(A/N: Some scenes are of a distressing nature.)

I crouched in the ditch, behind the tree and peered through the leaves of the bushes. It looked deserted from where I was. I couldn't see anyone, there was a little smoke coming from one of the chimneys but nothing that might suggest that it was more than just some left over embers of a fire that had been left to die out.

I watched for a long time. I could see a chicken hopping around in the dirt and felt my mouth watering at the prospect of some roast chicken cooked over an open wood fire. The last time I had eaten anything it had been a raw squirrel with some acorn paste pancakes and I could still taste the bile at the back of my throat.

I shouldn't have eaten it raw but at the same time, I didn't want anyone to see the smoke from any potential fires.

I was caked in mud, the theory being that they wouldn't be able to see or detect my body heat in the undergrowth of the forest if I had managed to properly coat myself. It was beginning to dry out now and I would need to apply a new coat of mud to myself before too much longer. The problem with that was that I was cold, deathly cold and I could feel my teeth chattering. The fact that I was crouched in a ditch which had a small stream running at the bottom of it wasn't helping with this.

So very cold.

But that was the name of survival. That's what my life had become, a constant balancing act of risk versus reward. I could hide but what would that hiding cost me. I could run but in turn, what would that cost me? So there I was, crouched in the undergrowth, spear at my side, poised to flee at a moments notice. If anything was wrong, absolutely anything was wrong. Then I would go. The risk wasn't worth it.

But the buildings looked deserted. I could see no signs of activity. But I had been wrong before and that had cost me time and blood.

So I watched, and I waited.

I decided that I would wait until dark. It was late afternoon and early evening anyway. So I would wait until dark and then creep down. My stomach rumbled it's protest at this extra delay but I ignored it. Darkness was an extra cover. Not that anything magical would be depending on the light to help them hunt me down but at the same time....Magical creatures were not the only things that were hunting me.

My mind wandered. I was tired. So very tired. I suddenly had the thought, unbidden, that if the little collection of buildings truly was deserted then maybe I could sleep in one of the beds. Out of the elements and with a roof over my head. Hell, I wasn't as fussy as I used to be. I could sleep in the pig sty, or in the outhouse with the firewood. A blanket draped over some wood sounded pretty comfortable to me right then. Then I could get warm and relax.

Maybe try and start to make some plans for the longer term rather than just having to live from minute to minute and moment to moment. I had no idea what I was doing, no idea where I was going, other than the fact that I was heading north. In theory away from the base of the Empire's power. So in theory, the further I ran, the safer it was going to be.

There were some rivers coming up. I wasn't looking forward to that. I had lost all my money and had little to trade for passage across the Yaruga or the Pontar so I had tried to steer myself North East as well, in an effort to reach both rivers where it would be a little bit easier to cross. Maybe a boat could be stolen or something.

That's assuming that posters of my likeness hadn't travelled north by now and people weren't watching for me at all the major crossing points.

I was under no illusions. I was in no shape to attempt to swim across either river. I was cold, tired and on the verge of starvation.

But no sense in borrowing trouble yet.

I shook myself, realising that I was on the edge of falling asleep. Indeed I had fallen asleep for just a little while, my head had sunk down onto my arms and I had startled myself back into wakefulness with a little snore.

Kerrass had always joked that I snored. I remember protesting my innocence at him in an effort to...do something. It all seems rather petty now but I remember protesting my innocence. He went on to make jokes about pitying my future wife for having to put up with me and my many and varied night-time noises and smells.

Poor Kerrass. I missed him.

But with those memories the sun had nearly sunk down. I was no Witcher, I still needed a little light to see by. Slowly, I backed away from my hiding spot. I didn't want to breach the undergrowth where I had been hiding. It was a good spot and I absolutely intended to use it again. I just needed to get in, find some supplies and then get out again to the point where I could look down at the small collection of buildings and watch to see what happened.

So I backed off. Slowly, using my elbows and knees to move rather than my hands and feet. I shuffled backwards, taking my time and being beyond careful. Every twig crack, every rustle of the leaves was like a dagger through my ears and into my brain. I was so tired but I knew enough of myself that I was beginning to get desperate now. I needed some food. Maybe a purging herb as well to get the last of that rancid acorn paste out of my throat.

Some food, some rest, some...respite. That's what I needed. Just a little rest.

But I needed to keep moving first.

I made it a little bit further round to where there was a gap in the trees. I had scouted it earlier and knew that it was almost a straight line from there down to what I was now thinking of as the “Farm house”.

But I was so tired.

I did a little bit of stretching behind a tree. It would do no good to have a muscle spasm or cramp while I crept down to see what what I could find in the way of goods or supplies. No good at all. So I stretched and fitted the two halves of my spear together as slowly and quietly as I could manage.

Then, with another look around and a solid five minutes of quiet waiting to see if anything else would carry it's news to me on the wind, I started to creep down. Slowly at first. There would still be twigs and old, rotten leaves covering the ground and I was wary of the noise that I might make. There was also the possibility that someone was waiting for me to emerge from my hiding space before they started shooting arrows, or charging their horses at me. Slow caution at first, when it was still possible that I could turn and run back into the relative safety of the trees where I could go to ground, or at the very least, find some kind of defensible area to make a stand.

Nothing happened. Step by step I made my way down towards the buildings. There was no sign of light coming from them which made it more certain that they were deserted. I grew bolder in that area of ground between there and the woods. I was in the open, if anyone was watching they could see me easily and there was no place to hide. If I was attacked I would need to sprint to make my way back to the trees or to get to the shelter.

So I jogged up the rest of the way to the buildings and flattened myself against one of the side walls. Stone base, seemingly fairly well made. They had jammed bits of straw and clay between the bricks in an effort to keep out the elements. It must have been at least partially successful. I tried to see if there was any heat coming from inside the buildings but the stone was cold. Probably didn't mean anything.

I could see the chicken rustling about but I didn't want to go for it just yet. Not until I was sure that I was alone. It would be far too easy to do that and then give away my position to anyone who might be watching or listening.

I crept round the house, all of my senses were alert, listening for even the slightest noise that might give, either me away to anyone who might be listening, or that might give any of the watchers away. A clue, something that might tell me what was going on.

A dull feeling crept over me then, some kind if instinct that told me that I should walk away. I can't describe the feeling well, it was like the hairs stood up on the back of my neck except said small hairs were plastered to my skin by the mud that I had been using to hide with. Instead, it was a sense of uneasiness, a growing surety that I should put this place behind me. But I was desperate. Cold, starving and on the edge of my sanity.

I came to the door. It was latched with a simple device and I easily opened it with the application of a dagger blade. The things that you learn when you're on the run. I did so as quietly as I could manage and edged the door open. It was dark inside the building. I listened at the crack for what felt like hours but I could hear no sounds. Slowly, I edged the door open and stepped over the threshold and stopped to wait for my eyes to get used to the even deeper darkness inside the building.

I propped my spear against the door frame and drew my dagger again, clutching it in my teeth. It was another thing that had always seemed strange when I saw other people doing it but I had since learned the sense behind it. If you clutch the weapon in your teeth then it's closer to hand. I felt around in the entrance way, I remembered from someone that farmers often keep torches and the means of lighting them next to their doors in case they get called out in the middle of the night.

I found them after a minute or two of careful searching. But I found something else first. Something squishy. My hands started to shake. I grasped found a torch and a small basket of kindling. Steel and flint were next and I had a torch lit in short order.

I moaned aloud.

There was the body of a child next tot he door. She was about twelve, judging from the height of her. She had been cut in the side with a heavy bladed weapon of some kind and it had spilled blood and entrails from out of her guts as well as all but shattering her spinal column.

Not again. This couldn't be happening again.

I couldn't help myself, that was the trouble, I had to know. I raised the torch high to survey the rest of the room.

I would find no food worth eating here. But still, I couldn't help but look around. The mother of the house was nailed to the crossbeam of the roof by her ankles, she hung upside down and was still swinging lazily in the air. It looked as though something had torn it's way out of her chest. The man of the house had exploded in a shower of guts and gore. I found his legs first and it took me some time to find his head in a corner where it was still attached to a small length of spinal column. There were also another three children that had been torn apart by sharp implements. I don't want to say that they were swords or anything like that as the probability was that it was claws that killed those children.

There was nothing for me here.

But I needed to check the other thing. I needed to know whether or not they had been here. I needed to know if this family was another set of names to add to my growing list of names that I would need to seek Justice for.

I lit a few more torches and propped them up in the brackets that were attached to the walls. Carefully leaving the bodies where they were I thoroughly searched the place. I had to do so several times because, as I say, exhaustion and hunger were preying at the corner of my vision. They make it go kind of grey and wobbly but in the end I found the things that I was looking for. There was a circle on the ground. It had originally been drawn in chalk. There had been some some effort made to clean it up but it hadn't been entirely successful and I found some dust had settled into some of the cracks in the wooden parts of the floor.

Rooting through the hearth I found a sheep's skull and the remains of some other cloth that I couldn't identify. There was a dull purple residue that had been burnt into the stone of the fireplace as well. All signs that I had expected to find but had hoped that I wouldn't.

I had hoped that I might have managed to outrun them by this point but it was becoming increasingly clear that such things were a fantasy.

It had taken me a long time to look over everything and to find everything that I was looking for. In the end I had managed to find some basic supplies, some oats, that kind of thing but I didn't want to eat in this place. Preferably, I didn't want to eat within several miles of this place. Realistically though I needed to burn the building down and to make sure that the taint on the place wouldn't spread any further.

I spread some straw around and was in the process of splashing some lamp oil around the place when they finally found me.

The door to the building opened with a splintering crash and two men stormed in. Tall men, not heavily armoured, mostly in leathers with bits of chainmail over the more fragile areas and over the top of their armour they wore the black tunics of the Imperial Outriders. All Imperial regiments have a company or two of Outriders. It's their job to scout out the enemy, look for the tracks and launch lightening strikes on enemy supply trains. They were trained for hard riding, hard fighting and independent thought. In extreme moments they were also used to chase down fugitives..

I swore.

“Got you you bastard.” One snarled as he drew his sword. “You've given us a long chase though.” His eyes took in the horror of the rest of the room. “Killed another family have you? By the Divine Sun, I'll see that you pay for this.”

The trick here is to not give them time to think. If they're talking then they're not ready to fight. What he should have done is move to the attack straight away. But even the most professional of soldiers sometimes needs some time to work themselves up to violence. The other thing that he didn't know was that he had cornered a desperate man.

I threw the lit torch into his face and charged.

Don't think, act.

I connected with my shoulder and pushed the first man aside. He fell, not properly prepared to receive my action. The second man swung his sword. Another mistake. In confined quarters, as with so much in life, the point will beat the edge every time. I ducked his strike and rammed my elbow into his face. I don't think I did any damage but I had made him step back a little.

I snatched up the spear from behind me. Part of me was screaming to turn and kill one or two of them. Part of me even wanted to do so but.... it wasn't their fault. They were just doing their jobs after all. I was also tired and desperate. I had been lucky at first but these men are trained and hardened killers. And they would have horses nearby.

A third man was still with the horses, mounted and holding the reins for the other two mounts. He swore and drew his own sword. I remembered Kerrass' lesson, reversed my spear and swung out at the horses mouth. It reared in shock and pain as the metal haft of my spear struck home causing teeth and blood to spray from the poor beasts mouth. The rider fell, the horse on top of him although he didn't look badly hurt.

I gave him a kick in the side of the head to discourage him as I caught up the reins for the other two horses. I climbed onto one, and sped off.

I must have spent more time in the house that I had thought. The eastern sky was getting brighter by the moment but at least that gave me enough light to see by.

Only three outriders. That meant that there would be more nearby and that they were combing the nearby area. Outriders habitually carried horns so the signal would soon go up that they had found me.

Think. I needed to think and not get caught out because I was too busy riding head long.

Keeping horses was a problem. Speed was a bonus but speed also meant that my tracks would be easier to follow. Also, all I could think of was that I was riding an awful lot of meat headlong into the countryside.

I remembered that I had passed over a stream a little way to the south. It was a risk but if I headed in that direction and turned the horses loose and back of the stream, but then I followed the stream bed, using the water to mask my scent and tracks then maybe. Just maybe, I might get away.

It would be a close run thing though.

I was still too far south that was the problem. Get over the Pontar and the Yaruga and I could find some friends. Friends who would believe me when I told them that I wasn't responsible for the death of the Empress.

It's funny, but this, all this time later and I could still hear her screaming.

I had finished my conversation with Jack and woken up. Still in the summoning circle but it was all going wrong. The door hung open off it's hinges and Phillipa Eilhart stood in the room, her face was terrible.

“How dare you?” She demanded of Lady Yennefer. “You were instructed never to summon powers like this. You were ordered not to....”

“Ordered?” Lady Yennefer asked. “Ordered? Where does the Lodge of Sorceresses get the authority to direct me where to piss? The Empress asked me to do this. The Empress who, lest you forget Phillipa dear, is a member of the Lodge. The Empress who gives us our legitimacy. Where do you think she's going to fall on the matter?”

Phillipa Eilhart grinned nastily. “The Empress is currently under arrest for heresy.”

“Heresy?” Yennefer spat. “She's the Empress, anointed and crowned and all that. The church of the holy sun, literally says that she is the walking embodiment of the sun on the continent. How could she possibly commit heresy.”

“When the correct heir to the throne is found. A good heir. The Legitimate and proper heir.”

“You mean an heir that will listen to you you mean.”

Phillippa shrugged. “Even now, Lord Voorhis is overseeing the trial of Ciri. They are wondering how she could have been corrupted.”

“Damn you Phil. You just couldn't leave alone could you.” Yennefer lashed out, a magical arrow left her hand directed at the other woman, who snickered as the energy exploded off the globe of force that surrounded her. “Don't embarrass yourself Yenn. You've been committing sacrilegious magic. Magic that is illegal according to both the lodge and the council before it. You are exhausted and not nearly strong enough to defeat me. Not that you ever were.”

Phillippa gestured and Yennefer screamed as she seemed to catch fire before my eyes. “Your sentence is death you treacherous bitch,” Phillippa snarled in triumph.

I was still gathering myself. It seems that travelling through the darkness between worlds is just as exhausting as carrying out massive magical rituals. I managed to get my feet under me and did my best to charge Lady Eilhart, or distract her, or something to try and save the woman who had tried to help me.

But the shield that had protected her from magical assault also protected her from physical attacks. I bounced off as a bolt of pure pain lanced through my body.

“Oh don't worry,” she said as she looked down at me. “I'll get to you in a minute.”

“RUNNNN!!!” Yennefer screamed through her agony and I went for the door.

There were sounds of fighting in the corridors outside. I ran left. I tried to remember where the stairs were that led upwards. There were two guards running down the stairs when I found them. I tried to look as though I was injured, which wasn't that difficult given the pain and cramps that still darted between my joints and fingers, and I pointed behind me. They nodded and ran past me before I charged up the stairs.

“There he is,” someone shouted, pointing at me. “Seize him.”

“What? But I've done nothing.”

“Break his legs if you have to.” It was a knight Errant that said it. “He was involved in getting so many of us killed. By the Heron I will see him swing from the gallows along with that bitch of an Empress that destroyed us.”

I fled. I was unarmed and unarmoured.

I tried to head for my families rooms. But I was already exhausted.

I stumbled a bit along before a hand reached out from a nearby room, grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me inside into what looked like a guest room.

“Oh Kerrass. Thank the flame.”

“You alright?” he asked me, handing me my leather armour and my spear.

“I've been happier.” I commented.

“You and the rest of the world it looks like.”

“Kerrass, what the fuck is going on.”

Kerrass sighed. “You know how Lord Voorhis claimed that the disappearance of your sister was probably an attack?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well he was right. Only the attack was by him and his allies. The thing was that the Empress was upsetting the old, established order of things in the Empire. The old families have had a stranglehold on things for centuries until Emhyr managed to harness that ambition and channel that into the war with the north. At the same time he made sure that the more important conspirators dies in that conflict.”

“So what happened?”

“It turned out that he wasn't that thorough and now the younger sons and daughters of the original conspirators have grown up. Their chosen heir to the throne is Lord Voorhis. Your sister figured this all out because the conspirators had been sounding her out as to how involved your family could be expected to get one way or the other. When it became clear that your family would support who they saw as the legitimate heir, then they had her removed.”

“So Francesca's dead then.”

Kerrass put his hand on my shoulder.

“I'm so sorry Freddie.”

“Not as sorry as those bastards will be when I'm done with them.”

“Well, the other problem is that since The Empress supported Yennefer in summoning the “Jack” spirit. The Lodge of Sorceresses has split itself up the middle. The elves have gone to ground, Lady Merigold has gone north. Keira Metz is presumed dead or vanished along with Lambert and the other Wolf Witchers. Those that remain support Phillippa Eilhart in her condemnation of the heresy that Ciri and Yennefer committed in the summoning of Jack.”

“Flame. What about Emma and the others of my family?”

“I don't know. I think Mark's ok as the church are trying to remain neutral although his position as Baron Coulthard makes that uncertain. I think that Laurelen tried to gate your sister out but there's been a blanket shield against gating since before the coronation so I don't know how successful that was. I saw Sam fighting in the north of the palace as he was trying to get to the Empress along with some of the guard that still remain loyal.”

“How was he doing?”

“I won't lie. It wasn't looking good. He was doing ok, but he was outnumbered badly.”

“Then we go there.”

Kerrass nodded and we left the room at a run.

We found Sam's body on the upper level. He had done quite well, all things considered. His enemy had had to resort to crossbows to kill him and he had been pierced by 4 quarrels.

I spent a couple of minutes going to pieces while Kerrass watched over me. I knew it was foolish to wait but at the same time I was inconsolable. All I could think about was what his headstone would look like.

Presuming of course that I managed to get home to sort this all out.

Eventually I was forced out of my daze by the arrival of a couple more soldiers. Kerrass killed them while I was still climbing to my feet but there were more after them and we were forced to flee.

The Empress' office was deserted, bits of paper were scattered all over the place, on chairs and across her desk. We didn't stay for very long. It was clear that we weren't going to find anything of use and we left, aiming to leave the palace by the quickest route, maybe get some horses and flee for the border.

Oh Kerrass. I am so sorry.

I have run through those last few hours that we spent together over and over again. Could we have done something different? Could we have, in some way, both made it out of Toussaint alive?

Possibly. I am far too tired to think about it now but there is a possibility that we could have done it. If we had gone down one street instead of the other? If we had just stolen the first horses that we came across and just headed for the border? It might have worked. We might have made it out and be much further along than I was but at the same time.... I don't know what we could have done differently.

You see, it was the screaming that drew us to that square.

They had tied the Empress to a stake in the middle of the square, lashed her other ladies in waiting to lower parts of the furnace and piled wood and oil around them before setting fire to it.

The women were screaming. The Empress was swearing and cursing with every breath that she had, even as the fire and smoke began to lick around her feet. She was an easy figure to admire at that moment.

I made a joke. “They move fast in the south. It takes a couple of days to burn a heretic in the north.” But we weren't the only people that were drawn to the screams.

Three other Witchers attacked the square. I could recognise Lord Geralt by his white hair streaming in the air and I thought I could see Eskel by his scar. They were outnumbered massively but they were attacking. They were attacking with such fierceness and such devotion that it was hard to watch. Impossible even.

So of course we attacked. What else would you have done.

But heroism? Heroism is foolish. Heroism can get you killed.

It got Kerrass killed that day.

We used the distraction of the other Witcher's attack to get into the square. We didn't talk about it. I can't remember who moved first but suddenly we were both running. Kerrass was swinging his sword in a wide circle above his head in an effort to get the people out of the way. There was, only a few guards surrounding the pyre itself as the rest of them had charged off to go and deal with the other three Witchers.

We should have made it. But we had forgotten that the execution of the Empress was backed by a Sorceress or two. Suddenly the flames shot up and the Empress stopped swearing and began to scream.

Kerrass went berserk in his efforts to reach her but no-one could have done it. Instead we stood at bay before the flames as we tried everything that we could think of to get to her.

But it turns out that Willpower alone cannot make a human body climb up a burning pile of wood and people to get to the top.

The Empress screamed one last time before going silent. I have since heard rumours that she vanished in a flash of light but I can't swear to that as the smoke and the horrible sweet smell of burning flesh was overpowering and I couldn't have seen it. All I can say is that she stopped screaming.

The other soldiers were beginning to come back now. I don't know whether they had detained the other three Witchers, or killed them but it was all to obvious that we were going to be overwhelmed. I had to force Kerrass to turn away and we ran for one of the entrances to the square but we simply weren't quick enough. We were going to be cut off.

Kerrass died there, forcing the way open for me. “Get away,” he called to me as he charged the remaining soldiers. I couldn't have stopped him. By that point he was too far away and if I'd gone with him then I would have died, making his sacrifice a vain one, so I did what I was told and fled.

I hate myself a little for that.

I stole a horse from one of the city stables and flogged it almost to the point of death before the fear and the pain began to overtake me and I made it to one of the small areas of woodland on the borders of Toussaint where I spent a precious hour or so going to pieces.

Ariadne found me there,

“I can't stay long.” She told me after holding me for a little while. “I have to go. There are people here that might be able to help but I need to go now and speak to them. They have to know.”

“They have to know what?”

“They have to know that the old power has been found.” She told me. “That ancient power that we have been terrified of for centuries. That's what this is all about.”

“I don't understand.”

She led me to a log and sat me down.

“There are several things that you have to accept about the race of vampires.” She told me. “The first thing is that our people are far older than humanity. Far, far older. So old that we make the elven race seem young. There are powers in the universe that hate existence for just being here. Primal darknesses that resent the light. They are the things that are attacking us now. The Empress was the fabled child of the elder blood. She was the one who could hold back the darkness and now they've killed her.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Well, I, need to go and warn the elders about what's happened. You need to head north. Find some friends and start to gather allies. Tell people, let them know. Spread the word Freddie. I would teleport you but Eilhart and her new allies have got a blanket over the area which prevents teleportation in or out.”

I nodded. She left me some supplies, a few loaves of bread, some cheese and some apples.

We kissed there. For the first time and I haven't seen her since. Not the way I wanted our first kiss to go but there was the very real thought that we might not get another. She told me what to look for, what the face of our enemy looked like and how I could recognise signs of the rituals that I might protect myself and keep track of them if they came north.

It took me far too long to get through the mountain pass towards the north and since then I had been running for my life.

Everywhere I went it seemed that people had been there before me. I had had to flee two towns before someone recognised me from the wanted posters. Smaller villages were a lot more reliable and much more approachable for supplies. But then they started to die. I would walk into the isolated places to discover people dead, ritual circles on the floor and in more than one case, signs of these elder powers breaking loose from wherever they had been summoned. But now there was a different problem. Now I was running away from Imperial Guardsmen that were specifically trained to hunt down fugitives.

Like me.

I rode hard through the early dawn light. I was light headed and had to blink furiously to keep the water from my eyes. But I was done for. Too tired, too hungry and too weak.

And it seemed that I had been anticipated. There were a trio of horsemen waiting at the river and they had reacted to the sound of the winding horn that came from the farm house behind me. I pulled the horse to a stop. There were also torches in the tree line that were moving towards me.

If I went back I was facing those men that I had left at the house while being chased by the fresh horsemen at the stream. If I carried on towards the stream I would face three men that were fresh and ready for action. Into the trees meant that I was facing an unknown number of men. Not good. If I ran the other way, away from all of them then I would be leaving three groups of men behind me. Some fresh and some would be directly behind me on fresh horses with fresh men who weren't exhausted.

Another piece of Kerrass' advice occurred.

Flame but I missed him.

But if you're being caught in a trap and you feel the jaws closing over the top of you. Then you attack one of the pincers.

Three men in front of me on horseback. Which ever way I went then those three men would be chasing me. If I could get past them or through them then my list of options would open again.

I spurred my horse back onto the gallop and unslung my spear.

As an extra bonus to all this time on the run I had managed to teach myself how to fight with a spear on horseback. Fortunately the horse that I was on was military trained and reacted properly to the steering from my knees.

I screamed and drove my horse between two of the men. They had swords drawn and that meant that my longer reach gave me something of an advantage. I charged, and wove a figure of eight pattern with my spear. I hadn't been able to take proper care of my weapon in the time that I had been on the run and as such I only felt one of the blows bite deep. The reverse spin merely struck the man I was aiming for in the chest. I thought I heard him fall on my way past but I couldn't be sure and I didn't have time to check. Instead I rode hard away, the third man was out of position and wouldn't follow too far. I thought I had done fairly well for an amateur. I had got away with a long but shallow cut up the line of my shoulder.

But I had made a mistake. The third man had time to draw his horse bow and instead of aiming at me as I sat low along the line of my horse, he instead aimed for the horse. I shouldn't be too angry, the horse is a bigger target after all but that was it.

It didn't die, but the arrow struck it deep in the back leg muscle. Not too deep but at the same time, it was going to go lame and in the growing morning light, it was leading a blood trail.

As was I. I would need to deal with the cut and I wasn't sure I had time to deal with that. I rode for a while in an effort to break any kind of sight line between me and any pursuing men before I dismounted which was when the other problem was found. I had also taken a short gash across the calf and so the horse wasn't the only one that was slowly going lame. I hadn't felt it at the time, I couldn't figure out why as I didn't have the time.

I slapped the horse hard on the back. I resented hurting it but I didn't have a choice. I wanted to use the speed, I wanted to run but the open ground and the blood trail were too easy to follow. Into the trees then. Go to ground, break the cordon. Same plan as before, attack the pincers. I still had a blanket and I tore a couple of strips from it to bind my shoulder and calf.

But I was limping. It didn't look good.

I made reasonable progress. I really did. I kept to the harder ground, walking across the harder tree roots where I could. But I was done. I knew it and I suspected that my pursuers knew it too. I heard them find the spot where I had dismounted. I must have bought myself maybe five minutes with the horse distraction.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

It was not enough.

Flame I was tired, so very tired but I refused to give up.

Not yet. Not yet. Sam had buried himself under a good half a dozen attackers and I refused to face him in whatever afterlife was waiting for me and say “Sorry Sam, I just gave up.”

If I was to have any hope at all, I would need to move for a while, take it slow and careful, move from cover to cover.

I thought of Ariadne and held onto my pendant but I couldn't feel her presence. “I'm sorry,” I called into the symbol. “I didn't make it. I'm so sorry.”

But I couldn't give up. I moved on and on. Blood was seeping from my leg and I was feeling weaker by the moment.

I was astonished to realise that I had fallen to my knees. “Not like this.” I levered myself to my feet and kept moving.

“I'm sorry,” I said aloud. “I tried.”

Movement, that was key. I force myself to move on. One foot in front of the other, that was it. I thought I saw movement off to my left. They were circling me now. They had seen what I was capable of and didn't want to close.

I was done. They had me. The only thought now was whether they would kill me now or save me for trial.

A knight Errant stepped into view.

“Are you finished Lord Frederick?” I didn't recognise him and I had to blink a few times past the tears welling up in my eyes. Pain, exhaustion and defeat were wearing at me.

“Finished?” I asked as I did my very best to straighten before my leg twinged and I had to stagger to keep myself upright. I pushed myself into a fighting stance and brought my spear up. “I haven't even started you treasonous fuck.”

“Trying to make me angry Lord Frederick.” He drew his sword. “You should surrender.”

“Surrender? To you and yours.” I batted at his sword but he easily moved his sword out of the way. I tried to laugh but it came out as a whimper. He shrugged and flicked his sword at me. I managed a parry, more by instinct than any kind of skill and swept my blade back towards him in a riposte that was painfully slow. It also overbalanced me and I fell to my knees.

The soldiers laughed.

The injury in my shoulder was making the arm numb as I tried to stand. My leg wasn't much better but I made it upright. The knight danced around me, playing to the crowd, aimed at my back at my legs and knees. I parried desperately. I was being toyed with and I knew it. Eventually he caught me hard across my injured shoulder with the heavy flat of his sword. I screamed in the agony and dropped my spear.

“It's over lord Frederick. Give it up.”

I reached for him and he kicked out. I fell again. I felt hands grasping at my shoulder. I drew my dagger. The viper fang that Letho had given me, what felt like, years ago. I spun and drove it into the knights groin from below. He screamed, oddly high pitched as I felt his blood running over my hand. I stood with it driving the dagger further in. I pulled the dagger free and he fell backwards, howling as his hands tried to staunch the blood flow but he was dying.

“At least one more,” I told Kerrass before I felt as though I had been punched in the leg. I looked down and saw the crossbow bolt had punched straight through. I wanted to scream but there didn't seem to be much point to it as I fell backwards. My hand found the knights sword.

I felt light headed, presumably from the blood loss. Inexplicably cold. I could see the lightening sky above the tree branches.

Not yet.

I tried to sit up, the pain lancing through my leg. They were getting closer.

I felt cold. And so afraid. This was it, I knew it somewhere in the depths of my soul. I was going to die here in a small copse of trees that I didn't even know the name of. I had always thought I was invulnerable that I would succeed and get somewhere.

But now I was going to die, without seeing Ariadne, without seeing Emma and most, if not all of my friends had gone before me. I tried to get up. Tried to make it count.

But I was so tired. So very tired.

A man came close as I felt the sun being obscured. I weakly tried to lash out at him with my knife but the blows lacked strength.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to live so fiercely that I whimpered.

“Disgusting,” the man said as he placed his sword over my chest and simply put his weight on the pommel.

It felt like a hot icicle going through my chest. Aching rather than sharp pain.

So tired.

-

Darkness. No thought, no sound, no memory.

“Come now,” said a voice, “You didn't think it would be that easy did you?”

-

I staggered out of the police station and badly wanted to vomit. It felt as though a vice was squeezing me across the front of my head but if I stopped to vomit in sight of the fucking pigs then I would be hauled back into the tank for another night.

I don't think I could take another night.

Fucking police. Can't they leave a lady to drink herself to death in peace. I took a deep breath. The desk Sergeant had told me that it was just after one o'clock in the morning. “Night's still young” I told him with a wink and leer. Not that he was going to fall for it. Old cock-sucker like him has seen younger and prettier girls than me pass in front of him and give him the eye.

God but what a life.

So, time to make a decision.

The air outside was making me feel even worse.

I could go right. Fastest route home where, hopefully, I could sleep this off and start again tomorrow. Or I could turn left. The night was still young and I could easily find a John or two, which would give me enough to drink myself back into insensibility before going to bed.

I felt myself sway on my feet. No time for that. Need to move.

I turned to the left, towards Aldgate and put my best foot forward. Left foot followed by right foot followed by left foot again. Step followed step and as I did so it became easier.

Someone called my name “Kate?”

I looked up. I did know him. Jo something. Joseph Lawrence I thought. I found myself wondering if I could sleep with him and whether or not he would be good for any money.

Probably not. Jewish.

I don't know where I got that from but it seemed relevant. I was in their neck of the woods in all fairness.

There was a Jewish working mans club nearby. Occasionally good for some left over grub or the odd piece of charity but very rarely any other kind of “work”. I waved to the man to show that I had seen him. No point in upsetting someone who might be good for some help in the future.

I walked on.

A slow feeling came up on me then. Just a gentle kind of pressure at the back of my skull. It would be all to easy to dismiss it as part of my hangover. But I suddenly found I was shivering. I stopped for a moment to take stock. No, I shouldn't be feeling cold just yet. The gin that I had had earlier was still enough to keep me warm in the September night. But I didn't feel good.

There had been the two other deaths earlier in the month. They were calling him the “Leather Apron” killer although the reason for that seemed a little vague. The papers wanted to call him “Jack the Ripper,” as apparently they had received letters from the sicko telling them that that was his name.

Hah,

If only the people knew the truth. More people died in the rookery every day than Jack could kill if he worked at it morning noon and night. Women, children, old folk. But they never care about them do they. No, that would mean that the people watching would need to give a fuck wouldn't they.

Fuck em.

I needed some gin. Otherwise I would be more than a little bit tempted to find some fucker and murder them myself.

It's a hard life being a woman and having an opinion.

Gin. I need some gin. Which means that I need a job. I need a nice rich John. Someone that can be pressed into service, ten minutes work and then...

Where the fuck am I?

I looked up, it was a relatively clear night. One of those white signs that they insisted in screwing to the walls despite the fact that most of the occupants of this neck of the world couldn't read them and if the tourists came here then they deserved everything that happened to them. Yes, still in the Jewish quarter. Near Mitre square which is a good place to take a client for a quiet corner so....

There's one.

“Excuse me sir?” I tried giving my auburn hair a bit of a fluff up. It was one of my better features. Auburn hair and hazel eyes, never going to be a beauty, too much gin for that, but once seen, few people could forget me. The man I had seen dressed like a gentleman. Maybe a little down on his luck with a large light coloured moustache he was carrying a large leather bag and wore a large overcoat which seemed to hide his shape while at the same time wearing a large top hat.

He stopped and looked behind him as though he was looking to see if I was talking to someone else. He looked distracted. Frustrated almost, as though things hadn't gone right for him that night as well. But his expression of anger disappeared as he saw me.

To do this job you have to have an eye for it. Even though I wasn't doing the job full time, I still needed to develop a couple of the instincts. One of those instincts is to make sure that I wasn't sending good time after bad time. There's no point in going after a client if he's already decided not to bother. So you have to see whether you were getting somewhere.

This one? This one I had. There was a hunger about him. As always I found that I was curious. Just a little curious about what this man was all about. What had happened to him? What had caused that desperation and that hunger that I had seen in the depths of his eyes. But that curiosity was dangerous.

Even in this there's almost a dance to it. A routine. A routine that needed to be followed. The fish wasn't hooked yet.

I held my hand out to be kissed. Holding the hand out made them feel superior. That attitude of pretending to be a lady of higher status and higher standing made them feel important. As though they were getting a privilege.

He took my hand, putting his bag onto the floor to take it.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice was warm and friendly. I thought I detected a hint of education in his tone.

“What brings a beautiful woman like you, out onto the streets on a night like this?”

Oh God, lets just hope he's not one of those people that likes to “rescue fallen women” or anything.

“I feel a great need, Sir.” I told him, while also putting my hand to my chest in an effort to appear embarrassed by the compliment.

“A need?” He asked. “What need is that? Maybe it echoes my own needs.”

Ah no. He wasn't naïve. He just wanted to draw out this part of the dance a bit further than some would prefer.

“Why sir?” I exclaimed. Time to reel in the fish. “A need for some closeness on such a night as this one. A warming to the blood.”

“Really? My heart longs for just such a thing.”

“Good, buy a lady a drink?”

“Believe me good lady. Your need for drinking will be quenched by what I can give you.” He smiled.

Success!

“So what do you have in mind?” I asked.

“Do you know somewhere that might be a little bit more private?” He asked as he picked up his bag again.

“I know just the place Sir, Little square I know, just down here.”

I took his hand and gently led him down the ally and into the square. A walk of maybe two minutes and I pulled his arm around my shoulders. He felt warm and soft. It reminded me of how tired I was. So desperate to sleep. Just a little drink.

I led him into the square, away from the street lights and from the prying eyes that might spot us from the street and turned to kiss him.

Odd, that it seemed to happen so slowly. It felt like I had plenty of time, loads of time to protect myself. To throw up an arm or scream or something. I saw his arm come up, an odd gleam of light reflected in the hooked blade of the long knife, that reached out and with an almost leisurely movement he slit my throat. My first thought was that it didn't hurt. The second thought was that I was wet.

Again, I could see the reverse movement. He had cut my throat with a forearm slash, spun the knife and cut the other side with a back handed cut.

I found that I couldn't breathe. I choked, coughed and tried to claw at the wound. Thick liquid spurted between my fingers. I tried to scream but no sound would come out.

I felt another question. Would I bleed to death? Or would I choke on my own blood?

Dear God in heaven. I was going to die here.

I fell. Probably going to bleed to death then. I felt weak. Some element of me was still trying to run. My leg jerked.

My John crouched next to me and reached into the large and heavy bag at his side. He produced a large roll of what looked like leather and unrolled it. From that he took out a smaller knife.

Rather redundantly, the edges of the wounds in my neck had begun to sting.

It was almost funny.

The pain as he cut into my stomach was indescribable. I tried to curl around the injury, to protect it from him but my protests were weak and he easily batted away my hands. Another almost ridiculous thought but dear God it hurt. I saw him cut into me. He seemed cold, clinical as though he knew that he could take his time.

God just let me die. Let me die now. Just take me, don't make me feel it while he cuts into me. Don't make me feel it. Just let me die. Surely I've lost enough blood by now.

I felt the tears at the corners of my eyes. Another ridiculous thought.

I was wrong. “Ripper” is the right word name for him.

Just let me die.

Please.

-

Darkness again.

But not for long.

I find my voice and scream into the darkness.

A flash of light.

-

I've made a mistake. I should have known it really but I was so hungry that it has become necessary to leave the den and go looking for food.

The cubs are hungry my mate is hungry. I'M hungry and we could all just do with a nice chicken, or a rabbit or two but it would seem that that was too much to ask for today.

It's not going to be long before I'm going to have to make a decision. Do I have to leave the chicken that I've got clamped between my jaws.

I heard the first horn a little while ago. I don't think it's going to be long now before I see the first, red coated horsemen. Not long now.

I slink along through the ditches, trying to keep low, trying to stay in the water to mask my scent and throw of the hunters. Not that there's much hope of that but these are the things that you have to try. But those blasted bloodhounds are too good at this game for that. But you have to try.

That latest horn sounded as though it was closer.

Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.

Why today? I'd been safe in my den for the last three days. It's the season for the hunts and I know that so

I've been keeping my mate and the cubs inside in an effort to keep us safe. I didn't want to go out now. I didn't want to but it was somewhat frustrating to know that if I had gone out yesterday then I would have made it home by now.

They haven't seen me yet though. There is still hope. I take another grip on the chicken that I had stolen from the farmers yard. The better able to carry it with me and I drive myself on. Low to the ground, that's the ticket. Stay in the undergrowth. Stay low where my red fur and bushy tail can't be seen.

Past experience tells me that they don't want to let the hounds go until the last possible moment for fear that the expensive hounds can injure themselves, get lost or tired out. So I need to stay out of sight, move slowly and carefully, moving through the gaps in the grass rather than pushing the grass down for my to move over it.

So here we go. Choice time.

There are two routes from here towards where my den is with my mate and the cubs. One way is over the flat fields and the other is through the forest and the tress and the undergrowth.

The fields provide flat, open ground where I can run easily and put on speed. There will be no undergrowth for my tail, feet or prey to get caught on as I drag it off and I will be able to use all of my speed. My instincts are screaming at me that this is the right way to go.

But the woods have the cover. Yes it's slower, yes it's more overgrown but in turn that will make it more difficult for the hunters to spot me and catch me.

But every instinct in me is wanting me to run. To put as much speed on me as I can, I'm almost quivering with the desire to turn my tail and speed away.

I have to take a deep breath and calm myself down. The choice is clear.

I turn my nose towards the trees and carry on slinking ever onwards. Nose and body low, dragging the chicken along the ground. Probably doing far too much damage to it and making far too much of a mess of the undergrowth making me easy to spot.

Slowly though slowly does it. Time my movements with the wind.

The forest is getting closer now. I can see it, it only seems a short run away but that last burst of speed and distance is the dangerously seductive one. The one where it's easiest to get caught. But relative safety being so close is seductive it's....it draws you in like a nice warm den with yours and your mates tail wrapping each other for warmth against the chill of the early mornings.

I nearly snarl with anger and fear. I had failed. I was already dead.

The Farmer had come out of the woods and I could hear more humans with him. The farmer had his fire stick bent over his arm along with his own dog walking at his side.

Damn. Damn damn damn damn damn.

Dead already.

It's a physical effort of will not to keen my grief into the wind so that my mate and all the others can hear it.

But that won't feed the cubs.

I take a short moment to control myself but I don't have long. The farmers dog has just lifted his huge head. I see the human bend to ask the dog something. I had been sniffed. I backed away as slowly and carefully as I could.

Looks like I'm going to get that run over the field that I wanted after all.

I go a little way back into the long grass and quickly dig a hole, burying the chicken inside after taking a quick mouthful to give me strength. I spray the mound that this has left with my scent in the hope that my mate might be able to find it and bring it to our children so that my death might not be in vain.

Then I take a step back and look up at the sky sucking down deep lungfuls of soft, beautiful air before

sniffing carefully to try and discover where my killers were prowling.

There was another task here. They would think that I would be running for my own den so I must lead them away. My mate might not find the chicken but I might be able to draw the hunters away, even a little.

I sniff the air carefully and I'm off. Just a gentle run at first. I will want to save the real speed for when they spot me. I need to draw the hounds out and then lead them on a chase in an effort to tire them or even, hopefully injure them. Maybe I can even take one or two down with me.

Unlikely but still. A fox can hope.

I come to the edge of the cover. The urge to hide is back on me now but I know that won't work. I've seen it happen before where the hounds have sniffed out good friends.

I take a breath and charge out. Quicker but still not as fast as I can go.

I don't have to wait long before I hear the first horn call. The first horn that is joined by another and another.

Then comes the thunder of the horse hooves and the yammering of the dogs.

I run.

In the distance I can see the small group of trees where I have made my home this season. She will never hear me but I bark out my farewell to that place and to that female. I had liked that one. Liked her enough that I hoped that we might mate again. She had real spirit.

But I needed to concentrate now. The thunder was getting closer and I found that I needed to control my breathing.

Closer, closer. I looked over my shoulder to see them and waved my tail. The dogs saw me, or smelt me or whatever it is those stupid bloodthirsty bastards do. They became aware at me and they tore at their ropes. I laugh back at them.

“Never catch me.” I jeered at them and pissed to show my disdain.

Maybe, if I get them good and angry they will kill me quicker.

I take off again. Quick as a shot before finding another rise to goad my enemies.

But I'm being steered. Off to my right I see another group of horsemen in their absurd red coats. Don't they know that we can see them easier if they wear red?

But that's ok.

They've let the hounds off the lead now.

Leave it just long enough for the hounds to be beyond the range of someone calling them back before I shoot off giving it everything I have.

It feels good. The air tastes sweet.

I can see them encircling me from the right though. The hunters and the other pack of hounds. They must think I don't know that that's what's happening.

I feel myself grinning as I hear the barks of triumph from the dogs. They think they've caught me. They think that they're the clever ones.

Hah.

I let them encircle me. I mustn't let them make a sport of it. If I stand at bay then they will let the dogs take their time tearing me apart. I must make them kill me quickly.

I see the dogs. Now this second group have been let of their leash. I laugh at them.

They growl their own anger and frustration. Their scorn and their hate drips from their teeth. For a moment I feel sorry for these things. They have been bred and trained for this purpose but now I must show them how a fox can die.

I pick out the second biggest dog and charge him.

The other dogs roar as I do so.

I don't make it before I get barrelled aside.

I don't manage much as the teeth tear into me. I just manage to latch my teeth onto one poor bastard and lock my jaw.

I hope the bastard feels it.

-

Darkness.

“Wait,” I scream into the darkness. “WAIT,”

A flash of light.

-

There are chains round my wrists, chains round my ankles and chains round my neck. So many chains that I can barely remember what it felt like to not have that constant weight, pulling me down.

I'm so tired. So tired and hungry that the pain in my belly and my chest is now like an old companion. I remember once, my mother told me that pain is a friend that we should cherish because it reminds us that we're still alive. She use to maintain that the pain would go away when we die.

I hope so.

But I want to live. I want to live so much. I want to see my husband again. I want to hold him in my arms and to see my children.

But it's not going to happen now.

I'm so tired.

We're led out into the square. There are four of us. A human at the front of the line who's dressed in bright colours with an absurd hat on. He claims to be a bard or a poet of some kind or another but I don't believe him. Even Loredo wouldn't hang a poet. I heard that he'd been accused of collaborating with the Scoia'tael which is frankly ludicrous. Not that humans wouldn't sympathise with the plight of the elves in the woods but more because the man seems far too stupid for it. The Scoia'tael are too clever to use idiots like him.

From the look of the dandy though it's much more likely that he seduced Loredo's favourite whore and now was being punished for it. The fact that his charge had been changed from Collusion to debauchery added to that.

Heh.

Hanging for debauchery. Is there a person in Flotsam at all that wouldn't be guilty of that crime? Loredo least of all.

Then there's the dwarf. Accused of collusion like my fellow elf in the line. Much more believable although I doubt it. They say that Iorveth is distrusting of dwarves and prefers to serve with Elves. I can't comment. I've tried to keep my head down in that kind of thing. Another piece of my mothers advice there.

“Keep your head down and do as your told.” She said, “and they'll leave you alone.”

I did my best to do that, but then I resisted when the guard sergeant tried to rape me. My mother had managed to curse me with blonde hair and the kind of good looks that humans find attractive.

All I did was say no.

But now I'm a Scoia'tael terrorist about to hang.

I've been beaten and raped many times since then. I heard one of the guards complaining that they actually wanted to keep me around for much longer as I was “a good way to relieve stress”.

But it was not to be.

They still had their entertainment though. I was dressed in a shirt and trews that was open to the waist. They might as well just pull what remains of my breasts out of the shirt for all to see. It would probably save everyone time.

They pull us out into the crowd. The crowd sounds interesting. They hate the fact that we're being hanged because they hate Loredo with an unbound and uncompromising hatred. The merchants hate him for his taxes and the elves hate him for his oppression of our people. But no-one in flotsam is going to miss the opportunity to see a good hanging.

Someone throws vegetables because of course they brought vegetables. I keep my head down. I just want it to be over with now.

The last of my fight was beaten out of me two nights ago when I was told that they were going to hang me. I tried to tell them that my only crime was to say “no,” so they struck me in the jaw with a mailed fist, breaking it, and causing me to bite a good chunk of my tongue off. The blood trickling down my throat made me vomit.

But now that this is it. I just want it to be over.

We are led through the crowd and up to the scaffold where one of Loredo's men is waiting for us as our executioner.

Bastard.

I'm too weak to struggle as they put me on the trap door and put the noose round my neck. If I was braver I would try to jump in an effort break through the trap door, Not that I think I'm heavy enough to burst through the trapdoor but the thought occurs.

So very tired.

At least I'm on the end of the row. That means I'll be first to drop and perform the gallows dance. It doesn't look like it's a long drop so there's a very real chance that I won't break my neck. Apparently Loredo likes to watch us dance before we swing. Seems a little redundant now as he hasn't attended a hanging for months.

Maybe if I jump as high as I can, just before the trapdoor goes. Maybe the extra distance will help my neck to break.

Unlikely though.

It's a difficult balancing act. To help the neck breaking or to get my neck to stretch that much quicker, I need to be heavier, stronger. But on the other hand that would give me more stamina to withstand the fall and the strangulation.

Gods and goddesses above and below but I want this to be over with now. The peacock on the other end of the row has spotted someone in the crowd that he recognises. Someone he knows and presumably has a claim of friendship with. He's calling for help. Stupid fool. No-one will help us. We're already dead. The more he kicks up a fuss, the more entertaining it is for everyone and the longer that they'll prolong things.

He should just shut up. Let them get on with it. The faster to get it over with.

I can't help it though. I scan the faces of the assembled townsfolk, looking for a friend. Someone who might be sad to see me go.

I can't see anyone and for a moment my eyes sting with tears. I'm going to die alone.

I need to take solace from the fact that my family fled as soon as they heard that I had been taken. Again, none of them were involved with the rebels but once one member of the family swings then they'll soon come for the rest.

I should be glad. Glad that there's no-one to watch as that means that they are all beyond the reach of the hangman. That disgusting, fat, filth in the hood.

It turns out that I can still feel something. I can feel hate.

I'm surprised though. I thought I would hate Loredo for sentencing me, or for the Sergeant for choosing me to slake his lusts against when there are many perfectly good prostitutes in the brothel that are ready and willing. I don't hate my family for fleeing or myself for not agreeing to the Sergeants demands. But I hate that executioner with every fibre of my being.

I can see that he has an erection. He uses the odd movement as he goes about his business to grope himself occasionally.

I hate him so much.

He takes the time to fondle my breasts as he positions me over the trapdoor.

Bastard.

The peacock's friend is fighting his way through the guards and the crowds to get to the scaffold and I feel a fluttering of hope.

It is an alien feeling and I almost shrink from it in fear and terror. The man has white hair and two swords on his back. He's capable and is tearing through the guards.

But he won't make it in time. Not to save me.

The hangman takes a hold of the lever that works my trapdoor.

My body betrays me. It doesn't want to die despite how tired I am. I feel panic and adrenalin flood through my system. I try to open my mouth to scream, to protest. To do anything. To spit my hate at the hangman but it's too late. Far too late.

The lever is pulled and I fall.

It hurts.

It hurts so much. I have time to feel my eyes bugging out of my face and my tongue swelling in my mouth, almost enough to choke me.

I will the feelings to leave my body. I try to jerk around in an effort to break my own neck or make the strangulation happen faster but what little strength I have left is failing me.

Oh just let it end.

I don't want to feel this pain any more

So very tired.

-

Darkness.

But I am ready for it this time.

“WAIT!” I scream into the void.

“Wait?” he says. “What for?”

“I just need.... I need a minute.”

“Ah, you need a rest.” I hear him sigh. “Very well. I would have thought you would want to get your day of service over and done with as quick as possible. But if you want to break it up with pauses then that will only delay your return to the real world. But very well.”

I could almost feel him smile.

“Your fear of what follows is very gratifying anyway.”

“Bastard.”

He laughed.

“What did you think was going to happen Lord Frederick? A day where I would run around Toussaint, murdering people in your body. What on earth for? My name is already indelibly inked on that place. Laughing Jack is a story that will be told for centuries now. There will be a period of copycats followed by a period where people will look out into the darkness and wonder whether your Empress and the Witchers really caught me or whether the authorities just told them all that Jack had been captured.

“Then people will look out into the night and wonder if I'm waiting for them. In that shadowed alley or behind that tree as the road darkens in the distance.

“The story of Jack will be used to frighten children into going to bed and to do their chores and all the while, the people of Toussaint and eventually the world will know that no matter what happens. Their lords and masters cannot keep them safe from people like....

“Jack,”

He laughed again. Not the mad laughter of the figure that we had chased through the Toussaint night. This was different. Warmer somehow, more genuine and far, far more calculating.

“Besides. I promised you that I wouldn't. I promised, and I quote, “I guarantee that you will not be a murderer. You will not harm any of those people that you love. Nor will you kill anyone or take the lives of anyone. You will not, in fact, have any real effect on the world around you. I can guarantee that you will not perform any act that goes against your conscience.”

“Now yes, some people might argue that you would not be the murderer. That I would be the murderer but that would be semantics and we both know. After all, something else I said is also true.

“My word is my bond,”

I could see him now hanging in the darkness. Nothing like the man that I had seen in that other world, nothing like Laughing Jack or the Jack that I had seen in my dreams. He was humanoid, if anything he looked more like an elf but...more elflike and utterly, utterly alien. His skin was white. Bleached white, the kind of white that not even albino's manage. His face was almost elongated which is why it reminded me of an elven face in that his chin was long and pointed while his cheekbones were high. His ears were much longer and pointed than an elves were. But the skin was hard. As I looked I realised that calling it skin was incorrect, it was more like he was scaled. There was a beauty to his face, hard and terrible beauty that found it's home in the eyes. Jet black pupils surrounded by glowing white Irises.

He was dressed like a noble gentleman fresh from court. Shirt and doublet immaculate in black and red colouring, his riding boots polished to a mirror shine and his cape hung around his body in a way that reminded me of the wings on a bat.

He wore a long hat like he had worn in that other world and his cane was cradled in his arms.

He didn't have hands. They were more like talons.

His eyes were shining with amusement.

“I have been thinking about things Lord Frederick and I have decided to give you a gift with no expectation of reward or return as it will serve my purposes well.” He said after regarding me for a while. “At first I was going to forbid you from writing about your experiences with me but I have changed my mind. I encourage you to write about me. Tell your readers what we have talked about and what I have said. It will do me good to have at least one world and time where they know that I exist and what I am. It will change nothing as they will still fear that I am out there in the dark. But it will give them a name and a face to fear instead so write about me.”

He grinned.

“They may even believe you.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Why? Because you asked the question of course. Nothing comes for free.”

“But why this?” I was nearly weeping with pain and horror.

He smiled at me again.

“Because I can?”

He laughed.

“A joke, Lord Frederick. A joke.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I will let you have that one although it is beneath your not inconsiderable talents as a writer and a debater. This is why my children like to trade in souls. You see? It's an educational tool as well. I encourage you to write about this too as it will annoy them all which is always endlessly amusing.

“What is the purest form of fear?” he asked.

“I don't know,”

“Oh come now. You've experienced it three times so far.”

“I really have no idea.” I snapped at him but I could hear the whimper in my own voice.

He smiled. “Then I shall show you another one.”

“No wait....”

A flash.

-

I'm on my way.

Not long now. The guards have come for me and I take one last look around my cell. Not to stall them or to keep them away from me but in an effort to say goodbye to the last place that I ever thought of as “mine”.

Because today's the day.

There's only one thing now that's going to keep me from doing the thousand volt dance. That's if the governor decides to change his mind.

There isn't much hope of that though. Never much hope.

Twenty five years I've been waiting for this day. Twenty five years and not a day goes by where I don't think of those poor fuckers that I killed. Twenty five years of answering questions, reading books and writing letters. Always trying to come up with the answer to that most important of questions. Why did I do it? Why did I take those two lives?

I've tried to come up with an answer since I was clean enough to be able to properly take it in. But I can't. I look back at the kid that committed that crime and he seems alien to me. So very different. A product of his time, place and circumstances.

I'm not so far gone as to think that I have anyone to blame but myself. I'm not that naïve. I pulled the trigger. It was my action that sent those brains flying through the air to splatter against the back wall of my uncles garage and I bear the guilt of that every day. The disbelief in the face of the first man followed by the fear of realisation in the face of the second man.

Followed by the relief and relaxation on both faces as they fell backwards.

Or that might have been the last effects of the high that I was on I no longer remember.

I know several things. I know that I pulled the trigger. I know that my best friends older brother put the gun in my hand in return for my last fix. I know that I was conscious enough to check the gun to make sure that it wouldn't misfire or otherwise hurt anyone other than the two pigs that I was killing to pay the man back.

I know that, if I hadn't pulled the trigger then those two cops would have died anyway, probably much harder than the way that I killed them. Then I would have died to, beaten to death with the baseball bat that was being held by my best friend at the ready.

I think back to that time and try to think of a way that I could have done something different. Taken a different path. It's easy with the benefit of hindsight, a word that I've learned since being inside, to say that I could have stayed in school. I could have not smoked that first cigarette that led to that first joint. Even if I'd stopped there and become one of those pot heads I would have probably been ok but I had to listen when my friend passed me a pill and told me that it would make all my troubles go away.

With hindsight I can see that I could have and should have done all of those things. I should have respected my mother and the fact that she was out working three jobs to make sure that we had what little food we had in the house. I should have protected her when she eventually had to turn some tricks to put shoes on my little sisters feet.

But I didn't.

Why not?

Because in that time and in that place it was inconceivable that I should do anything else.

I took the pill because life was unbearable. I hurled abuse at my mother because of the constant rage that I felt. A rage that I didn't understand and had no outlet for and by the time the gun was in my hand, I pulled the trigger because to do anything else was unthinkable.

And now I'm going to die for it.

Unless the governor calls. Which he won't.

I've said I'm sorry even though I know that an apology is not enough. I've written to the widows of those two men that I've killed and I understand that one of them has even found it in her heart to forgive me.

I hope so, because Lord knows I don't forgive myself.

I walk along the corridor outside the cells. The other men are chanting my name. No-one knows how they found out that my time has come but they chant it all the same. It gives me a bit of strength. A bit of courage and right now I'll take all I can get.

I'm bound and shackled although there's no point to the bonds. Where would I go for christ's sake?”

I deserve this.

They take me to the room. It looks like a hospital room. There are medical people all over it waiting for me.

A priest is there and he mumbles the words.

For a moment I want to smack him in his self-righteous mouth.

But I swallow that rage. The same misguided rage that started me on this path all those years ago. Instead I accept the man's prayers. I no longer believe but if it gives him comfort, or the people watching behind the screen comfort then I will take them.

“Do you want to say anything?” I'm asked.

“Hell no,” I try for a laugh but it won't come. “But I will.” I wanted my voice to be strong at this point but it cracks and tears blur my sight.

I turned to the screen.

“I have no excuses.” I tell the watching people, “only explanations but I know that they are not enough. It may seem trite but I am truly, truly sorry. I do not deserve your forgiveness but I hope for it all the same.” I shook my head and again tried for the black humour that had been my shield over the last few days. “This fucking sucks.” I tell them. “I want to thank those that fought for my survival.” My voice cracks at the last word and I swallow the lump in my throat. The warden's looking at his watch and I know that I don't have much time. “And again, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry mama.”

I turn away then. And look at all the tubes and bags of chemicals.

I find my sense of humour after all.

“Jesus Christ.” I hear myself say. “Wouldn't it be cheaper and easier to put a bullet through my skull.”

I let them lay me down but find that my body wants to fight them. Some part of me wants them to wait. That my pardon or the reduction of my sentence might be coming down the hall at any moment.

My brain goes down that particular rabbit hole of hope for a moment as they get the drips and things into my arms.

They tell you that it doesn't hurt but I'm shaking in terror as I watch the three men go to the switch board and at the count of three press the buttons that are going to end my life.

It might not hurt but the delay between those buttons being pushed and my loss of consciousness suck.

That's the bit that's cruel and unusual if you ask me. That's the bit where the pain comes.

I wonder if the pain is real or imagined. Whether the poison really is burning through my veins like liquid ice or whether I'm just imagining it.

Either way the pain is real and I jerk against my restraints.

How long now before I die. Is there no way they could speed this up?

A bullet really would be kinder.

Or maybe that's the point.

Fuck this hurts.

As final thoughts go, it's lacking a little something.

I feel myself wanting to giggle despite the pain. They'll probably think I'm a psychopath if I do that though.

Pain.

-

Blackness.

“Well Lord Frederick? Do you have an answer to my riddle?”

I didn't. I was too busy trying to fight of the waves of nausea from the poison that had just been pumped through my veins.

He sighed.

“Well, what more could I expect I suppose? I shall tell you as this game is beginning to get tiresome and I have things to do.

“The purest point of fear. The purest moment of fear happens just before all hope is lost. When you still hope that you might be saved, when you still hops that the medical person or the wheels of justice or just plain circumstances tell you that you will be alright. But then, when the hammer comes down and there's nothing else to be done. Life comes out fighting.

“It's really quite fascinating. But that point of fear. The purest form of fear. Ah....that will see me through centuries.”

He laughed and I could see him again.

“This is why my children demand people's souls as payment. You see, they themselves are afraid. They can picture a time when humanity will no longer need them. Where they will become redundant and so they jealously guard their souls so that they can be, well, farmed for their resources. Farmed for the darkness that souls contain, or farmed for their energy or the lies that they tell themselves without understanding that when life renders them redundant then they will already be dead.

“Not that that's any kind of consolation to the people who have lost their lives and their souls though I suppose.”

I wasn't looking at him.

“So, you ready to get back to it?”

I groaned.

“Good, because I've still got a solid sixteen hours of service that I can drag out of you.”

He snapped his fingers.

-

It's an odd thing to feel your sanity slipping away.

I once heard it said that when a man becomes crazy they actually come to believe that they are the only sane ones and that everyone else are the ones that are going crazy. That wasn't what happened here. I could feel my mind retreating within myself as the lives that I lived melded into each other to the point of rendering me numb.

I found a small dark place and curled myself up into a ball where I couldn't be hurt. I was small, weak and inconsequential as those lives. So many lives flickered out and died before me. I protected myself as well as I could but still the pain and the mind-numbing terror was overwhelming and awful.

I saw so many lives and felt such pain. When I was subject to the vision I was the person or the creature that I was witnessing. Their thoughts were my thoughts and my feelings and actions were their actions and thoughts as though my sense of self, my sense of identity vanished in the fire of that person's existence.

I lost track of them in the end. I can remember and describe maybe the first half dozen of them with significant detail but after that they start to merge together into one huge blob of pain, fear and misery.

I was the animal, waiting in my pen for the slaughter, pissing and shitting myself with fear.

I was the rabbit, caught out in the open air and I hear the scream of the hawk above me.

I was numerous religious martyrs, being brought out to burn before the crowds, my scalp tingling from where they had shaved me wanting to breathe the smoke so that I might die faster but knowing that in that action I would be committing the ultimate sin of self-slaughter and I would be consigned to hell.

I was also numerous people that the holy fire consigned to the flames, watching with hatred as the religious guards openly masturbated as they saw the heat sear my flesh from my bones.

In several cases I was the monster, hiding in my lair when the Witcher came down to end me. I tried to flee from them and tried to protest my innocence but they killed me just the same.

I saw worlds and times that I cannot recognise now to the point that my mind shears of them in the same way that a horse will break off to avoid the jump that is too tall for them. I remember names and places that I have searched for on maps of my own world and I remember things and objects, weapons and items that don't even have a parallel in our world.

I was elf, dwarf, gnome, halfling, animal and creature.

I was the bird soaring between islands over a vast sea, exhausted and knowing that I was dying of starvation but too far gone to turn back and nothing in sight.

I was the sailor, tied to a rack and flogged for a minor offence, torn between the hope that each lash would be the last or that the next lash might kill me.

I was the person trapped in a sinking sea vessel, running out of air and knowing that I will never make it to the surface.

I was the man, lying in bed and losing my mind to dementia and wondering who all these people were that busied themselves around me while the indignities mounted.

I was the woman, trapped inside my own body just wishing that someone would let me die rather than fighting for a life that I no longer wanted.

I was the alcoholic and the drug addict, hoping that maybe this trip, this drink or this fix would be the one that finally ended my path of self-destruction.

I was the parent that watched my child die and found that I could no longer live a life where I had failed that most important life so utterly.

I was the child, chained to a rock, not understanding why this was happening and dying while hoping for a rescue that would never come

It went on and on and on and every time I died I saw darkness and I could hear him laughing.

-

I woke up suddenly. I was lying in my bed in Toussaint although I didn't recognise it at first. I scrabbled backwards as my nostrils were assailed with the smell of sweat, piss, shit and vomit. I was naked and I was strapped to the bed. My throat hurt with a scream that I do not remember giving as I fought against the restraints.

“He's awake,” It was Laurelen that was sat next to me. Her face lined with pain and more than a little bit of suffering. She had been sat in a chair nearby, there was a bowl of water and a sponge inside that I would later find out had been used in an effort to get some kind of liquid inside me. Now that I had control over my own limbs I took hold of the straps and pulled them off myself so I could curl myself into a ball. My hands on the side of my head as if I could hold my brain inside my skull.

It took me a long time to realise that I was in my own body and in control of my own actions.

Laurelen cleaned me with a spell and calmed me with another. I was exhausted and people were coming running. I got the sense of Emma and Mark, I think Kerrass was there but I couldn't swear to it. The smell of Gooseberries meant that Madame Yennefer was also there but I don't remember seeing her.

But I was saying the same thing over and over again.

“It wasn't him. It wasn't Jack. He had nothing to do with it. It wasn't him.”

Someone took hold of me. I don't know who it was but someone levered my hands away from my face and turned my face so that they could look into my eyes. I don't know who it was but I'm pretty sure it was madame Yennefer.

“He didn't know.” I told her. “He didn't know. It wasn't him.”

There was a sharp stabbing pain behind my eyes that I could later identify as my mind being read.

“Sleep now.” I was told, the words echoed with power and they were impossible to resist. But I kept on yelling the same thing over and over.

Jack didn't do it. He had nothing to do with Laughing Jack although he was certainly reaping the benefits. He had nothing to do with the disappearance of my sister.

The entire thing had been a waste of time.

I howled my pain into a pillow until the sleep spell took away my senses.