“Is it always like this?” Sam asked me.

He was standing next to me while I was sat at the table in the inn that the central group had commandeered for our command post. There was a bottle of wine in front of me that I was trying not to think about. I desperately wanted a drink but knew that it would be the first step down a long, dark hole that I might never climb out of. Tonight was not a night for drinking heavily. I would need my wits about me.

But it was looking at me.

“Is what always like this?” I asked him.

“The waiting?”

I gave a wry little chuckle. Probably the sort of chuckle that would have made me really cross if someone had chuckled at me in the same way.

“If I had a florin for every time someone had asked me that I'd have... well around 18 florins to tell you the truth.”

“That's not a comfort.” Sam hooked a chair over with his foot.

“Sam, you're a knight and a soldier. Surely you know what it's like, waiting, before an action.”

“It's not the same.” I noticed that he was drinking some milk. “With a big battle it's so big and so ….organised that there's no real time to sit around waiting for something to happen. They're always telling you what's going to happen and then they train you to obey instantly so you don't have the time to react with any other kind of emotion. After a while you get into the rhythm of it as well. Archers and bombardment first, loose formation, take cover, shields up, reform, mount cavalry charge, wheel away, defend against cavalry charge, beware infantry... and on and on it goes.

“You don't see a battle, you hear it and a bit of experience tells you what's going on and what you need to do. Battle is proactive. Even when you're waiting for the enemy to fall into your ambush or when you're preparing for incoming enemy charges, you are always doing something, looking for better ground, deciding where to stand and things. It's proactive where as this is just....Waiting for something to happen. Something which might not happen in the first place.”

I grunted and stared at my hands on the table.

“No,” I said after a while. “It's never like this. This is different, hugely different.”

I looked at him after a while, he was staring out the door at the night sky.

“You know that Mark asked me the same question.” I said after spending a bit of time trying to guess what he was thinking. “We were sat in the woods, the night before we captured Cousin Kalayn and all of the other sick fucks with him. I remember that he was really unhappy with the waiting and he tried to talk about how unhappy he was about Emma and Laurelen. As I recall I was spectacularly unhelpful to him.”

“What did you tell him?”

“You know?” I said. “I can't remember. I probably made a joke. He was so desperately unhappy and uncomfortable that I was trying to put him at ease and make him feel a better.”

“Yeah,” said Sam, “Did it work?”

“No.” I answered. “He was just on the verge of making me cross before we got the signal that it was time to move.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Probably.” I sighed and examined my finger-nails. “But I've been thinking about it since.”

“And your conclusions Master Frederick?” When he puts his mind to it, Sam can do an admirable impression of our childhood tutor.

“I think it's different every time. It's always scary but it's always different. In this case.... Emotional context is the key to understanding why it feels this way.”

“Emotional context?”

“Yes. In every hunt of a monster or waiting for that action in the woods. We were.... There's so much emotion involved. If you're hunting a monster that's killed a whole bunch of children then obviously that sucks and you want to bring the beast down. That or the ghosts, hunting ghosts is a little weird in that there's always a tragic back story. Often a really tragic one so that when you are hunting one of those, it's like putting down a sick animal of some kind and it always, always sucks.

“But here. Here there's something completely different.

“For a start, we don't really know what we're hunting. That's a giant Witcher taboo, to hunt something without knowing what it is. We have a rough idea, of course, but even that is very small scale compared to the greater substance of what we're up against. So there's fear there. What we face tonight, or what we might be facing tonight is so much bigger and scarier than a group of cultists.

“But then, and I don't know if I speak for you, there is also the really quite astonishing amount of anger and rage that is fuelling me. I can feel it in my hands and my fingers. My feet and my legs are actively trying to tip me out of the chair and onto the chase. I want to jump up and down on the bastards that did this Sammy. I want to jump up and down on them until their bones and insides are nothing but paste and goop.”

Sam shifted in his chair a little.

“I know what you mean,” he said. “There is very rarely any emotion in a battle because the poor bastards on the other side are just doing their job. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot of fear there and yes, in the heat of the moment, there is anger in the wake of the fear that departs after the first exchange of blows. But before hand and afterwards, certainly in my mind, there is very little feeling. When you look at the horror that you've made of the poor buggers who decided to block my mace with their faces, then you start to feel a little differently.

“Or at least you're supposed to. In every army you get those psychopaths that are in it for the violence and the killing.

“But here? I can't get the image of Francesca's face out of my mind. I can't stop thinking of the fact that the last thing that I said to her was offhand. Something like “see you later,” rather than any kind of deep and intentional statement of love and respect. Flame Freddie but I don't want that to be the last thing I said to our sister.”

“I know what you mean. There's also the fact that this seems to have been deliberately targeted to piss me off. Invoking a scary thing from my past. Either as a taunt or some kind of insult, or what. I don't know what but this feels more personal somehow. There is another fear as well.

“Back when we faced the cultists, there was a sense of....the worst had already happened. Dad was dead, We knew what we faced and weren't that physically scared. There was a sense of...anticipation almost. There were answers in that clearing full of cultists. Here though.... I don't know what we're going to find here and I find that scary. The goals here are so broad and the unknowns are so....there are so many of them. What I'm really scared of....Really scared of is that the worst hasn't happened yet. It's been three days now since Frannie disappeared. That's a long time, She's young, fit and healthy so if she's been locked in a pit somewhere thene there's a good chance she's still alive but it's close. Very close.

“I keep going through these thoughts.” I went on. “I keep imagining all of the worst possible things that could be happening to her now. I know, I know I'm not supposed to but I can't help it. I keep imagining her in some cellar, locked in the hold of a ship. Even to the more fantastical, imagining her in some kind of evil ritual circle, being in another world. On her way to some far off shore as a slave. Even then, though that's not the worst thing.”

Sam looked sidelong at me. “Do you want me to ask what that is?”

I smiled a little feebly. “It's imagining her dead in some ditch just out of town, with her throat cut. Simple, basic and all too plausible.”

Sam grunted.

“But in the meantime there's still the other thing happening.” I went on.

“Which is?”

“We're in the eyes of the Empress. Let's be fair with each other here Sam. Did you think that we would ever be here? Or more importantly, do you thing that Father ever expected our family to be hob-nobbing with Imperial royalty?”

Sam laughed. But then we subsided for a while, staring into space.

In the distance I could hear a church-bell ringing. That was the signal to say that everything was in place. It had been delayed by the guard from it's normal time of ringing to mark the passage of midnight. I guessed that it might be a little late tonight as everyone got into their assigned places. I could well imagine everything happening. Soldiers settling into their deployments. Archers and lookouts on the roofs of the various buildings. Additional lanterns and fires had been set in the streets so that the entire place was lit and we could see everything when we needed to.

I shivered. I was afraid.

“You don't need to worry.” Sam said, having seen the shiver. “Big brother's here. I'll look after you.”

I grinned at him.

“I know. But that's not why I'm afraid.”

“You're not afraid of being eaten by terrible monsters from beyond the veil of darkness.” My brother joked. “I'm disappointed Freddie. I was looking forward to saving you from some of those.”

I chuckled at him. At first I wanted to write that I laughed at him but that would have been a little ambitious as to what actually happened. I wasn't quite up to laughing yet.

“No. If you think we're going to be let anywhere near the unspeakable horror, then I'm afraid to tell you that that's unlikely to happen. It can't have escaped your notice that there are an extra six soldiers with us along with Sir Thomas as an extra officer.”

“I had noticed. Not unusual for a central unit I thought,”

I smiled a little victory for the scholar over the soldier.

“I strongly suspect that if we tried to do anything away from the main unit then one of those six men would suddenly find themselves in our way. Also, if we try to run then I reckon they're under orders to knock us, smartly, on the top of our heads and drag us back to the palace where Emma and the Empress between them, will scold us enough to send our ears ringing. I will be grounded until marriage, at which time my keeping will be put into the hands of Ariadne, a woman that doesn't really need to sleep. You will find yourself deployed to some arctic or arid post in the far reaches of the Empire where you can grow old in service.”

There was a pause.

“Awww,” complained Sir Thomas from nearby where he was playing dice with a couple of soldiers and losing badly. “It's no fun when the target knows that you're coming.”

Sam glared at him but Thomas seemed unconcerned. He deserved his confidence as well. I had seen him practising the day before and I thought that he was among the finer swordsmen that I had seen. And I have seen Geralt of Rivia fight.

I got up and walked to the door where Kerrass was looking out into the night with one of the former Knight Errants. They were talking about routes to get to different places as fast as possible.

I leant against the door and kept my peace.

“I notice that you didn't answer his question.” Kerrass said, handing me a cup of heavily watered wine.

“Which question is that?”

“What are you afraid of?”

I sighed and looked at him. “I'm afraid that this entire exercise is pointless.”

Kerrass grunted but otherwise kept silent.

I looked out at the sky. Only the odd star poked through the haze generated by the fires. The air was fairly cool and crisp. The moon, not quite full which I took to be a positive omen given the circumstances.

“Fine night for it.” I heard myself comment.

In all fairness, Kerrass and I have been in this kind of situation more times than either of us care to count. I was also tired, and bewildered by the vast storm of emotions and questions that were rattling around behind my eyes. But even as I said it, I could hear how ridiculous it sounded.

Kerrass looked at me and raised an eyebrow. Then I saw the corner of his lip started to turn up at the corner.

Then he smirked.

But that point I had already had the giggle beginning to form at the back of my throat trying to scrabble and claw it's way out and into the open air.

He chuckled, I laughed. The other soldiers looked at us as though we had completely lost our minds.

Which of course made our fit of giggles only increase until we were both helpless.

We managed to get our sobs of laughter back under control before we would look at each other again which would set us off again.

“Attend,” came a woman's voice in my ear. I didn't recognise it. It was cultured and educated. I thought that it was a Temerian accent but couldn't be sure. But as I heard the voice, the other soldiers were climbing to their feet, straightening other equipment and exchanging glances. The air was tense again. Kerrass had moved out, just into the night. He was staring up at the sky although I don't think he was looking for something. His head was tilted to one side and I thought that he was listening to something. His left hand was at his medallion and gripping it tightly.

I moved outside to stand next to him and strained to hear anything over the flickering sounds of the flames and the crackling of the straw and wood that fuelled the burning.

But I could hear something even though it took me a few moments to identify it.

Someone was laughing. A long way off but I could hear it. Just the hint of it, echoing off the walls and other buildings. It was the sound of someone who was anticipating a treat of some kind. Low and sinister.

I could imagine a huge grin and clown make-up.

“He's here,” Kerrass said.

“Rather ominous comment,” I muttered.

He smiled at me, put his hand on my shoulder and steered me back inside. The Guards and knights had got to their feet and were arranging their weapons.

“Here we go,” Sam muttered. “It's exactly the same as a battle after all.”

I raised my eyebrows at him in question.

“You don't see a battle,” he said, “you hear it.”

“Contact,” said a voice and I spun round. It was the Imperial knight that was attached to our unit. “Down near the docks.”

Kerrass nodded. “Makes sense. Lots of ground and obstacles to make his move without being cornered.”

We all crowded round the door to the inn, straining to hear the first sounds of combat. A shout, a yell, a scream, the clash of steel. Anything that might give us a clue.

“Keep a loose net.” the guardsman's voice again relaying orders from the citadel and the coven. “Central group hold position. Second and third teams, start moving south. Keep it loose though. Let's not tighten the net too much before we've got the bastard.” The guardsman was stood with his hands covering his ears, presumably so he could concentrate on what he was being told.

“Ok, folks.” Kerrass told us all. “It looks like this is it. So keep your eyes on your mates. Hold the formations that we've discussed and remember the briefing. I wasn't exaggerating how dangerous this prize piece of shit is so for the Gods and Godesses sake. Keep to your formation. Do NOT pursue unless you are with three others and sound off if you do so.”

We all spun back to the door as we heard a scream in the night air that seemed to stop abruptly.

“Remember,” Kerrass went on after he was sure everyone was looking at him again. “This is not a search and destroy, this is a search and capture. No matter how much he hurts us we need to bring him down alive. Do we all get that?”

There were affirmative sounds. Someone started to swear by the heron that it would be so but petered off after they realised what they were saying and in who's company they were standing.

“The word is not, Good hunting.” Kerrass said finally. “The word is “Be careful,” Take it to heart gentlemen.”

There were more nods.

There was another scream, but this was more an ongoing exclamation of pain that drifted to us over the roof. It went on and on and on.

“Team 2 and 3,” the Guardsman spoke. “Relieve four and five respectively. Four and five, fan out and sweep southwards towards the docks. Eyes on the roof-tops.”

I realised that I was kicking the wall. It was foolish but it took an effort of will to stop.

Sam's words came back to me. “You don't see a battle, you hear it” he said but I was becoming awfully concerned that I wouldn't take part in this battle. I wanted to be part of it. I needed to be part of it. To see the thing that I had brought down here to interfere in my families life.

I had gone back to kicking the floor.

“Central team, move south. Take it slow and stop when you reach the band-stand at the end of Higher-market square. Watch the roof-tops.”

“That's us,” Kerrass called. “Take it slow folks. Good luck.”

We left the tavern quickly and formed up in the street. We split in half and stayed close to the walls. We moved slowly, painfully slowly to me but every open door and side street was checked.

We heard another scream and an exclamation of laughter. It was too loud that laughter. It echoed and magnified in a way that could not be possible. I saw a couple of the soldiers exchange glances.

We moved on, frustratingly slowly.

We came round a corner we saw our first casualty.

He wasn't dead. He had been skewered through the thigh and was leaving a trail of blood behind him. He was supported by another two men who were hurrying him along as best as they could. They weren't looking where they were going though and almost walked into one of the Knights Errant that was with our party.

“Hold,” the knight rumbled. He was a big man, big enough that it almost seemed as though he was different species from those of us who had smaller, more normal proportions. I saw Kerrass walk over and bent down to talk to the wounded man. I couldn't tell what was said but I know Kerrass well enough to know that he wasn't pleased. The wounded man continued up the hill supported by one of the men that he had come with.

The third man was commandeered by Kerrass and ordered to take us on to where the attack happened.

Sam was next to me and he said something but I didn't quite hear him. I was too busy concentrating on something else.

“What?”

“Clever bastard.” He seemed almost startled that he had spoken aloud in the first place. “When Archers are at the point where they're actually picking out targets rather than just aiming in volleys, they are told to aim to wound rather than to kill. Aim for shoulders, thighs and stomachs. Don't try to kill outright. Aim to wound.”

I sighed theatrically. “I know why, but tell me anyway, I know you want to show off how clever you are.”

He grinned at me. It was an unhappy grin.

“It's because nothing saps the morale of a group of soldiers like the screams of a wounded man. Whether they're calling for water, a quick blade, mercy or screaming for their mothers. The other thing is that a good wound will take more than one man out of the fight. It will take another one, or two to get the wounded man back to the surgeons.”

He shrugged again.

“Clever bastard.”

We moved up a few doorways.

“Sounds like you admire the man.” I commented.

“I do.” Sam bared his teeth in a snarl. “I also hate the bastard for making me admire him. I tell you Freddie,” he spat. “I quit. After this is decided one way or another, I'm going to devote myself to sorting out the Kalayn lands. Then when....when Mark is no longer with us I'm going to devote myself to the same improvements that Father began. Both at home and at castle Kalayn. I don't want to think like this any more. I want to look on these things with horror rather than admiring the skill that it took to achieve.”

“Turn your sword into a plough you mean.”

He considered. “Probably not. If the need arises I would still need to be able to lead our families regiments to the front. But I want that to be a last resort. I don't want to do this any more.”

“After tonight.”

“After tonight, and once more. After we find the bastards that took Francesca.” He said with a fair amount of venom.

“Amen brother.”

We came round a corner again and we found our first body. It was a guardsman, lying where he had tumbled to the floor, hand outstretched to where his sword had fallen. A man from our group went over and rolled him over. His throat had been sliced open.

He looked surprised.

A bit further round we found more bodies. One man had bled to death trying to staunch the flow of blood from a wound he had taken in his upper thigh. Another man had fallen dead, a look of utter astonishment on his face. Only a small bead of blood had spilled from the corner of his mouth. We didn't have time to examine though as we moved past him.

We didn't see anyone else before we got to our objective. A small band stand at the market place. The Market place looked as though it had been abandoned at speed. A lot of the stalls were still in place while the goods had been taken off somewhere. Apart from the odd fish and piece of vegetable matter that tripped up an unfortunate soldier who cursed a little too loudly for the nerves of a couple of the men who glared at him.

“The three of them had chased him.” Sam commented. “And he destroyed those two before chasing the last man down and killing him.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Central group, move west.” Came the order.

“Stay together,” Kerrass said again. “Do not chase him. That's what he wants. We want to fight him on our ground, not his.”

The men muttered. They had been shaken by the dead men. None of them had expected to die during the celebration of the Empress' coronation. Brave men all but I heard one man comment that he would rather face a cavalry charge than this.

Another man commented that we were being hunted.

“No,” Kerrass told him. “We are hunting him. Think of him as the most dangerous beast that you've ever hunted. We might lose some but the bastard is going down.” He grinned nastily at the younger man.

We moved west. Without signals being given we had split into smaller groups. I saw one of the knights Errant scowl a bit before bending down to smear some horse dung over his armour to take the shine off. No-one commented on it.

“Move quickly west towards the lower gate. Group five is engaging. Keep him busy, Group six is coming in behind you to reinforce. Move it.”

Kerrass whistled to catch the attention of the nearby men. He gestured and broke off at a run. We followed him and we came out onto the square that lead to the lower gate into the city. We knew that the cavalry was patrolling outside the gates. There was a group of men against a wall, one was a field medic of some kind and was seeing to the injured.

“He's like smoke.” A man said clutching a rag of some kind to his face despite the blood that was still seeping between his fingers. He was obviously in shock. Sir Thomas and his men steered Sam and I into that direction. I shrugged, stole a couple of bandages and a spare sewing kit and got to work. I needed to feel useful.

It didn't help. These men were dying. Their enemy knew his work.

More men were coming and being carried into place. One called for water. That I could do.

We appeared to be in some kind of staging area. I saw Kerrass lead his men off, further to the East. There was no sounds of fighting. I remember that. But now that I was closer I could hear the whistle of weapons moving through the air at speed. The twang of arrow strings and the strange buzzing sounds of arrows flying through the air. Still with the sounds of the flames.

“He's like smoke. You can't touch him. He just isn't where he should be. He's like smoke.”

“My God Freddie,” Sam was helping me hold down another wounded man who didn't want to stay still. “What is happening here. These men aren't slouches. One man did this?”

Sir Thomas and his men were screening the wounded and was chasing the other men back to the fight.

“He's like smoke.”

“I know,” I tried to take the man's hand away from his injury. The gash across his face was awful and if he lived, he would have lost his sight in his eye. “I know friend just let me look at it.”

“He's like smoke.” He stared over my shoulder and a look of horror came across his face. I had seen such things before and assumed that he was dying but he wasn't, his hand lifted to point.

“Freddie.” Sam shook my shoulder, “Look,”

A man stood on a roof top. He was dressed in a long coat of indeterminate colour. I thought it might be brown or dark green in the firelight. He had a large hat on his head, the brim shading his eyes so that we couldn't see much of his face but what we could see was covered in cloth. In his right hand he held a long slim sword that dripped with gore and his other hand carried a large club or cudgel. There was also a knife in his belt which was a belt of thick leather. He was wearing long boots.

He was laughing. Even though I couldn't hear it over the groans of the wounded, you could see that his shoulders were shaking.

“More meat for the grist.” He called down to us. A bow sang from nearby and he jumped off the roof into the square with us. Sam roared and charged him, followed by Sir Thomas and his men. Other men joined in the formation closing in from the wings of Sam's impromptu formation.

Kerrass called another half a dozen men to him and followed keeping a deliberate gap between his men and the charging men. I wondered why but then the mystery man appeared again, nimbly leaping over the front rank. Kerrass closed with him then as Sam's men turned. It should have been all over. All told I thought that “Jack” was surrounded by a good fifteen or sixteen men.

But then the laughter started to come through clear and free.

Again I felt myself shiver, just before I saw Jack, because who else could it be, vault over one soldier and run at the next line of soldiers. I felt my mouth open in surprise and shock. I had a better look at him now as he ran straight at the next line of soldiers, he darted one way before jinking the other as the next line of soldiers closed on him. Then he seemed to collapse as he slid under the line. Under a man's shield and then he was up running.

A man was screaming. Later I would discover that Jack had slashed a man's femoral artery as he went under. He didn't scream for long though.

A soldier saw what was happening and ran to engage him. I would like to say that I saw the sword moves that this involved. But I didn't. Instead I saw a shimmer of steel and then the soldier spun away, his hand going to his throat to stop the fountain of blood that was bursting forth. But It was easy to see that he was already dying. He staggered aside.

I climbed to my feet and hefted my spear a little but I didn't get chance. I saw Jack dance aside to avoid an arrow that was fired at him from the roof-top before taking to his heels and running down a nearby alley. I saw him run up a wall by the entrance to the alley and disappear over the rooftops.

The soldiers began a pursuit, relatively well ordered to my eyes but Kerrass called them off.

“Stop.” He bellowed into the chaos. “Form up.”

It took a while but with the shouting of the Guards officers, order was quickly restored.

I was in shock. I had seen the Imperial Guard train. They weren't slouches with the blade. But I had seen one man tear them apart with ease. Two men down with surgical precision in three seconds.

I found Sam. He was white-faced but I was pleased to see that he was unhurt.

“So fast. Sweet flame of the Prophets. So very fast.”

He looked up at my face as he drank from the skin of water that I had offered him.

“I couldn't get near him Freddie, couldn't get near him.”

“I know Sam, next time.”

“God Freddie, I don't think I want there to be a next time.”

“Possibly the most sensible thing we've said between us in several days.”

Sam grinned at that but it was a tired grin. The kind that had taken effort to perform.

“Freddie,” Kerrass called me over and Sam came with me. Kerrass was stood with Gaetan the Cat Witcher who was stood with a cloth held over his arm. His face caught half between a grimace and a wince. There was another Witcher that Kerrass introduced me to with the name of Lambert. A thin, pinch faced man with a surprising widow's peak. He looked as though he had just eaten a sour piece of fruit when he had been expecting sweetness. The Imperial guard Captains came in quick although one waved off and told us that he would be securing the square.

“What's the count?”

“12 dead. Only four wounded. But they won't fight again.”

There were winces all round.

“Off one exchange.” one of the captains said. “That's a high rate of attrition.

I should mention that it was. The Imperial guard were far from slouches and it was a bit of a knock to see how easily “Jack” had run rings around them.

“This isn't working.” Kerrass said. “He's using our numbers against us, tying us in knots and making us become a threat to each other. That and archers firing into the mix means that all we're getting is confused while he leads us around and into whatever position that he wants us to be in. If we keep going like this, all we're going to do is end up with a lot of dead guardsmen and a few dead Witchers and Knights. First of all, am I wrong?”

There was plenty of looking at each other before looking away. The Witcher Lambert looked as though he wanted to argue.

“We concur,” The guardsman who was communicating with the magic users said. He had that vacant look that I had begun to associate with the communication without the input of ears and mouth. “What do you suggest?”

“We're letting him dictate the chase.” Lambert grumbled. “He's obviously clever and ridiculously fast. We assume that that is magical so he can't be tired out. What can we do about that?”

“We're going to struggle to bring him to us.” Kerrass said. “We have nothing he wants so laying a trap is all but impossible.”

“What about...”

“No,” The Captain spoke for the mages. “The Empress declared that bait is out of the question.”

“Lovely,” Lambert declared. “So, to face up to him with his level of skill, the only people that stand a hope are the Witchers and maybe, maybe one or two of the knight's errant. The Guardsmen are good but they're soldiers not policemen. When they see the bad guy they chase them. Can we use that?”

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“That strikes me as a good way to get spread out and picked off.” Gaetan said. He took a deep breath and examined the cloth that he had pressed to his arm before grimacing and pressing it back. “We know he's out there. We know he's not rational or that he's otherwise being compelled in some way otherwise he would just go to ground.”

“Right. So.” Kerrass blew his breath out of his mouth. “We can't set up a trap or lay bait. So what's next?”

“How are we tracking him?” Sam asked. He was chewing his lip, an old habit from when he was puzzling over a problem that a tutor had set us.

“He leaves a magical trail, an echo if you will.”

“So is he the being itself or an imposter?”

“It's hard to say with certainty.” Lambert commented. “Leave the thinking to the grown ups would you.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Sam said without venom. “I suppose it would be too easy for the mages to just disrupt his magic?”

“It would,” Lady Eilhart told us through the soldier.

“So hang about.” Sam said. “How many of that Coven, coterie, circle -jerk of mages up at the citadel are needed to track the thing and how east would it be to open a gate for the Witchers to jump through to wherever he is?”

“It's possible.” said the guardsman, frowning in concentration.

“What are you thinking?” Kerrass asked Sam while glaring at Lambert who was trying to argue.

“Well, I'm just thinking that this is a hunt right? It's the largest and most dangerous hunt that we have. We also need, only the Witchers to fight the bastard so we're reserving the kill.”

“Sam,” Kerrass' voiced betrayed some frustration.

“Alright look. Father used to run a hunting reserve.”

“Is there a point to all of this,” Lambert exploded only to be calmed by Gaetan's hand on his shoulder.

“Let him speak,” Gaetan muttered.

“Father used to run a hunting reserve. Periodically, when there was something juicy in the reserve that was being saved for a particularly important guest, one of the Duke's or when the King came to stay or something, the beaters would go out to track the beast and find it so that the VIPs could be steered in the right direction.”

Kerrass nodded. “I see your point.”

“I don't,” Lambert said but I thought he was doing it deliberately.

“The Witchers are the VIP's,” Sam told him. “The Guardsmen are the beaters. They identify and track the “beast” and contain it in an area. The beaters used sticks and loud noises but, I don't know, big ass shields? Tell them not to get in the way and to just put the shields between themselves and the “beast”. One or two Witcher's get gated in and hold the beast there while the rest come in to “make the kill” as it were.”

“The idea has some merit.” Gaetan admitted. “If the guard station themselves in a perimeter around the city in a ring, move the circle in slowly. Until the guards and their shields become a wall. That way we can steer them into the direction and to the place where we want him to go. That way we can hopefully control the ground as well.”

“If I were Jack,” Kerrass mused, “I would attack the wall.”

“Then the guard fall back.” Sam said. “Their job is not to engage, their job is to identify, track and contain the bastard. If we know where he is then that's half the battle. As it is we concentrate our forces making it easier for him to escape and evade. We contain him, the Witchers come and kill him.”

“Hard on the Witchers that have to do all the running around though.” Lambert complained.

“Aww, poor lamb. Scared of a bit of running.” Sam chided him.

Lambert told him to go off and do something obscene.

“What is it with Wolves and going soft.” Gaetan seemed satisfied with the state of the rag that had been pressed against his arm and tucked it into a pouch. “Must be all of those Sorceresses that they keep hanging around with.”

Lambert repeated his earlier obscene gesture.

The plan was passed around. The Imperial guard weren't happy, they had lost men now and needed to see some kind of vengeance. Being told to back off and let the professionals deal with it was not taken well.

“Where do you want us?” Sam and I were, again, feeling like fifth wheels on the wagon.

“Want you?” Kerrass smiled slyly. “Preferably back at the palace surrounded by guardsmen. But failing that, stay with the guard reserves.”

We nodded and did what we were told.

The Imperial Guard did their jobs well. Shields were found, huge long and wide things. I was astonished that they actually had wheels on the bottom to carry the weight. I later found that they were designed for use in sieges to protect those men who would dig the trenches to get nearer to the castle walls. The guard though moved them around with astonishing speed and agility.

As an extra officer, Sam was drafted in to provide some extra authority.

“Step by Step Lord Kalayn.” said one of the knights. I got the impression that the knight in question was unsure as to Sam's authority and was just managing to stop himself short from ordering my brother around. My brother ignored him and proceeded to show that he knew how to call the march.

“No heroics.” He yelled at the men. I noticed that he was stood directly in front of the men, facing them with his back towards whatever potential threat that there might be as though he was both ignoring and scornful of any danger that might be presented. He knew his business though.

He only had to be told a soldiers name once and he not only remembered it but also seemed to pick up on the men's nicknames and gossip as he ordered them on, step by step. Double ranks and single ranks. “Calling the cadence” is what he called it and although I don't know what he meant by that, that's what it sounded like. I stayed behind the ranks and felt as though I was horribly in the way. I clutched my spear hard, far too hard and wondered what Ariadne would say if she could see me now.

It was the first time I had thought of her in some time and I was awash with a sudden wave of guilt at my neglect of her. The woman that I was pretty sure that I loved by now. Loved and feared in equal measure. I had been looking forward to spending time with her. To spend time with her so that I might confront that fear head on.

But here I was, crouched behind a shield wall hunting what was potentially the most dangerous thing that I had hunted up to and including the beast of Amber's crossing. I would have wept for the uselessness of it. Then I remembered and fished in my shirt and produced the holy symbol that she had made for me. I grasped it in my palm and thought of her.

I got a sense of where she was standing. In a small room, somewhere towards the top of the citadel that towered above us, crouched over a basin of clear water.

“Don't interrupt.” She told me but I could sense a smile behind the order.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered to her.

“I know,” she whispered softly before her voice became stern again. “But focus. We both have tasks to perform this night. Snap to it,”

“Yes ma'am”

I sensed her grin just before she broke contact.

I kissed the amulet. Both as a prayer to the flame to preserve me until I could see her again, but also as a gesture of the depth of my feeling to Ariadne. So that I could feel it even if she couldn't sense it.

But she was right.

I had work to do.

We advanced slowly and carefully. Half watching what we were doing, half watching the rooftops. The archers were still up there and sending signals to each other, tracking our quarry. It was slow going, and for more reasons than the huge shields. The plan called for us to leave nothing behind us. The entire thing would fall apart if Jack somehow managed to break through the confines of the circle that was slowly closing in around him.

As it was though, we discovered that he had no intention of. Instead he decided to make us hate him all the

more.

I didn't see him the first time. I heard his laughter, calls to watch out and then a dull thump of something heavy hitting the metal of a shield. People started swearing as they recognised the head of one of the archers. Sam called out the discipline though and the men swallowed their anger and marched on.

I did see him the second time. He stood on a roof top looking down at us. His laughter rang out. He had a man, I thought he was wearing a guardsman's uniform, the lighter armour of the archers but I couldn't swear to it. Jack held him without any apparent kind of effort and laughed at us.

He never said a word. I find it odd to think about that now but he never said a word.

The soldier that he held was in a daze, he occasionally tried to struggle a little but his movements were like those of a fish that had been pulled out of the water and left to die on the river bank. There was no strength to the movements and he flopped around. Jack was already laughing but he seemed to find the movements even more amusing.

Suddenly, he kicked out at the back of his captives legs causing the poor man to collapse to his knees before taking a knife from his belt and slashing the soldiers throat. He did it slowly and I hope I was only imagining the look of horror in the man's face. What little strength he had left, fled with the blood coursing down his chest.

Jack chuckled maliciously.

He reached back and proceeded to hack the man's head off. It took him three strikes of the dagger. To separate the head from the shoulders. Then he let the body fall to the sound of even more laughter echoing from the rooftops.

“Hold your file.” Sam bellowed. He could impose discipline in the men and keep them in their ranks. But he couldn't stop the slow murmur of hatred that passed through the men.

These men had wanted Jack dead before, but now they hated him. It was an odd thing to come to realise. Soldiers generally try not to hate their enemies. But after that first spate of muttering, there was silence and a focus that became sharpened to the very point of the sword. It was terrifying.

But Jack wasn't done pissing us off yet. He still had a way to go on that score.

We had joined up with another unit on our left and were still advancing when Jack came out with his arm round the neck of another soldier in the manner of using him as a human shield. This time the captive had a bit more fight in him and was thrashing around. I don't know many people that would have been able to withstand such a pounding but Jack did. The most that his captive seemed to manage to do was to knock Jack's hat off which elicited a chorus of laughter and cheering from the men. In a fury, Jack again drew his knife and plunged it into the back of the soldier over and over and over and over again until there was no longer blood flowing from the wounds.

“Coward,” a man cried, Jack, bowed ironically as he scooped up his hat and placed it back on his head.

Without his hat, his head was still covered with a sack-cloth mask. It was as though he had put an empty sack of carrots over his head and cut some eye holes.

A few streets later we saw Jack fighting on the roof top with someone. I thought it was a soldier but even I could see that Jack was toying with his prey. It was painful to watch but I forced myself to keep my eyes on the spectacle. The worst thing about it was that the soldier clearly thought that he was doing quite well. The fight went out of sight but we found the poor bastard a couple of streets further on with his head caved in. He looked as though he had been pushed off the roof and landed directly on the top of his head. It looked as though the base of his neck had compacted down and made him look hunch-backed.

Strange the details that you remember.

We saw him more and more often after that.

At one stage we rounded a corner and despite everyone's best efforts, Jack had managed to draw out a knight Errant. The Knight carried a huge sword that he wielded with obvious skill. There was a pattern to it that made every parry a strike and every strike a parry. It almost looked as though he was dancing with the sword as his partner before Jack stepped in like a striking snake. Jack kicked the side of the Knights knee which collapsed under the weight of the man before jack simply stepped forward and pushed his own sword down through the gap in the breast plate around the neck.

Someone commented that it was a relatively clean death as things were going.

I wasn't sure that I agreed.

We were still being pruned. One by one we were still being picked off and I felt amazingly guilty. But then I got angry at myself for feeling guilty as it wasn't me that was out there killing soldiers.

But it was me that had summoned Jack here.

But again, It had been pointed out that I hadn't been the one to cast the spells. I hadn't wielded the blade. But I felt those men's deaths on my conscience regardless.

“Are you happy with what I've done?” He was stood on the rooftops nearby. He held a man's severed arm, nonchalantly in his hand. “None of this would have been possible without you.” He laughed and laughed, I can still hear the laughter sometimes when I'm not paying enough attention.

“What do you think of my handiwork?” Another question came echoing around the rooftops. Around the forest of chimneys and weathervanes. “Not enough blood for you? I tend to agree.”

Someone screamed.

I don't know how long had passed. I thought that it must have been hours and nearly dawn but we came into a large square. It was one of the markets. Near the river in an effort to make sure that there was at least one place where Jack couldn't escape to.

I found that I had no faith in that. I remembered the huge jumps of the older stories. The ones with the burning hoof-prints. That was where disaster struck. Because how could it not.

Jack was arranging heads in a row. There was a stack of bodies nearby and for the first time that night it was clear that he hadn't just been killing soldiers on his rampage. There were several bodies that were dressed in the plainer clothing of the merchant classes in Toussaint, Plain dresses, work aprons and homespun cloth.

There were a lot of them and I wondered how long Jack had been about setting this up. He would go over to the pile of bodies, scoop up his sword cane from a nearby table that was still covered in fish offal from earlier when the workers had been cleared out. Then he would draw his sword and with one, very precise stroke, he removed their heads. The sword would go back into the cane to be replaced on the table before the head would be picked up. Then he strode over to the edge of the water and carefully placed the heads in a row.

He was singing a little song to himself. A cheerful bastardisation of the children's song.

“Ten stupid corpses, lying without a head.” he sang. As the guard formed up in the side streets. We weren't all there as those units from further across were still making their way along but there were enough of us to block all the roads into and out of the square.

“Where was I? Ah yes.” He placed another head down into the row. “Ten stupid decapitated heads,” he sighed suddenly, “not that's not right. Ooh I know,” He went back to singing. “Ten stupid faces, sitting in a row and if one stupid face, should purposefully be kicked into the river....” He took a run up and punted one of the heads out into the water where it made a little splash.

He cackled at the sound before looking at his arrangement.

“Aww,” he complained. “Now there's a gap in the row.” But then his voice brightened. “Never mind.” He scooped up the sword cane. “There are plenty more heads to be found.”

“By the heron no,” a voice rang out. “Fight me demon,” came the voice. I didn't recognise the man, he seemed older than some of the other Knights errant but he was weeping openly. He carried a shield with a rose on the front.

“See,” Jack told his audience of severed heads. “Here comes one to join you all now.” He drew his sword and stepped out to meet the knight. Jack even saluted the knight without a shred of irony or sarcasm. The Knight saluted and then leapt to the fray.

He never stood a chance. A series of quick lunges brought the knight to his knees in less than twenty heartbeats. Jack stood back, settled himself and removed the knights head at a stroke. He wiped his sword and collected the head, carrying it by the moustaches that all of the Knights Errant seemed to wear. I wouldn't go so far as to call it fashion but...

Taking a short run up, Jack drop-kicked the knights head into the river as well. The watching soldiers gave a noise that was almost like a groan.

Jack laughed before chiding himself. “Dammit, I should have kept him for the row.” Something caught his eye, “still there are even more replacements coming.

The Witchers had finally arrived.

Three of them at any rate. Lambert arrived running a little ahead of Gaetan came up, both of them chugging a drink from tiny potion bottles as they came. Another man that I didn't recognise came from the other end of the square. The three men didn't even exchange glances. Gaetan and Lambert just charged straight in, Gaetan running up and using a table as a jumping block to attack Jack from on high where Lambert feinted right before spinning the other way in a low pirouette.

Jack ducked under Gaetan's strike and spun away from him while at the same time, somehow managing to parry Lambert's strike. Lambert was forced to recover to a cross-body parry before Gaetan could recover enough to renew his attack.

All of this happened in the fraction of a second and I struggled to see what was happening then because that was when the third Witcher arrived with a vertical figure of eight spin that I guessed was designed to drive Jack back to where Lambert was waiting for him.

Jack sniggered.

It was blindingly fast. So fast that I could barely see the Witcher's blades move in the reflected torchlight. Jack's blade was nothing but a flicker. There was a shimmering in the air as other Witchers began to arrive. I recognised Geralt of Rivia by his white hair, I didn't see Kerrass although he must have arrived and I began to believe that this might work.

But it was then that disaster struck.

It's easy, sat here looking back with the perfect vision that hindsight gifts us with, to say that we should have seen it coming. We should have seen it.... We all should have seen it coming.

But we didn't.

It was that moment, just as gates were beginning to form to allow the other Witchers into the square that Jack's blade flickered out and badly caught Gaetan in the side. He did his best. He even tried to hold on to the blade in an effort to trap the weapon against himself but he wasn't quite fast enough.

The Knights Errant had been pushed to breaking point and this was the thing that sent them over the edge into madness. That's unfair really. They were already there really after watching Jack punt the knight's head into the river but it was the flash of bright Witcher blood that was the first stone that launched the avalanche.

They had had so much heaped on them over the last few days. They had been ground down by the disdain of the Imperial guard, by the open scorn of the Empress and that most dangerous of scourges. Guilt. Guilt that they had allowed the office of Knight Errant become so tarnished that they had failed Toussaint as a whole. They were hungry for a cause, hungry for some means, any means, of redemption. They had a longing, a hunger even for it. A desire to set themselves right. To reaffirm themselves.

They should never have been allowed onto the mission in the first place.

But it's easy to see such things looking back. At the time, we needed their swords. And who's to know what would have happened, or how things might have gone if they hadn't been there.

All I know is that as Gaetan staggered away from the combat. Some instinct getting him out of the way of his fellows and that same trained muscle memory caused him to sheathe his sword before snatching a potion from his belt as he fell to his knees. Pain written on his face.

The other Witchers weren't there yet, the gates not yet fully formed and a snarl formed in maybe half a dozen throats. It turned into a growl and forceful expulsion of air as Jack purposefully steered the fight over towards where Gaetan was trying to lever himself to his feet. Jack called to the stricken Witcher, taunting him and begging him to come on and die. Jack wanted his head.

It started with a single knight Errant. A young man, secure in his strength and still possessed of that conviction that he was invulnerable screamed out a negative noise. Not quite an order, not quite a plea. He sprinted forward and put his body between Jack and the falling Witcher.

I never learned that Knight's name. His example was followed by another two men in the shining golden armour that told of their rank but that first knight was already dying hard. Jack rammed his blade into the young man's gut, slanting up under the breastplate and into his digestive tract.

Sam was swearing at the charging Knights to hold their lines, to hold their ranks, his voice echoed by other guard officers but the Knights ignored the orders and ran on.

“Fuck,” Sam swore violently before rattling off some orders. He saw it before I did. By the time I saw what was going to happen it was too late and all I could do was to watch impotently.

The Witcher's fighting style is built around movement. The average Kikkimore spits acid and possesses claws that would make mockery of even the best made plate. So they are trained to move and to stay mobile. They trained together and work together. They know how each other thing even though Gaetan and Lambert were trained in different schools. There was enough....communion there that they knew what was needed and how to attack.

Gaetan had been hurt and he had chosen to get out of the way to make room for the incoming Witchers which he knew were due to arrive at any moment by magical means. That was the point, the Witchers needed room to move, room to act. And the Knights Errant took that advantage away from them.

The square was suddenly full of large, heavily armoured men, crashing into each other, trying to strike out at their target that moved like quicksilver. That moved like the fastest fish in the sea, lashing out and striking wherever he pleased.

Jack sounded as though he might even rupture something, he was laughing so hard.

Because he proved another truth there. In a fight, with lots of heavy men with heavy armour and heavy swords swinging around. A quick man, light on his feet and well trained, doesn't need to strike out at his enemies. He just needs to stay mobile and his enemies will strike out at each other for him.

Because then there were wounded that needed to be removed from the equation. Gaetan himself was tugged clear by the first of Sam's unit. A brave young man who Sam had ordered to ditch his gear and carry the wounded Witcher out. But now there was more. More bodies, both alive, dead and at every stage in between. Entrails and innards spilled out onto the floor. More than one man slipped on some bodily fluid that was supposed to be on the inside of the body.

It was chaos.

Then Jack screamed in triumph.

“I've got a Witcher, I've got a Witcher, I've got a Witcher.” How he found the space in the swirling melee I don't know, but he had managed to trap the third man, the one I didn't know, between the bulk of another knight and the fallen body of another. The Witcher tripped and jack was on him. Jack simply ran him through, a twist and a tug and most of the Witchers entrails exploded out of the hole. Jack chopped down and scooped up the head and threw it at another knight.

“I'll kick that one later. Unless I can get another.” The laughing just wouldn't stop.

I watched in horror as the plan disintegrated around him. Guardsmen ran in to try and pull injured and killed men out of the melee but Jack would steer those men that were still trying to fight him into those guardsmen.

It wasn't long before a guardsman was knocked cold by a knight's back-swing. As I watched, Jack rolled under the blow from the knight and killed the guardsman with a slice across the throat. The knight, realising what had happened turned with an expression of horror and roared, raising his sword above his head. Jack calmly stepped in and stabbed the knight through his open mouth before giggling at the confused expression that the knight wore as he died.

It was awful. It was a mess. The plan had worked. We had him in the open and the Witchers were coming in, swords out and primed ready for the fight ahead. But Jack had goaded these men and on top of everything that they had suffered over the last couple of days and they could no longer contain themselves.

A lot of the blame for what happened that night has fallen at the feet of the knights Errant and don't get me wrong, they do deserve a certain amount of the blame but I find I am sympathetic towards them. Yes, they should have held their ranks and yes, they should have followed orders rather than running into a situation that, although dangerous, was part of the plan. But I also find it far too easy to put myself into the place of those men. Far too easy.

Not four days ago they held a position of privilege and respect. They were servants of the nation and proud servants at that. There was no denying that there were some bad apples among their number but at the same time, many of the Knights that I have met were driven by duty. They genuinely wanted to work towards making their small Duchy of Toussaint into a better place. They had done these things as well before becoming overcome by the pageantry and the atmosphere of the whole thing. But most of them were good men, painfully naïve and as impressionable as a warm ball of wax but they were good men all the same.

But suddenly they were the ridiculed villains of the piece. A knight Errant could expect to walk down the street and where before they would be cheered and greeted with respect. Now they were jeered at and the subject of jokes.

Along with the deep down feeling that they deserved this treatment. It must have been awful. So here was their chance to make it right.

But they failed and made a bad situation immeasurably worse. I don't know what the final butchers bill of that second major engagement with Jack was. What I do know is that only one Knight Errant made it back alive and unwounded from those knights that we had started out with. He was an older man, hair and moustache white as snow and had been chosen for his level-headedness. He had shown his level-headedness.

He had called and screamed and ordered and cajoled his fellows to fall back. He wasn't with Sam and I but I'm told that he wept openly as he watched what happened and spent days afterwards apologising. I'm told that he retired, his nerve shattered after that. When I left Toussaint they were trying to convince him to help train the next generation of knights.

I also know that fewer than twenty Imperial guardsmen made it back alive and unwounded. Just about every man was hurt in that melee and the unhurt men were mostly the archers that were still running towards the fight from the more remote parts of the city.

There were eight Witchers working that night. Another two were with the Empress. Gaetan was badly hurt and we managed to get him out. Another two died. Another Cat Witcher and another from a different school although I never caught his name.

It was a disaster and we watched with impotent fury and frustration as it just continued to happen before our eyes. Our shouts and orders were being ignored, if we sent more men into help then we would just be making the problem worse.

I wish I could hate the Knights Errant for their part in the disaster. I wish I could but they had been pushed to breaking point.

I will admit to the possibility that I am not entirely objective here in my sympathy as I too was pushed to my breaking point and beyond it.

My own point of breaking came. The fight had got to a lull in the action. There were so many dead and so many wounded that it was hard to separate the one from another. There were three knights that were still standing and they looked around themselves in horror at what had happened. Our men, what men who had kept their nerve, were busy pulling away wounded to make room for the next phase of the fight. The remaining Witchers had stepped past the line of knights, brandishing their weapons. I saw Kerrass there and I thought I saw him snarl something at one of the knights but I couldn't make it out.

Jack laughed at them all, he didn't even seem to be breathing that heavily, ironically saluting them with his absurdly slim sword.

“What?” He yelled, “party over? Can't have that.”

He walked over to the row of heads that he had laid out and punted a few more into the river with little comments to himself.

“No,” he said. “It's not quite as satisfying as I thought it would be.” He pantomimed thinking. The Witchers closed in on him carefully. “I know,” he called, he reached under a piece of sacking and produced another head. It was a woman with long dark hair by which he held it up, the eyes had been removed and the jaw hung slack.

It wasn't Francesca. It was the wrong shape and the hair was a different colour.

But it could have been and I was far from thinking clearly.

“What do you think Lord Frederick?” Jack called to me, “Remind you of anyone?” He lifted up the bottom of his mask enough so that he could spit into the poor woman's face before heaving it out over the water.

I lost my shit.

I should have stayed calm, I should have waited, I should have held my place and let Kerrass, Geralt,

Lambert and the rest do their job. But suddenly I couldn't.

I felt as though the walls of the square were closing in on me. I couldn't breathe, the edges of my vision turned grey. I could hear my own breathing as though I was panting after a long run or a hard ride.

Then I screamed.

Hands tugged at me, tried to hold me back but I ignored them.

I think someone called my name but I ignored them. I was just consumed by the desire to kill this...this thing that suddenly seemed to be the author of all of my pain.

He laughed at me, turned and ran.

He leapt into the river, still holding his cane and his hat wedged firmly on his head.

I didn't hesitate, I didn't even pause. It was only luck that had kept my spear in my hand as I charged and dove straight in after him.

The water was icy cold but I didn't feel it, I surfaced, looked around and saw Jack splashing his way downstream. I still had my spear and I charged off after him.

I don't think I could have done it in cold blood. I'm not a swimmer, not really but I followed. Still holding my spear which I held in front of me in an effort to cut through the water. I must have been partially successful because I followed. I even managed to gain a little although that might have been because Jack was toying with me a little.

We came to the edge where the ground began to rise out of the water and back into the city. This wasn't the main docks but it was near there. A place for locals to do their washing or for small boats to be pulled ashore so that they could load and unload goods.

Jack stood on the bank and waved his ass at me.

“You can't catch me,” he taunted.

Some left over common sense told me not to follow him straight up the bank where my feet would be fouled by water and he would be free to do as he wished.

He laughed as he watched before his head jerked to one side as he caught wind of something. He sketched a salute,

“Ta-ta,” he called and took to his heels.

“No, you bastard.” I snarled and charged after him.

I could no more help it than I could help breathing. He looked back when he realised that he was being chased and laughed even louder. He jumped onto a low wall and ran along the top until he came to a house which he vaulted up to the roof.

I swore and looked around. If I jumped onto that table there and then onto that window and then I....

Don't think about it, just do it.

I ran, jumped, swung over, vaulted up and climbed up until I was on the roof.

“Did that tire you out?” Jack's voice came to me then. “This doesn't look like your kind of game Lord Frederick,” he sniggered. The bastard had been waiting for me. He charged off running lightly along the tops of the houses. I was not as graceful, putting my feet through tiles and through plaster, fighting to keep my balance as I ran, not entirely successfully.

“You know something?” Jack called over his shoulder during one of those times that he stopped, seemingly to wait for me. “I haven't had this much fun in years. I really should think you for this.”

I saw a different route and ran along, jumped, ran again sending ceiling tiles to shatter on the street below. And I caught him. On the edge of a rooftop.

Fortunately it wasn't a very high rooftop. He laughed as he fell I remember.

I don't remember if I screamed.

People were calling my name now. I was struggling to breathe as the fall had knocked the wind out of me. I looked for my spear and forced myself to scramble towards it.

By the flame it hurt.

I didn't know where Jack was. I levered myself to my feet, my ankle threatened to give out and shooting pains shot up my leg and into my lower back. I tasted blood.

Sounds of fighting came to me then, Two men in guardsmen uniform had been drawn there by the crash and my yelling and Jack was on them.

He sidestepped one, parried the second before spinning. He still had his cane, using the stick he tangled it in the first man's legs and brought him crashing down.

“No,” I yelled, already seeing what was happening. The man still standing was Sir Thomas. “No you bastard.” Anything I could do to try and distract Jack. I hefted my spear and took a step forward, and another step but then my leg gave out again and I fell.

Jack had quickly dispatched the man on the floor by braining him with his club. He advanced on Sir Thomas. Thomas had a shield and he fought very well. He was good, far better than I had hoped. I climbed back to my feet and advanced a bit more slowly. It was getting easier as I went.

Sir Thomas, at least, was still fighting with his mind rather than his heart. He just concentrated on keeping his shield between his body and Jack. He had dropped the earlier siege shields in favour of his more normal kite shield. He was confounding Jack as he steadfastly refused to step to the attack and concentrated on parrying and screaming his bloody head off so that we could be found.

I remember that I was nearly there, so close, so very nearly there, I was walking steadily by that point, not quite running but certainly not at my normal strolling pace.

Then came the mistake.

Someone called Thomas' name, he turned his head to shout an answer and like lightening, Jack struck. I don't know how he found the gap in Thomas' armour but he did. Past the shield and into Thomas' left side, he pierced a lung and did untold other damage as he twisted his slim blade.

Thomas groaned horribly before coughing blood.

Jack withdrew his blade and stepped aside, holding his blade in a salute.

“See to your friend,” he said to me.

He was no longer laughing.

He turned and ran up the street a little way.

I hobbled the rest of the way to Thomas which was when I learned that his lung had been pierced. Pink foam formed on his lips which only means one thing.

He looked so sad but when he saw me he tried to pull in some breath.

“Kill the bast...” His eyes widened in a sudden wave of panic and agony. He couldn't breathe and he was terrified as he died.

“Mother,” there was no breath behind the word and I had to read it off his lips. He looked his sixteen years of age then.

So young.

He died hard. It didn't take long but it was an end full of agony.

I had thought I was angry before.

I rose to my feet. Jack was a little way up an alley. He was looking back at me, expectantly, cane in hand. Half turned away from me. Ready to run.

I came out of my crouched position like a sprinter from the starting blocks. Pain lanced up my legs but I ignored it. I chased him and he ran. There was no time for laughter anymore. Only speed and violence. He ran and I chased him, my lips drawn back into the same expression that I used to see on my fathers hunting dogs.

I chased him and he ran. He did not resort to the tricks that he had used before. He didn't climb the walls or up to the rooftops. He just ran and I chased him.

I was dimly aware that we were, in turn, being hunted ourselves as we ran. Signal arrows were being fired. Shouts were being given, names were being called. Jack didn't react and so, neither did I.

We ran, up the hill towards the palace. Jack, seemingly choosing side streets at random. I ran after him, nipping at his heels but never quite managing to fully close the distance.

He ran and I chased him.

I don't know how long it took us. It can't have been very long. Toussaint town is not that large, all things considered and it doesn't take that long to walk from place to place.

I chased him into the graveyard near the top of the town. I don't know why he chose that place to turn into. There was nothing keeping him from running on. A little bit further than that was the gate that leads to the upper countryside and towards the palace gardens. There was only a couple of men on the gate by that point and Jack could easily have escaped. There was no way that I would have been able to catch him if he had escaped to the countryside. Instead he turned to the side and into the graveyard.

A dead end.

He ran in, through the twisting mausoleums and the stone statues before he came to an open place and turned on me. He twisted and with a jerk he caused the sword to leap out of his cane in a very similar way to how Witchers cause their own swords to leap from their scabbards. But that observation came to me much later.

I didn't pause, I didn't stop to think or to steady myself. I just charged him. Spear whirling.

There is no way. No way at all that I should have survived.

There may have been other factors in place. Luck is possibly part of it. I might have been helped by magical means from the citadel or from other sources. There might have been some other factors as well, things that I have no idea about it.

But I charged him. Spear twirling like the quarterstaff that I had used when I first started my journey. I ran in, firelight glistening off our blades. I did not have any thoughts I just wanted the bastard dead with a white hot hatred that I could no longer control.

I rained blows down upon him as fast and as hard as I could.

He blocked them.

I unleashed a flurry of quick, hard thrusts at multiple targets on his body. Groin, neck, eyes.

He parried them.

I tried all the tricks that I had. I tried to trip him, feints off centre, snarl up his legs and cause him to fall.

He dodged them.

I felt myself getting desperate. The heat of the hatred that I had felt up until that point had begun to evaporate. The cold from my still sopping wet clothes began to leech away my strength and I began to feel the first pulls of fear at my soul.

I began to swing wildly, trying to push him back. Give myself room to think. Room to consider, he ducked and weaved, jumping over my strikes. The fear came on me stronger then as I realised the truth. I wasn't good. I wasn't lucky. He was toying with me.

I redoubled my efforts. Trying to find the fury that had carried me through the earlier parts of the fight.

For just a moment, I thought I might even have had him.

Then he laughed.

It was shocking with it. He had been silent for quite a while by this point and to hear him laugh after so long silent...

It didn't put me off my fight. It put him onto his.

Suddenly I was defending. Parrying like a bastard, desperately trying to keep him back, to keep the ground clear. He pushed me back and back and back. There was no doubt any more. I was going to die here in the graveyard.

Now he had started again, there was no stopping him. He laughed and laughed and laughed and it made me angrier and angrier.

His guffaws ran on and on and on.

And I fell back and back and back.

I tripped and fell backwards. I don't know what on, probably a root or the back of some raised grave. Jack's club lashed out and struck me on the hand, not hard but it numbed the bone enough to mean that I dropped the spear.

He stood over me, almost helpless with laughter. I thought to use his convulsive hilarity to make some kind of escape but his sword never wavered. Instead he advanced on me slowly, only between laughs. Every time another laugh caused him to escape he would stop and wait as though he wanted to savour it.

He advanced and slowly, painfully, awfully slowly, he pushed his razor sharp sword into my chest.

It was agony and I tried to breathe in enough to scream. I tried to move and escape but I was pinned.

But then Jack withdrew the sword and he was twisting away. Desperately away, his sword rising to parry. There was a clash of steel and then I saw as Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf himself stepped over me to engage the madman.

I had seen Geralt fight before. Kerrass claims that Geralt is the better swordsman between the two of them although he said so without jealousy or anger. It was just a statement of fact. Truth be told, I am not good enough to be able to tell the difference between the two as to which one is better. It's not something I can even reach for. The difference between this fight and the fight down in the market place was that this time, it was clear that Geralt had been prepared for what was going to happen.

He was glowing slightly with the sign, I think Kerrass calls it “Quen”, as he charged in. He ducked and parried with an ease that was deceptive and a speed that hurt the eye, but even as he did so, even Geralt of Rivia took an injury, first the golden glow exploded outwards with a wave of force that knocked me back to the floor after an abortive attempt to climb to my feet and then I saw just the tip of Jack's sword graze the Witcher's face causing a small spray of blood. I felt myself disbelieving what I was seeing. It seemed impossible to me that Geralt of Rivia himself might have been outclassed.

But then another figure jumped down from one of the higher mausoleums. I recognised Lambert from earlier. Geralt was calm as he fought, almost placid with an utter lack of expression. Lambert fought with a wordless and soundless shout of fury on his lips.

This is what was missing from before. The teamwork of the thing. As Jack spun to deal with Lambert, Geralt had time to re-establish his Quen shield and then joined Lambert in the fight. Jack was laughing again, confidently and easily but I felt the first fluttering of hope in my chest.

At some signal that I didn't see or hear, Geralt and Lambert broke off and a third figure emerged from between two gravestones. This man was small, stockier and although his swords were still on his back he wielded the twin daggers of the Viper school. It shamed me that I didn't know who he was. Where Kerrass, Geralt and Lambert are all lithe grace, this man was compact, like Letho only on a much smaller scale.

He drove Jack back with his furious assault, ignoring the wound that sprung up over his eyes and the sudden burst of blood that exploded out of his side. He drove Jack backwards. Lambert and Geralt on either side.

I saw what was happening then.

They were steering Jack back, keeping him confined. Military people would say that they were boxing him in so that the only thing left to do was to close the lid. I managed to lever myself to my feet and I could see beyond the melee a fourth figure who was crouched on the floor, sketching something with his hand. A purple glow sprang up to reveal Eskel, the large, heavily scarred Witcher from the wolf school steeped back and allowed the other three men to push Jack back.

The purple light sprang up again and it seemed as though Jack was trying to move through deep water. Eskel joined his four compatriots and the box was closed.

“Now,” came another voice from high up, again from the top of one of the mausoleums.

The four Witchers drew back and gestured.

I felt the buffeting from the air blasts of the Aard sign from where I was. Rationality had returned to me with the blood that ran down my chest and I stayed well back, out of the way. Let the professionals do their job. We all should have done that from the very start. Guardsmen, Knights errant, amateurs all of us.

Twice more the four witchers blasted the now, struggling Jack with cannons made from air and he fell. I thought I saw blood.

“Back,” came the same voice from above the mausoleum.

The four Witchers on the ground spun backwards and a net came down from the mausoleum and covered the staggering Jack.

Kerras jumped down and joined the other four as they piled onto the now captured man. At one point I saw a sword and cane skitter away.

Then a knife but he was still struggling.

“Get his hands,” someone growled. I thought it was Lambert.

Then the laughter just stopped. The struggling fell away and the five Witchers fell to their work, ropes being tied down. At one point Lambert pulled himself off and kicked the squirming bundle hard before falling back to work.

Kerrass detached himself from the group and approached me. I held my hand out to him and was astonished as I realised that I was suddenly looking up at him from where I had fallen back down to the ground.

“You stupid bastard.” He snarled as I realised that he had punched me in the face. “You stupid fucking bastard. Have you got some kind of death wish?”

“Kerrass I....”

“What did you think? Did you see what he did to a whole company of guardsmen and a good dozen Knights Errant, but oh no. “I'm Frederick von Coulthard and the rules don't apply to me,” what were you thinking?”

“I...”

“Don't answer. Just let me rant. If you say something then I might hate you the more you stupid fucking.... Goddess Freddie, I don't want to have to tell your sister and you fiance that you died. Don't make me do that Freddie, don't make me tell them that I couldn't save you.”

“Kerrass.”

“Don't say a word.”

An inhuman wail came from the bundled and trussed up form of Jack. Lambert had pulled his hat and hood off.

“Fucking hell,” he commented.

Despite his anger Kerrass turned away from me and went back to where the other Witchers were clustered around the prone figure.

I climbed back to my feet and limped over to them, rubbing my bruised jaw and trying to shake off the ringing in my ears.

Then I saw “Jack's” face and turned away to vomit up the bile that was churning in my stomach.

I didn't recognise the face. I'm not sure anyone could have recognised the face. It was covered in gashes and cuts. One eye was just a weeping sore from where the eye-socket had caved in. His jaw was broken, teeth splintered and the way he wailed we could see into his mouth that his tongue had been torn out. Not cut out, torn out.

He had one working eye and it was rolling back into his skull as he wailed out an awful anguish.

“We didn't lose sight of him did we?” the viper Witcher was sat on a nearby gravestone, pouring a potion into the injury at his side. “That is the same guy that we chased through the city.”

“No that's him,” said Lambert. “I saw him fight, the clothes match and this is where he led us. This is him.”

The Witchers just looked at each other, and then at me.

“Poor Fucker,” Eskel said.