(Crap, forgot to put a spoiler warning in.

For those people that have been reading so far, it's pretty clear what ending I got to Witcher 3. However there are some spoilers in here that I haven't discussed before. Specifically regarding the quest “The Battle of Kaer Morhen.” This little story, shouldn't be too much longer than three chapters or so and it mostly deals with some of Kerrass' Witcher philosophy as well as a favourite character of mine. Will add another note when this story is finished if you want to avoid these spoilers.)

I have been delayed.

As I write this I am trapped inside our families castle. Trapped I say because the thing that I want, that thing that I need in order for me to be able to properly show my face in proper circles has been delayed. The work people responsible have been suitably chastised but at the end of the day, the dwarf in question took the stance of craftspeople everywhere, sucked his teeth a little and said “We did warn you that the thing you want might be hard to get,” and “if you want a job doing properly. It's better to wait and get the job done right rather than waste it.”

They're right of course. Of course they're right. But that doesn't change the fact that I am still here, a days ride east of Oxenfurt when I want to be South. Where history is being made.

In Toussaint.

She hasn't been crowned yet. That is still a little ways off yet so I have time. But that doesn't help me. I want to be there now.

Not for the entertainments. I'm told that there's going to be a tournament but then, when do the people of Toussaint ever need an excuse to hold a Tournament. There will be contests of poetry, song, dancing, acrobatics and others. The Imperial portraits are being painted. The final painting of Emhyr var Emreis and the first portrait of the soon to be crowned Empress. I'm told that for a suitably huge sum of money you can watch the paintings being worked on.

Nor is it for the people that I want to be there although that is partly true.

Yes, I want to see Kerrass again.

Yes I want to see Princess Dorn again.

My entire family is going to be there. Emma and Sam are down there already. Sam to take part in the various tournaments and contests at arms as well as to swear fealty as Lord Kalayn. Emma is there in her official capacity as the head of the Coulthard trading company. Mark is going to be there although I'm not entirely sure how I feel about him yet, but he is there, both as part of the delegation from the church of the holy flame as well as being the Baron von Coulthard.

Francesca is going to be there. I can't wait to see her. I'm told that she's grown up a lot in the five years since I saw her last. We've written to each other many times but at the same time it's going to be no comparison to actually hear her voice and see her shining smile.

I am also looking forward to seeing Ariadne as well. I'm looking forward to being able to spend a lot of time talking with her. I feel that this is something that has been lacking in our communications of late. She has been so busy sorting out her own lands as well as helping Princess Dorn with her problems.

All the famous people are going to be there. It's rumoured that the entire Lodge of Sorceresses is going to be in attendance. That many Witcher's have been invited. That the nobility and hierarchy from both sides of the war are going to be together in the same room.

That's why I want to go. I'm a scholar of history. Even though the thing that I have been doing most recently is studying those events that are taking place at the moment and how they affect the world around us, this thing. People are going to be talking about this event for years to come. People are going to be asking each other, “Where were you when Empress Cirilla was crowned.”

But I'm not there.

As I say, I'm not going to miss the actual history. I have been “requested and required” to be present. Which is Imperial flowery speak for “You'd better be here or else.” My sister attached a helpful translation to the very rich and weighty paper that the decree came on.

It would seem that there are a number of traditions that need to be observed. The idea being that the outgoing Emperor has one day of un-interrupted governing before the new Emperor takes over.

The fact that this has previously been done on the point of a sword or on a death bed of some kind seems to have been forgotten by everyone involved.

The way I understand it is this.

Emperor Emhyr is stepping down as Emperor because there is too much bullshit attached to him being Emperor, too many angry people, too many assumed favours and tied up nonsense that would all just disappear if he wasn't Emperor. So he's stepping down. In the meantime he has spent a large amount of time and money making sure that all the people that might be there to plot against him, the realm or his daughter, are silenced. This means that Empress Ciriclla can come to the throne having thrown off all of the history of what's come before including her fathers past dynastic troubles, and can appear clean with a fresh canvas to paint our future on.

The Emperor reigns until literally, the moment that the crown is placed on her head. So right now, loads of people are orbiting the Imperial throne trying to make deals with Emhyr that they think they might not be able to get away with when they talk with Cirilla. The Emperor could do anything with that time. He could free or execute all the prisoners in all the prisons in the Empire. He could declare that it is punishable by death for anyone to wear yellow. But more importantly he could ratify the state of nations, declare that this person will be client King/Queen of this or that client country. He could make trade agreements or break them. All of which the new Empress would need to consider. If she simply disagrees with her father then yes, she could countermand those orders but that would be no consolation to all those prisoners who have just been ordered to be executed, for example.

In reality it is generally believed that now the Emperor has already dealt with his enemies and potential enemies that he and his daughter have conferred over most decisions and how those same decisions will be implemented.

But that doesn't stop the back room politicking or the deals or the handshakes and bets and contracts. Even if she hadn't been invited, Emma would have been there. It's that rarest of opportunities where she can talk directly with those people that she needs to see to discuss anything.

Our family has been invited. But also, I have been invited as a separate entity. I'm a younger son which means that I could have gone to be part of the general clamour and things but I wouldn't have been allowed to watch the coronation itself. Nor would I have gone to the Empresses party.

There is, apparently another tradition that happens beforehand. Which is that the person who is going to be Emperor throws a massive party. Less formal than the coronation but it's a time to get drunk and celebrate.

Kind of like a stag party before a wedding.

I have been invited. If it was just the family invite then it would have been Mark with Emma. Sam is going because of his title of Lord Kalayn. But I wouldn't get in. But I have specifically been invited.

I'm only moderately terrified.

It's also at these things that the Empresses first decrees are made. By tradition these are the things that she wants to happen. Not for any kind of political gain or for the good of the nation but that she, the person, wants to happen. I don't know why this is the case. I believe it's something to do with the fact that when she has the crown placed on her head, she stops being Cirilla the person and becomes Cirilla the nation.

I don't know but regardless, these decrees are also kept fairly closely under wraps and are only really announced at that party.

We shall see.

Of course I'm going to tell you about it. I'm practically vibrating with the need to get down there and start chronicling it now.

But I can't because the thing that I want isn't ready yet.

Fucking Dwarves with their fucking “It'll be done when it's done,” speech.

To make matters worse, I know. I know that as soon as he shows me the finished article I'm going to be rendered speechless by it and instantly forget how angry I am and how frustrating the wait is. He'll look at me with the beard hiding his grin as he holds out his hand for payment, that he absolutely deserves by the way, and I will pay him without bothering to dicker on the price.

He knows who he is. I can hear him laughing even now.

So what am I going to do for the intervening time.

Answer some letters I think.

I know, I know. I really know how to party.

All alone in a deserted castle, most of the servants have gone off to see family while the ruling family are away so I wander about the place, footfalls echoing in the empty halls. I might have even gone into Oxenfurt while I was waiting but there I get the same questions from all of my old friends and Professors. “Oh Frederick,” they'll say. “Why aren't you in the south?”

I couldn't face that.

So anyway. The mail.

Again, thank you, all of you for your kind words and well wishes that come in in extraordinarily large quantities. My sister tells me that they letters wishing her and Laurelen well have been overwhelming in their support other than a few idiots who would rather speak with their hate rather than with understanding. All of the letters are read. Some are kept, some are given to those for whom they are really meant and some few are thrown on the fire. But there are a number of recurring questions that I thought I would take the time to address here and now.

Question: Why don't you just marry the unspeakably beautiful Vampire Queen. She's going to remain young and gorgeous for eternity so why don't you man up, marry the woman and stop moaning about having access to an eternally young and beautiful woman?

Answer: To be fair. This is condensing many different versions of this question into one form. Not all of which are quite as rude as this one but the sentiment is always the same. Why don't you just marry her? The answer is...complicated. But the long and short of it is that as soon as I have an answer, as soon as I know the reason, then I will be communicating that reason with the lady in question. Not you. Thank you for your concern.

Question: If you don't want her. Can I have a go?

Answer: My feelings on this question vary from “Fuck you,” to “By all means try.” I understand from her last letter that she has had to make her feelings on this matter known on several occasions. I don't know what this means but I will leave it to your imagination.

Question: Can you provide an introduction to the Princess Dorn?

Answer: You remember what I said about the Angry Dragon right? If not, let me put it like this. That young lady is more intelligent and faster on her feet mentally than you give her credit for. If you want to introduce yourself, feel free. But I warn you. She counts among her friends, in no particular order: A Witcher, a Vampiric Sorceress, a Dragon, the Empress, the richest woman in the northern realms and the best legal firm in the Empire. If you upset this woman, any one of those people will end you so fast you won't know what hit you.

Look, I don't mean to offend but, she woke up five months ago. She's still sixteen. Let her breathe for a while before sending her piles of gifts in an effort to woo her. I have it on good authority that she's not interested in such things and is having justifiable problems with personal intimacy other than from a very few people. Right now, she needs friends, not suitors.

Question: Can you come and have a look at this monster that I've found on my lands?

Answer: No.

Question: Oh please.

Answer: What do you want me to do? Travel all that way, look at it and say “Yep, that's definitely a monster,”

Question: But you know about these things now, you could deal with the problem.

Answer: Have you even been reading what I've written. No I can't. Kerrass deals with the problem. I struggled and would still struggle with a single Nekker or drowned dead. Let alone a nest of the things or a griffin or what have you. Hire a professional.

Question: But professionals are so expensive.

Answer: Believe me they're worth it.

Question: Have you met Geralt, Dandelion, Zoltan Chivay, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold, Keira Metz etc?

Answer: No.

I tell a lie. I have met the poet Dandelion and his business partner Zoltan Chivay many times as when we've been in Novigrad, Kerrass insists on staying at their inn. I understand that this is because it's one of the few places that are friendly towards Witchers. Mr Chivay seems like a decent sort although he refuses to play me at Gwent any more. Master Dandelion criticised my writing, saying that it needed more “dramatic flair,” whatever that means. I told him that I was a scholar, not a poet. He told me that I wrote to entertain and educate which is what a poet does. I've met him often enough to know that there's no arguing with him when he's in that mood and left it there.

I understand that he will not be at the coronation due to some past history with the Duchess although I do not claim to understand what that history is.

Question: Have you met any other Witchers?

Answer: I have. Fortunately this question tails together nicely with another question I received recently which is this:

Question: You once wrote that Kerrass wanted to take you to the North Eastern Parts of Kaedwen. This was before the incident with your family but after when you met the Countess of Angral. You promised that you would tell us what happened there but you never have. Where did he take you?

Answer: He took me to Kaer Morhen.

No I can't tell you where it is. I was blindfolded for a couple of days either side of our trip into that valley. I met another Witcher there although it isn't who you think it was.

It wasn't the White Wolf if that's what you're thinking. But I'm jumping ahead in the story. It's also that period where Kerrass and I spent a lot of time talking about the Witcher trials.

Just so we're clear on where this particular set of circumstances falls in the overall narrative of my stories. We had just left Angraal and were heading North, so if you're wondering about why I suddenly seem so preoccupied with “The Great Ariadne Question,” as Kerrass so mockingly puts it, that is why. This is also before we had learned of my Father's accident.

We were maybe a fortnight north of our departure from Angraal when Kerrass stopped the horses and blindfolded me. By blindfold, what he actually did was to put a sack over my head. He had warned me in advance that he was going to have to blindfold me as we were heading towards a secret place but even if I had been looking for some kind of sign that we were about to leave the road, I couldn't have seen one. It was a fairly boring looking stretch of road. Forested on one side, mountains off in the distance and where the scenery didn't consist of mountains and streams then it was farmland. Mostly consisting of sheep farms and cattle grazing. This is not unusual in Kaedwen as anyone who has been there will tell you. Kaedwen is a large Kingdom but I understand that part of the reason that it is so large is due to the fact that vast swathes of it are covered with mountains. The blue mountains, the fiery mountains and the Kestrel mountains all run through it. The other reason that it's so large is because of the fighting prowess of their former King. King Henselt.

For all of those arm-chair historians who would say something like “Well he can't have been that good if Radovid managed to conquer Kaedwen,” I would point out that King Henselt and his “rule of three” have proven to be most effective in the other wars against Nilfgaard, his constant aggression against the Elves and other non-humans as well as the to-and-fro of the aggression with Aedirn over the Pontar valley. All of which were hard fought with King Henselt only being turned back by canny negotiation or the efforts of his ruling council. He was backed up by the magic users however with a prominent school of magic being housed in the city of Ban Ard.

Indeed, there is even an argument to be said that the beginning of Kaedwen's downfall was when King Henselt finally lost his temper with the Sorceress Sabrina Glevessig and had her executed. If he had been able to harness that, especially in the face of Redania's anti-magic stance and Nilfgaard's anti-magic sentiments. He would have reaped the rewards in much the way that Kovir is doing now.

But I'm not here to analyse history. Instead I am here to talk about the Wiitcher trials and the great keep of Kaer Morhen.

So Kerrass ordered me to put the bag over my head. I was quite willing to put up with this small indignity in return for the enormous privilege that I was going to be paid. I was actually going to be taken to see the famed fortress of the Wolves. It has since occurred to me that it wasn't that much of a risk on Kerrass' part on the grounds that if they didn't like me, they could always murder me and dump me in a ditch somewhere where I would never be found.

But at the time I was still rather preoccupied with the look that I had received from a certain lady vampire and trying to figure out what that look, and her question meant to be thinking about such things.

The bag went over my head, my hands were tied together and then I was tied to the saddle so that I wouldn't fall off. We were already quite a long way away from any reasonable forms of civilisation and it had been a couple of days since we had seen anyone on the road. Signs of habitation in the farms and the odd shepherd, yes, but travellers? No. After the bag, Kerrass led my horse along easily enough. She was already well used to the Witcher and took his commands with relative calm. She was turned around in a few circles and then we went on. Beyond that, I can't tell you which direction we went, and even if I could, I wouldn't tell you.

I spent three days with that sack over my head. I know that the vast majority of the time we were travelling through thick undergrowth. Sounds of Kerrass chopping at bushes and things would come to me through the thick padding and he often had to tell me to lie down so that I was low across the horses back. Even then I could feel branches and twigs pulling at my clothes and hair.

We stopped when it got dark and Kerrass had already built up the fire so that I couldn't see anything out in the darkness. As I say, he was being a little overly cautious. I had no intention of bringing anyone else back here, even if I could tell the distance. I suppose it could be said that what I don't know can't hurt me and from that angle he was protecting me. I was under no particular inclination to argue though. We trained a little, ate and talked about small things.

Yes, Ariadne came up in conversation quite a bit but those conversations always went along the same lines.

“What do you think she meant by that question?”

“I don't know Frederick.”

“But why would you ask that kind of question?”

“I don't know Frederick.”

“Can vampires marry humans?”

“I don't see why not.”

“Can vampires and humans have sex?”

“I don't know. I suspect you will find out before I do.” He always used to say this line with what I considered to be an unpleasant and mean looking smile.

“Can they produce offspring?”

“I doubt it.”

“Are you humouring me?”

“Definitely.”

“Why would she be interested in me?”

“You're asking the wrong person, but believe me I've been asking myself that question for quite a while

now.”

“But What do you think she meant by asking that question?”

“Oh for the love of....I still don't know Frederick.”

And so on.

I can't have been a pleasant travelling companion during that time. I was fascinated. Ariadne had fascinated me and I couldn't tell you why.

I shall try to say what it was like.

I was terrified of Ariadne. In many ways I still am but I know her better now. But at that time I was absolutely beside myself with terror. But at the same time, she was a beautiful woman who had asked me how she would go about setting up a marriage with me. So on the one hand there was the terror of the fact that this woman was an incredibly powerful vampiric Sorceress, but on the other hand was the much more pleasant terror of the fact that she was an extremely beautiful woman.

But she was a vampire.

And so it went on and on and on. Round and round in my head. And it just wouldn't stop. Terror, mixed with arousal and other such basic impulses.

Kerrass led us on.

On the morning of the fourth day, Kerrass decided that I no longer needed to wear the sack and I took to leading my horse alongside him. We were still walking through a thick forested area but I began to see signs that Kerrass was following a track of sorts. He saw me looking and nodded in what I hoped and guessed was some form of approval.

In the end though we came out through the trees and into sunlight. There was no doubt anymore. We were definitely following a track. At first, just a line that you might guess the deer or rabbits followed to the distant sound of water that I could hear. But then it seemed to widen into that kind of a track that was more suitably labelled something like “road meaning that we could climb back on our horses and gently move along beside each other.” I now knew where we were even though the keep of Kaer Morhen was kept from my view and so obviously I was brimming over with questions.

“So why is there even a castle here?” I asked. Picking one of the many questions that was overwhelming my brain.

“I don't know Frederick. And before you carry on with things. I agree. It makes absolutely no sense for there to be a castle here and that's not the only thing that goes with the riddle of this place. As well as the keep itself which, when you see it, I think you will agree was an impressive feat of engineering. Three courtyards, a keep, a moat, None towers in the outer wall, a further three towers in the inner wall I think and the keep itself is no small thing to attack.

“But as well as all that, across from the keep itself across a narrow gorge is another lone tower. I understand the Witchers converted it to a Wizards tower for whichever Wizard monitored the mutations back in the day when the castle was being used. But either way, you would need to take that tower before you tried to take on the main defences.

“As well as that, this valley contains an old, ruined fortress. Much more ruined than Kaer Morhen itself. Three towers and a wall which contains many other building works. That would also need to be taken. Further into the valley there are other signs of habitation that are now mostly overgrown. But it certainly wasn't big enough to be a city. So what was the castle built to defend? I don't know and neither do the wolves who live there.”

There is a special joy to a mystery. Especially one which no-one knows the answers to it. It means that you can spend ages looking at it and dissecting it and making up theories. I could see my own fascination reflected in Kerrass' eyes.

“The Cat fortress is a much more recent thing isn't it?”

“Oh yes. And much less fascinating a thing. The Feline fortress is really a series of caves with little bits of fortifications to protect the more obvious entrances and exits. The stealth of the Wolven Fortress is that no-one knows that it's here. Other than mages who can send their sight around the world. Normally, I would think that that wouldn't bother anyone. So grand a fortress in the possession of a group of “magical malcontents and genetic freaks,” would send the royal arm out. But there's nothing here that would be worth the investment that would cause a castle like this to be built. Especially not so far out into the Kaedweni wilderness. I mean, yes. There is a small, I emphasise small, silver mine that the wolves used to forge their silver blades but most Witchers get the dwarves to make theirs anyway. Mine is certainly dwarven.”

“So this river must be...” I sucked my teeth as I tried to remember my Kaedweni geography. “This must be the Gwenllech river.”

“Yep. It travels through the valley and it's fed by a lake that's a little bit further up the valley.”

I nodded.

“Kaer Morhen.” I rolled the name round my tongue, trying it with different accents. “Kaer Morhen. Sounds Elven to me.”

“And you would probably be right. Near as the Wolves think it... It's a corruption of the elder speech where it should be called Caer a'Muirehen.” His eyes shone with amusement as he watched me role that phrase round my tongue for a moment or two.

“Caer a'Muirehen. Hang on. That would mean “Old Sea Keep.”

“I know.” Kerrass nodded. Not bothering to hide his enjoyment at my confusion.

“But we're nowhere near the sea.”

“I know that too. Wait till you see the little fossils of sea shells in the castle walls.”

“Ok, now I know you're pulling my leg.”

Kerrass just grinned in answer.

We were now trotting easily along the track next to the river. I won't lie. It was beautiful up there. We were now at the beginning of summer proper and the sun was bright, reflecting off the water which was clear and crisp. I felt good.

“So why would anyone build a castle up here?” I wondered aloud. “Other than the view I mean.”

“No-one knows. If anyone did know it was the ancient Wolven Witchers. Those ones that were wiped out when the keep was attacked and ruined.”

A small shadow crossed Kerrass' face as he said that.

“Sorry Kerrass.”

“Not your fault. Not mine either as it was done before I was born. But I still feel the guilt.”

I nodded. For those people who are relatively new to these stories, it is commonly accepted that the Wolven school was destroyed by a mob who were whipped up into a frenzy of anti-non-human fervour by a series of inflammetory pamphlets that were handed out and read to the populace at the time. There are any number of theories as to why this was the case and I won't go over them here.

What I will say is that now that I have seen the place, I would say that there is absolutely no way that an armed force could have taken the Witcher's fortress without the aid of magic users of one form or another. The thing that causes Kerrass' guilt is that it is generally known amongst Witchers that the reason that the mob was able to find the Witcher fortress in the first place was due to the fact that they had a guide from the cat school who took them there. Kerrass has spoken before about how he sometimes feels the awful weight of those young Witcher deaths on his soul.

A little way down the valley there was a short flat piece of land that seemed to stick out into the river that we were riding alongside. A large flat stone was there with a carved sword in the top. There several candles there that had obviously been there for sometime. I waited while Kerrass dismounted and cleared some of the natural detritus that had gathered around the place, moving the leaves and bits of twig aside and re-lighting the candles as well as adding one that he fished out of his saddle bags.

“What was that?” I asked him as we rode on.

“Grave of a young lad called Leo. I never learnt his second name.”

“Did you know him?”

“No. But it could have been any of us really.”

The conversation was shut down brutally after that. In truth though I didn't really want to pursue it. I was a little surprised at the depth of emotion that I was feeling coming from the Witcher at my side. In many ways it felt like he was coming home, that conflicting feeling of being glad that you're there along with all the remembered pain that the place evokes in your memory.

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“So,” I said, forcing the conversation over onto a new topic. “Three trials to become a Witcher.”

“Yes.” Kerrass shook himself back into a better mood. A cross between being a host and a museum guide.

“Three trials.”

“The first trial. In general terms?”

Kerrass threw me a warning glance but I felt as though it was more done out of habit rather than any actual concern that I might be wanting to steal the fabled Witcher secrets at this stage.

“Without going into detail, the first trial is the trial of choice, or “The Choice” to give it it's grander term.”

I nodded, half listening and half looking at the castle that was just beginning to come into view.

I wasn't disappointed.

To be clear. This comes with a certain amount of...qualification. I have seen bigger castles. Both in terms of verticality and in area covered. Kaer Morhen is, or at least probably was, a lot taller than my fathers castle. But at the same time, my father's castle covers a wider surface area. If you held a blade to my throat I would say that Kaer Morhen is more of a defensive fortification than my father's castle is as, according to my armchair general skills, I reckon you could just about assault Kaer Morhen on two sides whereas there are only a couple of directions that you can't attack my father's castle from.

The thing that Kaer Morhen has that no other castle has in my memory or observation is drama. It's a lot more of a dramatic sight. You come round the corner and, well there it is in all it's massive grandeur and scale. It's huge and it hits you in the face like a mallet. That and the entire storied history of the place, the way people might gather in darkened taverns and whisper to each other “That's the Witcher fortress you know,” and all the things that “they say,” as in “They say that they consort with demons up there in that Kaer Morhen.”

If psychology is part of warfare, which it undeniably is. Then that is a significant factor about Kaer Morhen.

To get to the gate you have to go round one of the larger towers, all while being shot at, we came at it from the south, but I can't see as to how it would be any easier coming from the north as you would need to come round the gate tower itself from the north. All the while you would be in the shadow of the watch tower on the other side of that gully.

It's a terrifying place. A frightening place.

Another factor in this kind of thing is the fact that there are bodies piled everywhere. Skulls and bones poke out of the dirt and the grass from where they had been left to rot after the mob had killed them. They had been left, for whatever reason, and they looked or acted like gargoyles do. The static kind that you find on the sides of churches rather than the moving kind that they use to guard dungeons. “Keep out,” they seem to say to you. “Go away and leave us in peace.”

Some of those bones are very small.

The good mood that I had been in as we had ridden up the valley evaporated before the unblinking stare of those bones.

All the while Kerrass kept talking.

“The first trial is “The choice,” and of all of them, I found this choice the hardest.”

“Why?” I asked absently.

“Because it was something I was doing to myself. That's why it's called “The choice.” My tutors weren't particularly nasty, or evil. They saw it as their job to do these things and so do them we did. But they never hid from us the fact that we could leave at any time. When Witchers came and went to town to get supplies or on a recruitment trip or any other reason why a Witcher might leave the keep. We could walk up to those men at any time and say, “Take us with you,” and we would be taken to town or to a nearby village and left there.

“I met one of those lads once. He had become a professional soldier, a mercenary because he had been able to use a sword and was absolutely unsuited to do anything else. We always left them a bit of money so that they could get on their feet but this guy had spent it on booze and women and suddenly he was a tough for a local gangster. He became a hit-man, fled before the hang-man's noose and became a mercenary.

“I remember him as being absolutely without bitterness. He knew who and what he was but also knew how he had gotten to the position that he was.

“But yes, where was I?”

“The trial of choice.”

“Ah yes. So what it basically boils down to is training us and teaching us until we fall over and/or hurt ourselves. All the while we're eating these herbs and mushrooms and drinking this strange juice that actually tastes quite nice. Even when you throw it up all over your dormitory floor.”

“That's a lovely image.”

“Well, you know. Anyway. That's the long and short of it. What they're doing, as well as teaching you about the monsters that you would be fighting and how to fight them, they're conditioning your body to the point where you are fit enough, and healthy enough to be able to survive the later mutations. That's really what the herbs and mushrooms are doing. As well as the breath control exercises and the, you know, exercise. It builds up the muscle strength, it keeps the heart pumping as after all, that's a muscle too. There's even some people that think that, in education the young Witchers to the extent that they do, that renders the brain more able to accept the vast changes that the body is going through.”

“Interesting theory. Is this where people start dying?”

“Sometimes.”

“What do they die of?”

“Generally, heart or liver failure of the most extreme kind. They'll just be training, as they would be normally, and then they would clutch at their chests and just fall down. Sometimes they would turn yellow, start puking their guts up and expire that way. That was different from those kids who just can't take it and run off screaming. Or flip out and try to murder an instructor. Or just, plain, go mad.

“To be fair to them, the teachers and trainers would try to catch those kids who weren't up to it and say that maybe they just weren't cut out to be a Witcher but that was rare. Because it was a voluntary process. So if you thought for one moment that you couldn't do it. Or if you thought that this wasn't for you. Then you could quit.”

A thought visibly crossed his face then, it was just a flicker, a flinch like you would give if you stubbed your toe on something.

“Mental fortitude was part of it as well. It was something that they had to train into us. One of the kids that came to the school with me from our home village. Three years into it he just lost his nerve. We found him huddled in a corner, crying his eyes out. Nothing wrong with that, I had some nights were I howled the place down to the point where there weren't any tears in my body and no-one thought any the less of me. But he looked at me and said “I'm not sure I can do this Kerrass.” We told him to quit. There was a Witcher leaving the following morning for Novigrad for a herb shipment that had been ordered. But he refused. The following day, his heart gave out and he fell dead at old Nayhans feet. We stacked him with the others and got on with it.”

“What happened to all of those kids that died?”

Kerrass looked at me for a long moment. “Each school had a mage to oversee the mutations. It's one of those things that you can't really get round. You need to have someone there to maintain the flow of mutagens. I can't pretend to understand why. But they were always trying to perfect the process. Get it to the point where they could minimise the potential losses. What I'm saying is that the bodies of the dead were given to the mage to dissect in an effort to find out what went wrong and correct the procedure.”

“Yeesh.”

“I know. It sounds ghoulish, and it is. But I genuinely believe that those people truly cared about what happened to their charges and wanted to get to the stage where the entire process could happen without losing a trainee.”

“So what kind of things did you do during the choice?”

“Chores mostly. Sword training, Lore training as well. Sign practice came later when we were more physiologically capable of channelling the force to be able to perform the simplest tasks. Otherwise nosebleeds and things if we started that too early.”

“I know that but what kind of training did you do.”

“Everyone does it differently. One of the significant things is the assault course. The Wolves have this track which the apprentices called “The Killer,” probably because it was and it did. You run up trees, leap from hand hold to hand hold, run along mountain tracks and things. I've done it when I was here recuperating and it certainly did it's job. We had “The cat-walk,” which was not as physically strenuous if I'm honest, but you had to do it pitch blackness.”

I was appalled but Kerrass seemed to speak of those things and past places fondly.

“Good times,” he said. Apparently without irony.

We came to the draw-bridge and dismounted.

“So all of this is done, to actually drive people away?”

“Pretty much,” we led the horses through a large gate house. The path that we travelled turned right at right angles. I later had to check why this was the case. And it turns out that this is so that any mobile siege equipment, like battering rams will struggle to get up to the next gate. All the while, people on the walls are still shooting at them and dropping unpleasant things down into the melee.

The things you learn when you follow a Witcher around.

“What kind of training equipment do they use?”

“Various things. There's a thing called a pendulum which swings backwards and forwards that when it's being operated properly can simulate a monsters attacks. There's also a thing that, they used to have here actually called the comb. Which is a set of end on end poles of various sizes stacked up on end. Then you have a frame that also swings weights and heavier logs across the path of the poles. It teaches balance, awareness of footing.”

“What do you do up there?” As I said, I was horrified and trying to hide it because I was concerned that I might offend Kerrass.

Remember that we hadn't called each other “friend” yet.

“Fence, work the sword forms. Often while we were blindfolded.”

“Holy flame.”

“Oh it wasn't too bad.”

The gate house was large, lofty and very very dark. There was a lot of litter there, old, empty and broken boxes and bags. Again, there were old bones piled in the corners. I guessed that the detritus had been left there deliberately in an effort to drive home the entire fact that this place was not occupied.

The effect was rather ruined by the fact that the portcullis' at both ends of the gate house were obviously maintained and well looked after.

We walked out into the bottom courtyard. That was where the efforts to make the castle look derelict began to fall apart a little bit. I could see a row of training dummies off to my left as I entered and a further pile of of unused ones in the back of the wooden structure that leant against the inner walls. There were also a few archery targets and further back there was what looked like a well stocked and diverse herb-garden. Off to the right were another small set of wooden buildings that were obviously in use as a stable. A single horse was there, feed-bag over his nose.

We started to lead our horses over in that direction when it happened.

Kerrass' head jerked up, in the same movement his sword was out and already flashing as a shape leapt off the wall above us and crashed into Kerrass.

Kerrass and the other shape rolled to their feet and separated. Kerrass was already attacking.

The entire thing happened in less than a second.

You know that thing that happens in plays when two “enemies” get together and decide that they want to have a fight. They draw their swords, face each other and tell each other (and therefore the audience) why they're fighting and so we can all see what's going on and who is fighting whom.

You know that thing?

It spectacularly failed to happen.

The only reason that I could tell one combatant from the other was because Kerrass had hair and the other man did not. They both wore brown tunics which, as it was summer, had had the sleeves removed. Both wore wrist guards and hide trousers.

In the end I got one good look at the other man from the back to see that his sword scabbard lay across his back in a similar but not identical way that Kerrass wore his and decided that the other man was another Witcher. I caught up Kerrass' horse by the reins and led both animals into the stable and into stalls to keep them out of the way before turning back to watch the contest.

Well.

I've seen Kerrass fight many times. A lot of times over the two years that we have spent in each others company. But this was the first time that I had seen him taken on by a human scale opponent that was on an equal skill level. I had seen him fight monsters many times. I'd even seen him fight humans many times but most depend on their armour as a substitute for skill and as such do not fight on Kerrass' level.

This was something else.

The two men's swords moved so fast that I would hear the swords clash, after I had seen them meet. They also didn't clash nearly as often as I was expecting them to. More often than not, they didn't bother parrying the blows that they were trading with each other on the grounds that that time could have been used to make a strike and an attack of their own.

It also wasn't like a dance. Anyone who says that a fight is like a dance was watching an exhibition match or a fight on stage. This wasn't a dance. There is a rhythm to a dance and there was not one here.

As I watched I began to get just a hint of the differences though. They fought fast. Bewilderingly, so to the point that it hurt my eyes and gave me a headache in trying to follow it.

What I did get the feeling of was the way the fight was working and the tactics of the two men. I didn't get to discuss it later with Kerrass but what it looked like to me was that Kerrass was doing most of the attacking whereas what the other man was trying to do was to channel his actions to set Kerrass up in a particular position at a particular time. Then the stranger would unleash a blistering, powerful series of attacks that Kerrass would struggle to both avoid or parry and would scramble out of the way. At which point Kerrass would be off balance and vulnerable to follow up attacks which were similar in feel. Brutal, hard, powerful attacks from the other man. Until Kerrass managed to catch them correctly and then move back from the defence to the attack.

But on the other end of the scale, the other man was struggling to manage Kerrass' free wheeling, chaotic strike patterns.

I honestly couldn't have told you who would have won the contest in a real fight. I say, “real” fight, because the other thing that began to become obvious is that both men were enjoying themselves. Smiling, grinning even. All the time giving and receiving blows that would have easily killed the other man if they had struck home.

Witchers. Crazy, the lot of them.

In the end they broke apart. I don't know how long they had been going at it. A minute, maybe two minutes at most. But they came apart and looked at each other. Breathing hard from the look of them.

“Going soft, snake?” Kerrass said panting.

“Giving up, kitty cat?” answered the other man in a drawl which I now know was from Southern Nilfgaard originally.

“Some of us have been riding all day.” I noticed that despite the friendly tone of the words, neither man's sword wavered from pointing directly at the other.

“Pussy,” sneered the bald man.

Kerrass shrugged, feinted one way before rolling the other way and renewing the attack.

My body decided that I had gone off to spend time with crazy people. While they were off being crazy people I could be doing something useful and went back to take care of the horses. The two Witchers were still going by the time I had done piling our saddle bags nearby and sat down on the fence at the side of the stable. I was fast enough to shield my eyes against one of the bombs that the bald man had thrown at Kerrass. Using a strange body twist Kerrass caught the bomb against the fuller of his blade and deflected away. As a result, I didn't go completely blind. But it was close.

As it was there were still spots in my eyes.

Again, one of those trained parts of my body realised that my brain wasn't working properly and I took out my boot knife and was holding it in my hand when I felt rough hands grab me by the shoulders and spin me around. Something cold and sharp was pressed against my neck.

“Who's this?” The Southern accent was thick in my ear. Along with a strong scent of garlic and mint.

I sighed and blinked a few times. The bald man was behind where I was sat having vaulted the fence, knife at my throat and breathing hard. I think I saw his sword lying on the ground a little way away.

“His name's Frederick.” Kerrass said. Re-sheathing his sword. “Try not to break him. He's my meal ticket.”

“You mean you cart him around and he pays for your food,”

“Pretty much.”

“A scholar too from the smell of him.”

“I like to think he has grown since I first met him.”

“So now he's a cat's chew toy as well as a scholar.” The man spat. “Important to you?”

“Not that important.”

“Damn,”

“You were hoping I'd forget about that twenty crowns you owe me from Vizima that time.”

“Also to see what kind of camp follower you carry around with you. Does he wriggle properly?” I sensed rather than saw the leer.

“If you try anything he might cut it off. Wouldn't you Freddie.”

I let the man feel my dagger point pressed against his side from where I had reversed it. “This is getting to be a habit.” I commented.

“Yes, well.” Kerrass shrugged again. “You will keep letting people use you as a human shield against me. How did he do, snake?”

“Not bad,” drawled the other man. “Better than some I've known.”

He let me go suddenly. Vaulted back over the fence, scooped up his sword with his foot before sheathing it quickly and then he and Kerrass embraced fiercely.

“Good to see you Kitten.” said the southerner.

“You too, Snake. Although I didn't expect to find you here.”

“It seems that the puppy dogs are expanding their definition of who they consider “pack-mate” especially if they told you where this place was.”

“Actually I woke up here once after they set a Queen on me.”

“You're talking...”

“Yep.”

“Nice.”

I cleared my throat.

Kerrass looked over at me. “Freddie, this is...” He raised his eyebrows at the other man.

“Letho of Gulet,” he drawled and I got my first good look at the man.

His face was the kind of face that people are afraid of. Bald with a jagged, v-shaped scar that had cut into his forehead, if you saw him walking down the street at night you would cross over, or go down a side alley to avoid him. Huge sloping brows which shadowed his eyes, further lending to his thuggish and intimidating exterior. His nose had obviously been broken many times before and his mouth was thin lipped and seemed to be made to sneer at people. I found his eyes, although similar to Kerrass' in that they were obviously vertical pupiled and yellow. They seemed to glow a lot more than Kerrass' did which, coupled with the shadowing from his brows made him seem even more unearthly. He was also hugely muscled. Massively so. It was another thing that contributed to his fighting technique. When he moved, despite walking lightly and on the balls of his feet, he moved like he expected the world to get out of his way.

I well imagine that it would at that.

There was also a remarkable intelligence behind his eyes. In every way he looked like a thug. The kind of man that stands behind money collectors and villains in plays. The ones designed to scare the audience and their children in the local plays by pulling faces and making themselves look unpleasant. But I could also tell that he had played up to his thuggish exterior. Something about the way his eyes moved, very similar to the way Kerrass does it, or those people that I've seen at court, the real powerful people, or the way my sister does when negotiating something. Eyes always moving, looking at details, anything that might lend an advantage.

But I also didn't want to underestimate him. His sword was considerably larger than the one that Kerrass carried and he scooped it up like it was nothing. He also had two, long, fighting knives that were strapped to his waist in front of him like a diagonal cross.

“Do I know you?” I asked. The name was singing in my ear, convincing me that I had heard it somewhere before.

“You might have.” He drawled, gazing at me steadily. “I have another name that northerners sometimes call me.”

“Really?” I asked as the answer occurred to me and a shiver ran up my spine. Letho's eyes were bothering me. Flat, emotionless and judging. I got the impression that he had already decided how to kill me. “I do not recall.” I said it very clearly, making sure that my words were easy to hear.

Kerrass was looking from one of us to the other.

“That's good to hear.” Letho turned to Kerrass who suddenly relaxed although I hadn't noticed him tensing up. “Much better than that overdressed peacock that hangs around with White Puppy.”

For those people who don't know who Letho of Gulet is. I shall leave you in ignorance. For those people who do know who Letho of Gulet is and are now wondering why I didn't do anything to try and bring the man to justice. You try and face down a Witcher who you know for sure can kill you as easily as breathing. Along with another Witcher who you are unsure of his loyalties. I remind you that this was before we started calling each other friend.

“Speaking of Geralt and the rest of the Wolves. Who else is here?”

“It's just me at the moment. White puppy helped me out a little while ago and he offered to put me up.”

“That's a shame. I was hoping to catch Eskel at the very least.”

“He left a couple of weeks back. He's not away much for long though. Lambert's off chasing a skirt.”

“May all the Gods help her.”

“Yeah. She seemed to be into it though.”

“Who's the lucky girl.”

“I don't know. Blonde woman. Sorceress.”

“Keria Metz?” I suggested as a way of trying to re-enter the conversation.

“That's the bitch, yes.”

“Tell me,” I said feeling my hackles rise despite my best efforts to stay calm. “Do you do lessons on how to offend people? Or is it just something you do naturally.”

Letho mused to himself. “I don't know. People generally tend to hate me on sight. That or be afraid of me so I find that hating them back is the easiest way forward. I know what I look like, Scribbler.”

“What a nice new nick-name you've given me,” I commented.

A hairless eyebrow rose, I realised that then that he was absolutely hairless, not even eye-lashes. “It was either that or, “Woman”, or “girl”. “Scribbler” suits you better.” He sneered which I began to realise was his version of a smile. “Only just though.”

“Wonderful. What should I call you? Egghead? Billiard ball? Ooh ooh, I know, Dick-head. It's funny because it's true, in every sense of the word.” Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small terrified part of me was listening to what I was saying to this trained killer and whimpering.

Letho astonished me then by laughing aloud.

I fall into a trap occasionally of over-emphasising Kerrass' displays of emotion. When I write that Kerrass smiled, what actually happened is that he kind of smirked. When I say that he laughed, it's more of a short, quiet chuckle. His temper is legendary but beyond that his emotional displays are subdued. I had never heard him guffaw with laughter. Indeed I found that I struggled to imagine any Witcher laughing, not the quiet brooding temperament of Kerrass or the epic versions of the White Wolf from the ballads. Instead I imagine, in the same way that all people do, the grim faced, dour, silent man of mystery.

To hear Letho belly laugh was astonishing.

He turned again to Kerrass. “I like him. Listen Scribbler, I need to talk to the Kitty Cat for a bit. You'll find us up in the keep. Take your time, just don't go wandering through the valley on your own.”

“Why? Will you kill me?” I retorted, still feeling the anger of who the man was as well as his general mocking tone.

“Nah, the bears might though. Also the trolls, or the Drowned dead that they have in these parts. There's also, generally some Forktails flying about. The Wights don't come out till later though.”

“Lovely place you have here.” I heard myself say.

“I didn't choose it.” Letho retorted. “Good place for a Witcher school though.” He clapped a massive hand on Kerrass' shoulder and led him off, their heads together and talking.

I took the invitation to explore to heart and wandered around a bit. It was hard not to be some kind of giddy child running around and delving into things. As I said earlier. There is a palpable weight about it all. A sense of history about it. Drama too, the feeling that much blood had been spilt. Blood sweat and tears, all mixed up with the mortar that the Witchers had used to bind the bricks together while making repairs to the stonework.

The other thing was that there was a palpable sense of sadness about the place. It was like... It was like the castle was a grand old soldier. A man who had fought many battles and gained many honours and victories. But time and compounded injuries had beaten him down. He was no longer the proud warrior of before, he could no longer straighten or hold his sword in a strong grip. His mind is feeble and you can imagine his pain in remembering what the past had been. But just, in the depth of eyes that are facing with cataracts, you get a sense of the man that used to stride the battlefields of his youth and men fought to get out of his way.

That is what Kaer Morhen is like.

There was a struggle here. A fight of some kind, where someone fought a war, a desperate struggle for their very survival. Then the war had moved on and the old antiques of that struggle had been left to rot.

It was a similar feeling that I sometimes used to get when I walked into the great cathedral in Novigrad for the first time. It was all so heavy and so...strong.

I don't just mean the Witchers or their fights here. I don't know if the Witchers built those ancient fortifications. I find that I doubt it somehow. Kaer Morhen seems more ancient. It feels older somehow. I hope that someone renovates and rebuilds it some day. I don't know why someone would do that, how or why. But I have a dream of that place. Beautiful and terrible as it is.

Listen to me. I'm a scholar. I'm happy being a scholar but sometimes I wish I was a poet, or artist so that I could properly pay tribute to that valley and that place.

I wandered into the gatehouse where I could easily imagine guardsmen standing the watch into the night. There were crates there. I opened one and I found a training dummy that had been dressed up in plate armour. There were scars in the metal near the joints where, I presume, people had been striking at the dummy and aiming for the gaps in the armour and missing. I gave a couple of the other boxes a kick and it felt like they held similar items.

I moved on.

To my layman's eyes, the herb-garden was substantial and well maintained. Recently as well, looking at the wet mud that was sticking to a trowel and gardening fork. Beautiful to look at, I knew too much to go stomping through that undergrowth. It was odd, Letho was a brute, rude, huge and thuggish but I know from my own attempts at trying to make plants grow that they need just as careful a handling as any other craft. I struggled to imagine those huge hands being turned to the careful arts of herbalism and alchemy and felt my mind sliding off the idea.

The path further into the castle sloped up and round to the next gate and I followed slowly. Something in one of the slabs of rock in the stonework caught my eye and I bent to peer closely. Small spirals, fossilized sea creatures, shell fish and other crustaceans. I shook my head in disbelief but there was the evidence. We were miles from the sea and to transport such huge blocks of stone overland would have had to be prohibitively expensive.

My mind provided theories to go with it.

From the river side perhaps?

No, some creatures live in salt water far easier than they do in fresh.

There was a lake in the valley, maybe from there? Same answer.

Perhaps magic. Possible certainly. Magic users have performed incredible feats. But I couldn't imagine why a mage, or group of mages would magic stone all the distance from the sea to build a castle here, in the remote parts of the wilderness, when the mountains were much closer which would provide stone just as easily.

It was baffling, another mystery that I would probably never solve.

The next arch-way did not inspire confidence. This was given that it was obviously in the process of being rebuilt. Wooden support struts were in place and I had to turn sideways to get through them but many of the larger stones had broken into pieces. There were signs that they were being repaired and glued back together where they were being held together, presumably to set, by rope. As I came through I was face to face with a large ballista that was aimed at my head.

The shock was diffused a little as it actually seemed as though it was aimed a little bit above my head. I

climbed up to it and followed the aiming line and guessed that it was aimed at the door frame.

The gate had been collapsed on purpose.

Curious.

I explored this second courtyard.

More training equipment greeted my sight.

There were several things that looked like children's toys only on a much larger scale. Large, multi-segmented see-saws and roundabouts. Going over and giving them a push I found that they were all very finely balanced. There were stains nearby that I took for blood.

All around the place there were cracks in the floor as if something had been confined below and had exploded upwards. I bent down to peer into one of the cracks before a wave of noxious fumes swept up and I reeled backwards, eyes watering. There was some stairs up from there that led to the wall which was obviously in need of some repair. I got up there though and looked out over the vista which was stunning.

Looking down from the wall though, anyone wanting to assault from this angle would need very long ladders or climbing rope. In the distance, down on the floor of the valley I thought I could see the charred remains of some old siege weapons and I resolved to go down to inspect them later. I climbed up, through the third gate which was in much better repair than the second. Well oiled and greased, with the machinery for winching it open off to one side. On the other was a heavily build and locked shed, no windows and a heavy door that was locked.

Beyond the she was a small alcove, over which a large piece of canvas had been stretched. A small campfire smouldered there along with a sleeping roll and some blankets. A pot hung over the ashes and there was a book propped against the wall. It looked like quite a cozy little shelter. I bent to examine the book, to see if there was a title on the spine but it looked as though the book had been rebound at some point. Old wooden covers wrapped in leather. Small pieces of thin leather marked various pages and it showed signs of much use.

I left it where it was.

I also got to see the infamous Comb. I cannot imagine putting a grown man on so obvious a piece of torture machinery, let alone a child. The posts that Kerrass had talked about were fixed to the side of the castle wall. If the person moving along the top fell one way then they fell onto the top of the wall. If they fell the other way then they would fall twenty, thirty feet down onto sharp rocks that covered a sharp slope where the faller would tumble down the loose stone and gravel to the bottom of the gulley. The faller would be lucky if they merely died as otherwise they would clearly be crippled.

A set of wooden practice swords were propped up next to it in a rack. The swords varied in size and I tried picking up one of the smaller ones. There must have been some kind of solid, metal core to it as I needed both hands to lift and hold it properly, let alone practice fighting with it. I know the theory behind giving the trainee heavier weapons before moving them on to lighter ones but this seemed to be ridiculous to me.

I moved on.

In one corner of the upper courtyard I found a huge skeleton of some beast that I did not recognise. It was huge, putting me in mind of some kind of giant insect. Chitinous exo-skeleton and things were still visible. The sun and other elements had long bleached it clean and white.

In the end I began to feel as though things were beginning to get a little overwhelming and I headed for the keep entrance. The door had been wedged open at a small angle so that I had to turn sideways to squeeze through. Inside it was much warmer but it turned out that I hadn't even begun to take in the sights, sounds and smells of this place.

I walked in to a huge hall, So high that it seemed unfeasible that anyone would order a hall to be built so large. As my eyes adjusted to it though I could see several cracks in the ceiling. One large crack in particular had been propped up by huge wooden beams. The very act of that repair in and of itself was a feat of engineering that was mind-boggling but there it stood. I wondered how long it had stood there and who had been the first people to set such a thing up. Even more importantly, given how long it had been there, how much longer would it stay in place.

Witchers. Setting up home, and maintaining that home in a place that was likely to collapse and kill them at

any moment.

The arrangement of the floor space, at first, seemed to be chaotic to me. But again, as I started to adjust to it I began to see the order that came out of the chaos. A corner for books. Another corner for the dissection and study of beasts and monsters. Another corner for beds. Two of which had been made up with what looked like fresh sheets and I recognised Kerrass' steel sword propped against one of them.

I followed a delicious smell to the hearth where I found Letho sprinkling some Rosemary over a large hunk of meat before ladling some kind of sauce over the top of the meat. He did it gently and slowly showing much more patience than I did whenever I was cooking, but it allowed the liquid to be absorbed into the meat with just the slightest bit of what was left spilling into the fire to rise into steam.

“You took your time scribbler,” he drawled without looking up.

“You did say you wanted to talk to Kerrass in private.”

“No, I said I needed to talk to him for a bit. Not an age.”

“You also said that I should, and I quote, “Take your time,””

Letho grunted something that I didn't catch.

“Where is Kerrass anyway?” I asked.

“Off somewhere.”

“Did he say where?”

Letho just looked at me. I could detect no thought or feeling in that stare. It was as though I was just a thing, an annoyance and a boring one at that. I was being measured in some way and I could not tell what he thought.

“No,” he said simply.

“Is he ok?”

“No,”

“This is going to be a really boring conversation.”

Another weighing stare.

“He had some bad news is all. Wanted to be by himself for a bit. He'll be back when he's ready.”

“How long's that going to be.”

“As long as it takes. Give it a fortnight and if he's not back by then I would suggest making your way home.”

“Lovely. What was the bad news?”

“A friend of his died.” It was as though he took great delight in saying very little but hinting at the maximum possible result. “Asked me to make sure you don't die in the meantime looking at anything you shouldn't.”

“Is that a real danger?”

“I don't know. I don't know what you shouldn't be looking at. He did suggest that you could entertain yourself for a year or two by looking at the books over there. Just be careful, some of them are quite old.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know yet. Was going to start with dinner. Come here.” He beckoned. “Keep spooning the jus over the meat, gently as you can. If you think you could do it slower then you are going to fast.”

He lumbered off to a wooden cupboard and produced two plates along with, to my astonishment, a set of cutlery and a pair of wine-glasses. With that he set the nearby table.

“Stop watching me,” he said. Against without looking up. “Concentrate on spooning that sauce over the meat.” He went over to another part of the hearth where there was an oven, which he opened and produced two loaves of fresh bread which he set out on a rack on the table before coming back to examine my handiwork.

“Not bad,” was his musing. With quick practised movements he cut the thinnest of slices of meat off the roast and put them on the plate. Fortunately for my tastes there was plenty of it and he kept going until the skewer was clean other than a carcase. Then from another pan he added some fried mushrooms and other vegetables and poured the sauce into a jug. He gestured for me to sit down opposite him and placed one of the plates in front of me. He poured half the jug over his food, handing it over to me and pulled one of the loaves over to himself and tore a huge chunk off it.

I was just staring at him.

“What?” He said before something occurred to him. “Butter,” He got up and rumbled off, coming back with a small pot of butter. “It's goats butter but it does the job.”

I felt my mouth drop open as the huge man wasted no time shovelling the food down his throat.

“It's better when it's hot,” he commented after he noticed me watching him.

It was delicious.

It was so good that I don't really have the words to describe it.

It was a while before I even noticed that the huge man had carefully poured me a glass of wine. I don't know why I was surprised to discover that the wine complemented the meal perfectly.

“That was delicious,” I said after finally mopping up the remains of the sauce with the last of my bread.

“Not bad,” Letho grumbled. “Needed more garlic.”

I stared at him in a clash of amusement and amazement. “That was amazing. There's a reason that Kerrass has me do most of the cooking on the road. He can cook a good steak but that's about it.”

“Well, that doesn't surprise me.” Letho lifted his glass to the light and examined the shine of candle-flame through the liquid. “The Kitty Cat always was too impatient to be a proper cook, or a proper alchemist really.”

“Have you known Kerrass long?”

Letho looked at me over the top of his glass.

“He warned me about you,” he said.

“Oh yes.”

“Yes. He told me that you would interrogate me worse than the most zealous church interrogator.”

I laughed. “You're my second Witcher.” I said. “If our positions were reversed what would you do.”

“If our positions were reversed I would probably have tried to kill me.”

“Why would I do that.”

“That, business with the Kings.”

“Not my King.” I said shrugging. “Plus I am well aware of my own capabilities. I could no more fight or kill you than I could a dragon.”

Oh how I laugh at that comment now.

Letho grunted. “Take a tip, Scribbler. Never have anything to do with Kings, Emperors or Sorceresses. They'll lead you around by the nose and then try to kill you for it.”

“I certainly intend to try, but I may find that difficult.”

He raised a brow in question.

“I may have caught the eye of an elder vampiric Sorceress.”

His eyes widened a little. I had been watching. His expression was much more guarded than Kerrass' was and it was harder to read but I thought I had detected surprise there, then amusement. With maybe just a touch of sympathy.

“In a sexual way, in a “bow to my will kind of way” or what?”

“In a, she suggested we might marry kind of way.”

Letho took that in. For a moment before topping up my wine.

“She attractive?”

“Very, Or she will be when she recovers her strength, but she can also cast a glamour on herself so that she can look like whatever she wants.”

“In which case,” He drank his own wineglass off at a swallow. “I suggest you jump in with both feet.”

Amazing how many people have echoed this sentiment.

“Shouldn't I be afraid?”

“Very. But if she's decided then I doubt you have much choice.” He got up and fetched another bottle of wine. Then he rethought the matter and fetched a couple of bottles of wine which he put on the table next to us. “Saves time later,” he said when he noticed me looking.

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

Letho shrugged. “Cards?”