility that it's either, not really a dragon. Or that it's an unknown type of dragon.”

“Yes.”

“So it's not a dragon then.” I decided.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it's just not natural. It arrived, near enough to the day that the curse was enacted. It is obviously linked to the Princess in some way as it reacts to what happens to her in the same way that the villagers do. Also, it's been around in one place for over a hundred and twenty years. Are Dragons naturally that long lived?”

“There's no real records or recordings of them. You don't study dragons. You run from them. When a dragon turns up, people go out of their way to hunt them down at which point they either fly off after killing a large number of their attackers, or they die. There isn't often a chance to sit down with one and discuss it's age or the doings of it's ancestors over tea and cake.”

“That's valid.”

“They are magical creatures though. If left to their own devices, magical creatures do generally live a lot longer than non-magical creatures.”

“Fair enough. But that's a question that I'm going to try and explore.”

Kerrass nodded in response. We rode for a bit in silence

“Is there anything else that you have in mind?” Kerrass asked.

“I do have one other question that I would like an answer to.”

“Which is?”

“Why were King Stefan and his wife so utterly, mind meltingly stupid?”

“What?”

“Seriously, think about it. Here's your daughter. Your little bundle of joy which you have managed to bring to life after many failed attempts. You've managed to keep it alive for a whole year which, even allowing for the fact that it was a royal baby, given the time period is no easy task. You have a celebration because why the fuck wouldn't you. Of course you celebrate. It's a thing worth celebrating.

“So you gather all your friends, your nobles and a significant number of your citizens into one place. I understand that they even declared a national holiday. They do all of this, including inviting seven “good” Sorceresses to provide blessings and whatever else. Then they forget to invite the last Sorceress. The big bad one. According to the story itself, she's the most powerful of the lot and they just forget to invite her.”

“It does seem rather foolish.”

“I would have sent a carriage with a cavalry escort to make sure that her invitation was delivered. Then I would have offered to have her escorted to the party. But no, they forget. They “didn't expect” her because she had been in a tower for many years and was “presumed to have died”. Please. Don't give me that shite.

“Again, cavalry escort. Hammering on the tower just to make sure. At the time there hadn't been any of the more recent anti magical sentiment and so the entire countryside was dotted with magical people living and studying in their magical towers. We wouldn't have tamed the wilderness without them, so the average person probably knew a lot more about mages, wizards, Sorceresses and the like than we do now. They would know that Wizards occasionally look down to work on a project and then don't look up again for a while. So why were the King and Queen so stupid?”

“It's a valid question. Any theories?”

“Several unfortunately. I hope to learn more when we get there.”

“So what's the plan then. Get in and look for the library?”

“Pretty much, or any diaries or records of the place.”

“Those books are going to be old and weathered. Difficult to read.”

“I know, but it's the only thing I can think of.”

We set camp relatively early that night. We expected to get to the castle at some point the following day and wanted to get an early start.

But despite this, neither of us could sleep.

Kerrass was excited I think and my brain was turning things over and over.

“So what are your theories?” Kerrass asked after we'd both spent far too long staring into the fire.

“Mmm?”

“About why they didn't invite this Sorceress?”

I poked at the fire with a stick.

“The first thought was that I've never heard of an ugly Sorceress but by all accounts, Queen Leah was relatively plain for King Stefan's tastes. So my first thought was that the Queen simply decided that she wouldn't be invited because this evil Sorceress was closest to King Stefan's type and didn't want her there out of jealousy.”

“You don't sound as though you like that theory.”

“No. There were seven other Sorceresses invited. None of them would be ugly either and from what I've heard and read. King Stefan was not exactly that choosy. He liked women in all of their wonderous variety. Also, if Queen Leah decided to object to people that the King had been attracted to then no-one would have turned up tot he party. The same if she had objected to this Sorceress on the basis that she and King Stefan had had a thing in the past.”

Kerrass grunted in agreement. “Any thoughts about the fact that she was supposed to be the “evil” Sorceress?”

“It's possible but again You don't get to be King, or Queen for that matter, by being stupid. Or naïve. Those times were a lot more brutal both here and in the north. This Kingdom was wealthy to be sure and so might have had more opportunity to allow themselves the luxury of believing in things like good and evil but I don't buy it. Again, putting myself in their positions... I would want the evil Sorceress there. I would make her the guest of honour. There's also the other fact that she had a tower, supposedly, on the Kings lands. Just refuse that permission or hire a bunch of other magic users to get rid of her.

“I just...I can't believe that a King or Queen would be that stupid. Claiming to have “forgotten her” sounds like a revisionist history after an excuse given at a feast. I can well believe that the King and Queen told this “evil Sorceress” that they had forgotten her in the same way that I used to “forget” to bring my homework to my tutors every time I couldn't be bothered to do it.”

Kerrass was nodding as I spoke.

“No Kerrass. They decided not to invite her. There was a reason behind it. They did it deliberately. The question is...”

“Why did they do that?”

“Precisely.”

We sat in silence for a while. Then I giggled suddenly.

“Maybe they didn't forget.” I said, Kerrass' surprised face feeding my sudden burst of hilarity. “Maybe the Dragon used to guard her tower and every time they sent a messenger, it couldn't get through because the Dragon kept eating them.”

Kerrass chuckled along with me. “It would explain it wouldn't it.”

“It would.” My giggling fit left me as fast as it had arrived.

“But then there's the level of hate in the curse.” I wondered aloud.

“What do you mean?”

“Well. The curse wasn't a death curse at the baby. It was a death curse in sixteen years. “On her sixteenth birthday she will prick her finger on a spinning wheel and then die”. That's not a curse of the moment. That needed thought. That needed premeditation and preparation. You don't do that kind of thing on a whim. Then there's an aftermath.”

Kerrass said nothing. He just stared at me.

“After the curse was cast by an angry Sorceress that your child would die. Wouldn't you send around the world for help? Also, if the Sorceress was still there, wouldn't you beg, plead and grovel for her to lift the curse? When all was said and done, would you try and kill the Sorceress in the hope that that would dismiss the curse in turn?

“I would.

“I would try anything and everything. I would bankrupt myself and the Kingdom in an effort to save my baby. So what happened after the curse. In the sixteen years after the curse was first cast. What did the King and Queen do? Could they not convince the Sorceress to lift the curse? Why not? How is a person capable of so much hate directed at a baby?

“Also, swapping perspectives for a moment and putting ourselves in the shoes of the “evil” Sorceress. After we've cast our curse so that the child will die in sixteen years. We then allow the Good Sorceress who, according to the story, is substantially weaker than us to lessen the effects of the curse? Would we allow our curse to be manipulated like that? Or would we bitch-slap the weaker Sorceress for daring to interfere and then reinforcing our original curse?”

“You might have something there.”

I subsided, a little surprised at how worked up I had gotten

“It's all guesswork though. All of it. We need more facts. More data to work with. You yourself would be cross if we were trying to decide what kind of monster was attacking a village based on the guesswork of the villagers.”

“I would.”

“So lets see what we think when we've got some more facts.”

“That's assuming that there are any more facts to be had.”

“Optimism Kerrass. Optimism.”

“Optimism is all well and good but she's been asleep for over a hundred and twenty years now. Well over the original hundred that she was going to be asleep and yet here we are. Don't you think that if there is something to find then it would already have been found?”

“The thought had crossed my mind but at the same time there is another possibility. That they haven't looked at it from the right perspective before.”

“What do you mean?”

“We see it in scholarly fields over and over again. People look at the same problem for days, sometimes weeks, or yes, even years. But then someone new comes along and just happens to be standing in the right patch of floor at the right time with the right past history that makes them think in a certain way. Then that day when that person is standing there...”

“In the right place at the right time.”

“Precisely. That day, they are standing there and then they look at the diagram or formula and the light falls across it in a slightly different way so that they look at it for a moment, tilt their heads and then say something along the lines of “Have you considered this?” and then the whole room goes silent?”

Kerrass sighed and leant back trying, again, to get a bit of sleep.

“Do you think that might be the case here?” He asked.

“I don't know Kerrass. I hope so. But all that time ago when you asked me to come here with you to investigate this place, you must have thought so... Otherwise you wouldn't have brought us here.”

Kerrass grunted.

“I know Freddie, I know. I'm just too used to being disappointed. I don't want to get my hopes up before we go in there and whatever you want to look at doesn't work and we end up chasing our tails.”

“You sound like me the day before the Yule presents are handed out.”

“That's exactly what it sounds like.”

“Good night Kerrass.”

We didn't talk any more that night although I doubt either of us slept much.

We got to the castle about mid-morning the following day.

It was not a defensible castle. Calling it a castle is possibly a bit of a mis-labeling of the thing. Palace might have been closer to the word.

It was also badly overgrown with ivory and the now, ever present thorn vines. Looking at the wall, you could probably even climb it with relative ease, hand over hand and without the need for rope. The danger there would be the lack of light meaning that there could be blade thorns at any point waiting to trip you up and impale the careless person. Indeed there were several corpses that could be found around the base of the wall.

I waited while Kerrass had a look around. Eventually with a bit of prodding he cleared a patch of wall and stared at some markings that had been scratched into the stone before beckoning to me. The markings were regarding the degree of sun in the sky off the compass points and Kerrass pulled out a map to show me.

“We're here.” He pointed at the part of the castle walls. “That means that we've come a little further north than was entirely ideal. We'll pick our way around the castle to the south which is where the back entrance is.”

I nodded.

“The path is not ideal as this bit is meant to be difficult to traverse but we can't afford to lose sight of the wall as we'll be forcing a path.”

I nodded my understanding again. Kerrass was excited, just a touch of colour in his face, pupils just slightly dilated. He was almost visibly holding himself back from just rushing ahead.

We worked, chopping our way through the undergrowth. Step by cautious step. We both had cuts by the end of it, as thin and as straight as paper cuts. They were almost painless at the time but only started to hurt afterwards when Kerrass insisted that we take the time to clean and bind them.

As we came round the tower Kerrass became more confident about where he was.

“This place always changes in ways that you least expect.” He commented when I asked him about having been hear before. “The thorns regrow and are still growing although at a much slower rate than they do at the border. But it's so easy, so very easy to get turned around. Then you trip, tumble and then...well, look at that.”

He gestured to a relatively recent body. I could tell because it still had relatively fleshy limbs although some scavenger had been worrying at it. It looked as though he had fallen onto a thorn that had passed through his thigh.

Kerrass checked his boots for fit before declaring that someone else had already clearly been at the corpse.

We came round the tower, as I said and Kerrass led us down into a dip that I suspected had once been a part of a moat or drainage tunnel. The ground became squishy underfoot and there was the smell of rotting vegetable matter. I can't say for certain what it was for but I know that the donkey was particularly reluctant to head into that tunnel.

Almost without noticing the air became very dark and Kerrass bent to light a torch. Then he swore.

“Some idiot has left the door open so the vines have pushed through. The wall will collapse in a couple of years and then we'll need to find a new way in. As it is this...” He was prodding something in the floor before trying his weight on it. “Is less than ideal. Try and remember where I put my feet and follow me up when I call. Be careful.”

“What about the donkey?”

“Pay out the rope, and we'll pull it up together. They have much better instincts about this kind of thing than we do. If worst comes to it we lift up the goods and let it go. It'll make it's own way back on it's own accord. The journey back will be easier as there'll be much less to carry.”

“Fair enough.”

As it happened though the donkey followed me up almost of it's own accord.

We were standing in a square room, there were sacks and crates stood up against the walls.

“Those fresh?” I said pointing at them. They don't look as though they've been here for a hundred years.”

“They haven't. Supply boxes. Mostly hay and things, some blankets. Non-perishable things that people bring here and then can't be bothered to take back with them.”

He went to a door, opened it and led the way through into a large cavernous room. There were torches on the wall that he lit as we went.

We were in the Kitchens.

Large stone slabs ran up and down the length of the room, huge ovens at one end with equally huge pits for the fuel and the fire to be built up into. Bowls, knives and various pieces of cooking equipment were there as well. All old and dusty.

Kerrass was leading us over to one of the ovens. There was a circle of small stones there with a good stock of stacked logs nearby.

“This is base camp.” He told me. “Whenever people come to the castle, which is not as many nowadays. They are told of this place. It's safe, well ventilated and you aren't going to fall into any vines if you just roll over in your sleep. You leave firewood there for when you leave so that the next person can come by and doesn't have to struggle to get themselves started.”

He showed me where to tie up the donkey and where I could find hay and oats for him to eat. He set about unpacking our belongings, the firewood that we had brought in as well as laying out blankets and setting out the snares and things for protecting us from wandering spirits. He might have said that the place was safe but he wasn't taking any chances.

“Why do people not come here any more?”

“Because it's mostly tapped out. There isn't anything of value to be found in the castle. No gold, jewels or any other treasures here other than her and books, furniture and things. Nothing that any real fence would look twice at and so people don't bother. If people want treasure of that sort then they head to the outskirts, to the border forts or to the guest houses. Or the often fruitless search for the gold mines that were said to feed the nations coffers and keep them wealthy.

“There was a bit of a rush into these parts during the few years when they commonly thought that the hundred years was up as people competed to be the one to wake her up but that was twenty years ago now. Now people come here for one reason really.”

“Her,”

Kerrass nodded. I got the sense he was procrastinating.

“Still the last people who were supposed to come here to see her came out a few weeks ago so we should have the place to ourselves.”

“Good,”

He was staring into a point of air, maybe a foot off the ground.

“You ready?” I asked him.

He grinned suddenly. “You're asking me that? I'm the one that knows what's coming.”

“That's as maybe. But you look like I'm about to take you off to be hanged.”

“In which case can I have some water?”

I fetched it for him and he took some long swallows from the bag.

“Right then.” He sort of squared himself up, “You can go wandering if you want. I'll try and come to get you before night falls but just in case...”

“Just in case what,” his words had petered out.

“Just in case I get... side-tracked. If the spirits start appearing and I'm not there to help you get back. Then you get back here as quick as you can. I would much rather you gather the books, or papers you want and bring them back here to study all night than to have to come looking for you. Understand?”

“Yes Kerrass. You've told me about this several times now.” I tried to be gentle. Honest to Flame he looked nervous.

“Right, ok. Could you pass me that satchel?” He gestured to the strange extra bag that he had tied onto the donkey at the beginning of the journey. It was surprisingly light given it's bulk. Light and soft. Kerrass hefted it and slung it over his left shoulder. “You got your spectre oil?” he asked me. I waved the relevant bottle in front of his eyes. It was a bit lost on him that I had already got it ready before he asked.

He nodded and then strode off without a word.

We had transferred to lanterns at my insistence to avoid the danger of setting some things on fire. We walked carefully through the doors to the kitchen and up a flight of stairs which groaned under our feet. Kerrass looked unconcerned though so I took that as a good sign. At the top of the stairs we came to a plain landing.

There were a series of labels on the wall that suggested that this was some kind of servant's hall. The labels were written in old elven and spoke about various bedrooms and other rooms around the vast building.

Kerrass chose one of the doors and opened it with a bit of a tug.

The room that he led us into had the look of a guard room. Old, battered looking bits of armour stood in carious parts of the room against rotting armour stands and sword racks. I examined a sword on one of the racks as we walked past. It looked as though it was being held together by rust and cobwebs. I didn't try to pick it up.

Kerrass led us through that room into a long hall, much wider and grander looking. There was a large staircase off to one side, bannister rails lay scattered off to various sides, looking as though they had been deliberately torn off.

“I'm told that they once had gold leaf on them.” Kerrass said when I asked. “So a set of industrious scavengers proceeded to peel the gold off in an effort to make some money.”

“Did they?”

Kerrass shrugged and moved on.

He walked up to a large pair of doors and rested his hands on them. But then he stopped and closed his eyes.

“You alright?” I asked him after he hadn't moved for several seconds.

“Goddess no. No I'm not.”

It's not often that I hear Kerrass pray.

He seemed to find his courage from somewhere and he thrust the doors open with a shove. They were in relatively good working order if a little stiff at first and they opened out onto the great hall.

It must have been an incredible place in it's heyday. Long tables had been thrown aside but you could still see the delicate scroll work as part of the architecture. It was as though someone with far too much money had told an architect, carver and set of stonemasons. “Build me something beautiful.”

It was beautiful. It still was, even in it's shabby state.

Ivy had crept in from somewhere and had started to carpet the floor. I pushed some aside with my boot so that I could see the floor which was covered with tiny little bits of tile. I guessed that the mosaic would be huge, fitted to the room.

It was a breathtaking display of wealth. Even despite it's disrepair.

At the head of the hall was the centrepiece and reason for our being there.

A large, wooden coffin at the top of a dais. It lay at the foot of two chairs that could only be thrones. Kerrass led me up to the top and I climbed up the stairs to where the coffin lay.

Kerrass got there first and groaned.

“Bastards,” he muttered but he seemed resigned. Disappointed maybe. I looked in.

She was naked. Bits of tattered cloth lay about her and she lay, hair dishevelled, limbs askew with one hand and a foot hanging over the edge of the coffin. She was positioned like a drunk having collapsed somewhere. Or a corpse, still laying where they had fallen.

“Bastards,” Kerrass said again. “Every time I come here the villagers try to hide it from me. But every time I come here and see how she's been disturbed. Bastards.”

He knelt next to the coffin.

My mouth was hanging open.

She looked so peaceful. It was like looking at a statue.

I realise that I haven't described her. But how does a person describe physical beauty.

Beauty is subjective. It is true that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I am lucky in that I have been surrounded by beautiful women but this was something else entirely. The closest in comparison would be...I think I would describe her as being a lot like those portraits of the soon to be Empress Cirilla. Only imagine her without the scar and with Blonde, golden hair. Another comparison might be those portraits that I have seen of the Sorceress Keira Metz only younger and more innocent in appearance.

I'm really struggling with this. I genuinely don't know how to describe this woman. She was beautiful. But even that was wide of the mark. She was beauty. Personified into a solid form. She was... breathtaking but unlike some of the haughty beauties that you might see at court, there was a softness to her that...

For someone who makes their living by writing I'm doing this really badly.

Looking at her for the first time, asleep as she was. I felt like I had been struck about the face and body with a weapon. But as it struck, the weapon turned into a warm fuzzy blanket that wrapped me up, body and brain so that I was all but incapable of thinking.

She was like, a warm bed, next to a lit log fire when the frost is creeping round the window and you don't have to get out of bed. She was like a sunrise on a cool crisp spring morning at home.

She was like church bells on a still morning. Birds singing next to a stream.

She was so beautiful that it was difficult to think. To breathe.

When I had thought of her as “Sleeping Beauty” I had also thought of her as being like, a still statue, or corpse but she wasn't. She was asleep. She looked as though she could wake up at any moment.

She looked cold and was covered in goose-flesh.

At some point I had fallen to my knees. Kerrass was sat next to her. His face was painful to look at.

“Oh Kerrass.” I heard myself say. “I am so, so sorry.”

Kerrass looked up at me and held my gaze for a moment. I think he was looking for something in my face then, just for a moment. I realised that he had his left hand on his sword strap in the old signal to say that he was ready to draw steel. But instead he relaxed and nodded.

“Give me a hand.” He pulled around the leather bag.

From it he took a long blue cotton dress, a pair of socks and slippers, the kind that you might wear to bed. He also took out a hairbrush, a blanket and a pillow.

“What do you need me to do?”

I swallowed and sniffed, realising that I was on the edge of tears.

“I'll tell you. Don't worry.” He spoke gently, quietly. The way that you might speak in church.

Working together and under Kerrass' direction, we dressed her in the clothes that Kerrass brought. With astonishing care and gentleness he brushed her hair and tied it back for her and arranged her properly in the coffin. Then he gently placed the pillow under her head and gently tucked the blanket round her.

Then Kerrass rooted around in his bag again and produced a stuffed animal toy. Which he tucked into the blanket next to her.

“Her bedroom was full of the things,” He said. “I don't know if she likes them or not any more given that she was sixteen. But I normally try to pick one up when I know I'm on my way back. She would have a nice collection from me by now. Toys from all over the continent.”

“Where's that one from?”

“Novigrad. There's a dwarf there that makes them.” I nodded.

We stood together at the foot of the coffin looking down at her.

“She looks so... peaceful. So small and delicate.” I breathed the words. Again, I don't know why I spoke in those hushed tones.

Kerrass nodded in response. “Thank you Freddie.”

“What for?”

“For so many things. For reacting the way you did when you saw her. For helping me.”

I nodded.

“Damn me but she is beautiful.” Kerrass said.

I couldn't help but agree.