(Warning: Scenes of torture and other scenes of a horrific nature that people may find upsetting. There is also some comments that might exhibit some slight sexism but that is written as an attempt at demonstrating the kind of society that the characters live in.)

It was several days before we finally caught sight of our enemy.

Even then, it was in the distance, a long way off through the distortion of the rain soaked mist that was blanketing the countryside.

I had thought that I knew what to expect when it had been described to me, that mist that came off the mountain, bubbling up through the ground and the trees as it slowly spread across the countryside but I couldn't have been more wrong. Some of the people that I had spoken to had described that fog as being an almost living thing. The way it seemed to spread like some unimaginable tentacled beast that extended it's reach and touch across the land.

Mists are not unusual in that part of the world. Something about the mountains, the dampness in the air make it happen and it was a regular occurrence for us to wake up to find the world, blanketed in the damp greyness of the mist. When nothing would ever seem as though it would ever be dry again. It was a bit odd that it was still happening with frequency at that time of the year but I thought that the higher altitude might have gone quite far to explain that.

Red sunrises and sunsets were also not that uncommon. Again, I couldn't tell you how any particular sunrise or sunset would turn red rather than orange but in these cases it did so relatively frequently. It also seemed that dawn or dusk took a long time. Much longer than I had been used to, but Kerrass teased me when I commented on this, that I had been spending too much time in the south.

Nor can I tell you why it makes that much difference, how far North or South you are. Kerrass really does enjoy these bits of ignorance that I have in those fields of knowledge that I haven't studied. He keeps them and takes them out to torment me occasionally because he's like that.

We were on our way back from speaking to some people in one of the villages in Sam's realm. All told there were around four, larger villages in the local areas. As well as this there were numerous smaller farmsteads where large sprawling families would live in a collection of old buildings and work the land. Edward's village was one of the villages further to the West of Castle Kalayn.

As it turned out there was another one, much closer and to the North while the other two were further north than that. Beyond that there was a “river that ran out of the mountains that marked the Northern Border of Sam's territory, all told it was about two days ride North of Castle Kalayn. We never bothered figuring out how far to the west the lands extended and to the east of the castle, the mountains became inaccessible and the land unusable except as an area in which you could lose a herd of goats.

Since our little conference I had ridden to all four villages and spoke to numerous people. The locals seemed relatively friendly, if cautious but the stories that I got told about the Hounds of Kreve were repeated over and over again. That was the reason for the unhappiness in the land. That was why people were afraid all the time. That was why the children were always scarred in hideous ways so as to mar them should they turn into young people of beauty.

I spoke to one family of farmers who had not carried out this thing. They were relatively new to the local area having fled the wars to south back when Nilfgaard had first started showing signs of wanting to expand northwards. They had arrived, explored a bit and chatted to some of their neighbours when they found out about the practice of child scarring and had rejected it utterly. The locals had done their best to warn them but the father of the family had refused.

I ended up speaking to the son of this farmer, his father had died some years previously and was buried nearby. Apparently, some months after first settling in the local area, the red mist came and they heard howling from the trees. He had been trapped out in the stables where the family kept the draft-horses when the howling figures had come and had hid under a mountain of straw as he saw the cloaked and hooded things stalking towards the farm-house. He had watched, unmoving as they emerged from the trees and the mist. He described them vividly, about how the darkness had seemed to coalesce into the shapes that moves with their terrible purpose. Their skulls stark against the rest of the figures.

He had burrowed deep into the straw so he didn't have to see what happened after that. He hid there, soiling himself in fear as the Hounds kicked down his family door, raped his mother, beat his father into unconsciousness and made off with his elder sister.

He had been twelve at the time. In the morning he had taken one of his fathers skinning knives to his own face before scarring the faces of his three younger siblings.

His father had never recovered and although his mother had remarried a local man in an effort to give her children a father figure as well as to learn some more about the local customs. The lad had become the head of the household when his mother moved out shortly afterwards.

They never found his sister.

The other stories that I would get told were much the same and I learned some other local terms for what was happening and what could be seen.

I heard more stories about people staying up at night on a dare from their friends to see how much they could see of the Hounds of Kreve. I heard of another dangerous game where children would stand out in the open in a circle of salt. It was a game where they dared each other to stand for as long as possible in the face of the encroaching red mist. The adults would often forbid the children from doing this but at the same time, who could stop them? The parents wouldn't risk going out to collect their errant offspring and it was always certain that sooner or later the child in question would break and flee indoors.

There was always rumour of the kid that stayed in the circle of salt all night. About how the Hounds ranted, raved and prowled outside the circle in an effort to provoke the children into leaving the circle so that they could be devoured but it was always the rumour of this happening, over in the next village or the next settlement. Never locally.

It took a little more careful probing but I also found the variety in the worship of Crom Cruarch. Some of the farms had a holy tree that had the sacred carvings on the trunk or on the roots of the tree, one village had a nearby body of water in which they fished and collected some of the more water based herbs. Fed by a small stream that ran out of a nearby set of rocks, they would make their offerings into the lake, the signs carved into the rocks from which the water flowed.

A couple of places had trees where I was told that the offerings were left there over night for wild creatures, birds and whatever else might be there to take away. That way, as well, the offerings became symbiotic with the God and the local area even though they didn't know what “symbiotic” meant and looked at me strangely when I used the word.

But in all other cases, the story was the same. The mist would come, particularly and notably thick and the sky would turn red as blood. The locals referred to this as being “The Blood Mist” although they couldn't tell me why they called it that.

I will be honest and say that I though this was a little melodromatic until I actually saw it in action.

But the mist would come in and the world would feel, that little bit different. Slightly unreal as though they were being transported into another world that was different from this one. Then they would hear the thunder. Thunder without Lightening, without waves thundering against the shore, but it would feel different.

Then the Howling would begin. In the distance at first but getting closer all the time. Some people claimed that they could hear words in those calls. That the Hounds were communicating through their howls in some way that man was not meant to know.

Then, the Hounds would either show themselves or they would move off. They didn't always attack, sometimes they would pass through, riding through a village as though they were on the heels of something or, indeed, as if something else was on their heels and they were the ones being hunted. Sometimes they had been seen chasing people. Regularly this was an elf of some kind but it was always someone young and attractive which was when we found something else out.

Whether or not the scarring of the children was effective, it did not make the person completely immune to the attentions of the Hounds. I spoke to a couple of families that told me that they had scarred their children only for those self-same children to be taken.

All it seemed to have done was to make the children part of some kind of pool that the Hounds took from at random.

Sometimes the hounds wouldn't bee seen. Just letting the populace know that they were there with the howling and the signalling.

But the fear was constant.

The Hounds would ride into the village, cause some havoc, sometimes setting fire to some out building before riding off. Sometimes torturing and killing someone who had been caught out and away from safety when the hounds attacked. In those times, when some one was caught, they would only pray that they were old and ugly so that the Hounds would take their enjoyment in other ways.

There was a reason that the villagers kept the more “comely” members of the populace at home.

“They are training the populace.” Kerrass commented one day. The day after the conference he was still tied up with just finishing off the spirits still up at the castle, just making sure that it was safe. The day after that he was still fairly exhausted and didn't want to use up his relatively small number of remaining potions and so he spent that day asleep, gently relaxing his body and resting after the exertions of the previous few days.

After that, he joined me when I went out and about on my research.

It was interesting to see how people changed when there was a Witcher present. Suddenly I was leant with that little bit more authority. They had no reason to know what kind of authority or knowledge that a random Scholar might have while he worked, spoke and wandered round but a Witcher, with both swords on his back. They knew what that was. They knew that and they respected that. I managed to keep my... disappointment out of my face when there were people that I struggled to talk to, opened up to Kerrass and suddenly he seemed overwhelmed by information tot he point that he had to tell people to slow down so that he could properly take it all in. One of the slightly, dangerous points was that I could see hope beginning to build up in their attitude.

Yes hope can be dangerous. It can carry you through dangerous times but it can also cripple you when it is taken away.

But the villagers started to have hope creeping across their eyes. They began to look relaxed and started to plan for the future. I overheard one family tell their child that they might not have to be scarred and then I had to walk away because the child promptly responded, telling their parents that they wanted to be scarred, just like their elder brother.

I would have laughed if it hadn't been so tragic.

It was late on the fourth day and we were just getting ready to mount up and head home. Sam had instituted firm commands that we all needed to be back at the castle by nightfall and we were heading in that direction. Kerrass had been out with me for a couple of days, listening to what people had been telling them, asking them a few questions of his own and examining a couple of areas that he had been pointed to. He did all of the normal Witcher tricks, sniffing the air, holding his pendant out and seeing if it shook or vibrated in the presence of anything before shaking his head and moving off.

“What do you think?” I asked as we drank some water and waited for Sir Rickard to get his people together from where they had been doing some of the odd chores that needed doing around the place, come back from hunting, fixing roofs that kind of thing.

“Honestly?” He rubbed his chin. “Freddie, if it was just me I would have turned my horse away and ridden off by now having decided that this isn't Witchers work. I would have told the villagers to either contact their local Lord about the bandits that were attacking them or to pack their belongings onto the back of a wagon and leave.”

I nodded, it was pretty much the same conclusion that I had come to.

“These people are being conditioned and educated in fear. They stay here now, they don't leave or go elsewhere they are just here. Working the land and living the same lives that they ever have. They are isolated, backwards, ignorant and very, very afraid.” Kerrass went on. “Not something I can do about that though. If the people here were a person then they would be a person who has been beaten by their spouse until she has forgotten how to live. That is what has happened here and I'm not entirely convinced that we can do anything about that.”

“What about these Hounds?” I asked him.

“It is an interesting puzzle,” he said. “But the only reason that we're still here is because they might be some kind of remnants of the cult. Otherwise we would have moved on by now.”

“What do you mean? Might be remnants.”

“Well,” he scratched his chin in thought. “It's like this. These people are afraid and they have been kept like that for a long time, several generations in fact. Why would that happen? Oh, and just for the record. There are no such things as “Hounds of Kreve,” or anything that would wear the skull of a wolf on their heads. Pure distraction that. Pure mind games.”

He took an apple from his pouch and bit into it.

“So this is what I think is happening. These hounds have been around for a long time really. Easily for as long as your Maternal Grandfather or Great Grandfather came here. We know or are fairly confident that they were active in the cult of the Inverted Ankh....”

As a note, that was what we were referring to the cult as. Calling them “The cult of Crom Cruarch” was an insult to the local religion and woefully inadequate. As was referring to them as being part of the Lion-headed spider cult so we called them “The Inverted Ankh” which summed up a lot about them. They were the “Inverse of Life” so the title was very fitting really.

“So this is what I think has happened. What the “Hounds” have done is isolate this place. No-one leaves and anyone who comes here to settle is quickly warned about the consequences of leaving. Why is this important? Because it means that no-one leaves to tell anyone on the outside what is happening in this corner of the world. Neither the church of Kreve or the Cult of the Eternal Fire, both of whom would have come here much earlier if they had known what was going on, ever heard a rumour of evil happening in this part of the world.

“The villagers trade amongst themselves but there isn't enough wealth for outside merchants to come here and if there was, I suspect that the Hounds or their agents would see to it that the merchants never left the area. You yourself commented on the presence of Endregas on the outskirts that could easily be blamed for any disappearances.”

“You agree then, that the Hounds have agents here amongst the people?”

“Oh yes. Anyone who doesn't follow the rules gets punished, anyone not marking their children will lose them. Anyone who voices derision or tries to rile people up in an effort to get some form of resistance going is soon attacked. That speaks of some kind of organisation.

“So they are keeping the land afraid and isolated, away from prying eyes and poor enough that the royal tax collectors don't really bother with it, or go to the noble class for their taxes rather than wandering around and trying to extract riches that don't exist from the populace. All of this points towards the probability that there were things going on in these parts that someone was trying to keep from the authorities. Either the feudal ones, or the religious ones.”

“If this was any other mountainous province I would have assumed that there was some kind of untapped Gold or Silver mine?” I commented.

“Exactly. But what we do know is going on here, or was going on here until the former Lord Kalayn decided that he wasn't quite hot enough and jumped onto a fire, was that there was a cult that liked to practice dark rituals and try to contact a power that they didn't really understand.

“SO that leaves us with two possibilities. The first being that the cult grew up here because they knew that they were being kept safe from prying eyes by the presence of the Hounds of Kreve which would suggest that this entire thing is just some kind of huge coincidence, or that the Hounds are some kind of militant arm of the cult.”

I nodded my agreement. All of Kerrass' theories aligned with my own thoughts. “It would be a hell of a coincidence for the two things to grow up separately and independently of each other.”

“It would and as you know, in my line of work....”

“There are no such things as coincidences.” We said together.

“The other thing is that what the Hounds get up to is similar to what was going on around Oxenfurt.” I said. “The beautiful people, in this case mostly elves but there it was young and beautiful people, are hunted. Caught and then tortured to death by physical, psychological and sexual abuse. They emphasise the hunt a bit more here, rather than the climax of things.”

“And that's just the ones that we know about.” Kerrass said.

“Yes, as you say, many have been taken off never to be seen again.”

“That might explain the not inconsiderable number of bones that they're burying up at the castle at the moment,” Kerrass added.

“Yes. So I'm inclined to believe that the Hounds are a part of the cult, or at the very least have something to do with them. What do you think about the supernatural effects that people claim to have seen around the Hounds. The flickering, the distortion of the vision, the cramps that people have suffered and other effects.”

“Honestly?”

I nodded.

“I think that these people have been living in fear for so long that they have convinced themselves that these things aren't human. Good armour or training would prevent injury from most of the weapons or arrows that these villagers might be capable of sending towards any kind of determined cavalry. You yourself would be more than capable of cutting your way through most of them and are fast enough to dodge one of their little arrows.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“It's not confidence in your abilities, it's more knowledge at the sorry state of their equipment and training.”

Then the wind changed.

This description will mean nothing to any of you that don't spend a great deal of your time out of doors.

Given that the vast majority of you that read this will be either scholars or nobility that spend most of their time indoors, either in lectures or having meetings so that you can govern the masses then I am describing this to you.

When you spend a lot of time outdoors, especially if there is a cold night of camping by the side of the road in your imminent future, you begin to get a bit of an instinct for the wind and weather changing. I've spoken to sailors and this is the kind of thing that can literally save lives in their line of work as it can influence the choices between finding some place to shelter from the storm or whether you carry on to make port.

At the time we were in a village in North East Redania and although it was Early summer, the fact that we were relatively high up meant that it wasn't as warm as you might expect from that kind of time and place.

The wind changed and suddenly the air smelled of rain. Unless you know what I'm talking about, I'm not sure I can describe what that smells like, a cross between freshness, damp vegetation and a sharp scent that, to this day I can't really identify.

It wasn't as though the wind picked up either. It was still relatively tame but it gained a strange kind of echoey quality as though it was blowing through your ears. Kerrass, who was watching the soldiers finish off their chores as we talked turned his face to look at the mountaintop.

My weather sense is not as finely tuned as Kerrass' is but I had spent a fair amount of time on the road as well as spending a lot of time with those people who know what this kind of thing means. I also turned to look up at the mountains.

The two of us stood there for a moment before Kerrass turned to me.

“Tell Sir Rickard to get a move on.”

I looked up at the mountain for a bit longer.

“Yeah,” I heard myself say, as if from a distance, “Yeah I think you're right.” I turned and started moving towards the soldiers who were faffing about, only to discover that Sir Rickard had had the same thought that we had and was now standing in front of the area where his men were getting ready with a frown on his face and his arms folded.

Apparently this is the height of his emotional range when dealing with his men and roughly translates as

“Get a fucking move on. I am becoming cross.” I know this because that was what his Sergeant was bellowing.

We got moving, maybe ten minutes later, hurried out of the way by that villages head man who was watching the sky nervously. “Best get home,” he told us. “They're on the prowl, I can feel them.”

“Why?” I asked him, “How do you...?” but the man had ignored me, shouting at another of the locals in an effort to get them indoors.

Kerrass clapped me on the shoulder. “Ask him next time.” I was told as he pushed me towards my horse.

The Bastards were alert. Normally as we travelled with them they would laugh and joke, trading insults and exhortations. Sometimes they would sing a song of dubious origins which they would eventually stop when they realised that I was with them. Now they were quiet.

We did not ride fast. Taking it slow. The men loosened their swords in the scabbards, giving them a little shake to make sure that they weren't stuck for whatever reason. Don't laugh, when you oil or grease a blade, sometimes the contact between the blade and the scabbard can cause a suction effect which means that the sword gets stuck. This delay as the blade is pulled free can make all the difference between life and death and it is this that is meant when you hear someone say that they loosened their sword in the scabbard.

We rode carefully and Sir Rickard set outriders. Two men, Jenkins the killer and Dan the Poacher as advanced scouts, while the twins rode behind to check as to our being followed.

As we rode, the wind echoing in my ears I watched the mist form on the mountainside. At first, it looked as though it was just a wisp of cloud that had been caught by the peak, but gradually and oh so slowly, it grew and expanded before beginning to flow down the mountainside like a waterfall. It looked quite beautiful and amazingly ominous.

The vagaries of weather sometimes interest me. I sometimes think that I could spend a lot of time studying it if I had the time amongst all of my other interests and duties. But it sometimes seems so complex and chaotic that I could probably spend a life time studying it and not really getting anywhere. What happened was that this was not a true “Blood Mist” as the locals call it. Rather it coalesced into a slow kind of drizzle. The kind of rain where you suddenly realise that you are getting soaked through rather than being able to feel it bouncing off your head.

I pulled my oilskin hood out of one of my saddlebags and slung it over my head in an effort to keep the rain off. You have to be careful though, it can be deceptively peaceful with your hood up and the rain falling down, you can easily delude yourself into thinking that the world is quiet and subdued, that you and your companions are the only people in the world.

The rain came in a little heavier then as we rode.

There was a low whistle from further up the path. The Sergeant signalled and we halted, the horses standing in the wet which was when I began to realise that I was getting cold from all of the water in the air. Squinting through the water, I could just about see the form of Jenkins further up the trail waving and making some arm signals that I didn't understand.

I rode up to hear Sir Rickard muttering something to the Sergeant.

“Dismount,” was the call, softly. “Treeline.”

The bastards dismounted, leading the horses to the treeline. They worked in pairs. One man took the bridles of both horses and led them to the shelter while the other strung their bow and looked around for targets, moving with their partner and covering their back. I followed their example, taking Kerrass' bridle and walked towards the trees.

“Lord.” A man called Dickon. A large, heavily bearded man tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to where Sir Rickard was gesturing, beckoning me on to go and join him. I nodded, taking my spear from my saddle and jogging up with Kerrass beside me.

Jenkins was looking pale, paler than usual which was my first sign that something was going on. Sir Rickard gestured without speaking and Jenkins led us into the undergrowth where we jumped over a ditch and up an embankment, forcing our way through the line of trees and the detritus that un-kept woods often leave behind until we were standing next to a tree at the bottom large slope. The ground of the slope looked a lot rockier than some of the land that we'd been passing as it sloped up towards a ridge, one of the many slopes and peaks that led up the mountains themselves. I don't know how far away the ridge was although it was a good way up. I could probably have climbed it but I would have needed to use my hands and climb in a couple of paces. I certainly wouldn't have made it easily and would have needed to catch my breath when I got to the top. But with the rain, the failing light and the accompanying mist, I found judging the distance quite hard.

We found Dan, hunkered down against the tree, His recurved bow cradled in his arms. He'd strung it at some point and had an arrow knocked which was a mark of his mood. Although he looked unflappable as though nothing in the world frightened him, he had risked one of his precious bow-strings in the wet air.

He was chewing tobacco again.

“Dan?” Rickard greeted him.

“Just beneath the ridge sir. Not showing themselves on the skyline but enough so that we can see them.”

We scanned the slope through the driving flurries of rain.

Kerrass drew his medallion from his tunic and examined it closely.

“I can't see....”

But then I did. A line of horsemen riding along the edge of the ridge. There must have been some kind of shepherds path just beneath the top of the ridge where the horses could walk in relative security. With the rain driving down the slopes and into our eyes it was sometimes difficult to see them. My first instinct was to raise my hand to shelter my eyes but Jenkins caught my hand and pushed it back down, shaking his head.

Apparently, that kind of thing can give you away. I don't know why or what he was afraid of. The riders were not being particularly stealthy and we were sheltered by the trees but....

I think there were four of them. From this distance their helmets looked as though they were kind of yellowy white. They wore long dark hooded cloaks that appeared as though they were sewn together from ragged strips of material. They certainly weren't uniforms. Try as I might though I couldn't see any metal or any shapes that I might associate with weapons despite that their long cloaks flapped gently in the wind, moving with the currents of air.

It seemed almost unreal, looking at them from that distance. As though I was watching creatures from another world that had decided to cross over into ours.

Kerrass was still frowning at his medallion.

“What do you think?” Rickard asked quietly. “Have they seen us?”

“Dunno sir. If they have, they've not acted any different.

“They're not gonna try and attack down that slope.” Taylor, one of the men who had come with us commented. He was drumming his fingers against his sword pommel in a nervous gesture in time with the rhythm of the horses movements.

“How many?” Rickard asked.

“Not many, hard to tell in the rain, four I think.”

Rickard looked to the left and right, “How far away are we from the castle?” he asked no-one in particular.

“An hour hard,” Taylor answered promptly. “Maybe three normal and five cautious.”

The Bastard's had three speeds of march. The first which they called Hard was the full on Gallop that we had used to get me back to my father's castle when we had heard about his injury. Normal was a gentle pace, generally along roads where we were relatively secure. Cautious was going from cover to cover, not being in the open too much, weapons ready, eyes everywhere. These could then be broken down further if the bastards moved on foot or on horseback.

Rickard looked a little disappointed as he scanned left and right before a slight hope crossed his face.

“Dan?” he said. “Fancy a go?”

Dan looked at the small line of horsemen in the distance, rubbing his palm across his unshaven chin before shaking his head.

“Sorry sir. In good weather, with Theresa....” That was the name of his warbow. He named all of his bows and loved them like his own children. “...then I might fancy my chances. But here and now?”

He shook his head.

We watched as the horsemen, the Hounds of Kreve rode out of sight.

“Right,” Rickard said. “Back to the horses. Cautious for a bit then we'll pick up the pace. Dan, you and Jenkins to the read if you would.”

“Sir,”

“Tell the twins to move up.” The Sergeant nodded. “Taylor, you and Fletcher, take Dickon and Pendleton up front.”

They all nodded.

“Back to the horses then.”

The soldiers started moving back. Kerrass sat for a moment longer gazing at his medallion before shaking his head and following.

We moved back to the castle, taking our time, moving from patch of cover to patch of cover. Moving in groups, taking our time and watching carefully for signs of movement. When we hadn't seen anything for an hour and neither the front or the rear guard could report any signs of movement, the order was given and we headed along the road at a spritely trot.

We saw nothing more of the hounds that day or the next. Kerrass and I, along with a small group of Sir Kristoff's soldiers went out to have a look at the site where we had seen the strange horsemen. We spent a good period of time there, Kerrass lying flat on the ground with his eye inches away from the loose scree and tufts of grass, his medallion out and swaying in front of him. We found the track that must have been used and went both ways along it, into the trees on one side of the slope of grass and into the others to see if we could find a start or an end point, a destination or a home base but we couldn't find anything other than some good views.

That's not to say that we didn't find signs of the horsemen. The wet air had moistened the ground up so that we could see tracks. The occasional open sign of a horseshoe was plainly visible as well as other areas where the wait of the horses had pushed some of the looser undergrowth down and away. We got to one of the vantage points where there were sign that the horses had stood and milled around a little, tugging at some of the grass and Kerrass looked out over Sam's realm for a long time, forehead creased with thought before we turned for home.

“We are being scouted.” He told Sam's little war council. “They are looking at us and watching us. Trying to decide what to make of us.”

Kristoff nodded along with Sam and Sir Rickard.

“In Kreve's name why?” Inquisitor Hacha wanted to know.

“Standard military tactics.” Sir Rickard told him. “They want to know what they're dealing with. By now they will know that Lord Samuel has arrived to take up his position and responsibilities and they want to know what they're dealing with. Do they have an enemy here? A friend? An indifferent person? What kind of Lord is he going to be. Is this essentially going to be some kind of winter residence where Lord Samuel comes to sleep when royal society calms down or is he going to spend the majority of his time here.”

Father Danzig was nodding as Rickard said this. “Right now, somewhere, these things are having a conversation about what to do. Do they withdraw their activities from Lord Samuel's lands. Do they wait? Do they reduce their presence or do they need to come back and be more aggressive?”

Sam listened carefully. He has this unfortunate habit of not looking at people when he's listening to a group of people. He tends to stare at the table in front of him. On the one hand, this is a bit of a mistake as it can come across as being a bit rude towards the people that you are listening to but he counters this with saying that it means that he's listening to the words spoken rather than what people are trying to convey.

“So they're definitely men?” He asked after a long while. “We're not dealing with anything supernatural?”

“I'm as certain as you can be.” Kerrass said.

“That doesn't sound very definitive,” Inquisitor Hacha accused but Kerrass ignored his tone.

“That's because it isn't. Just to be clear as to what's going on here.” He said “There is a magical aura in this area. I don't know why and to find out we would need the presence of a properly trained professional.”

“Have a care,” snarled Inquisitor Hacha while Inquisitor Dempsey and Father Danzig looked uncomfortable. “You are talking the blackest Heresy,” Hacha went on in dire tones.

“Not really,” Kerrass voice never changed in tone or pitch, speaking as if he was just having a fairly normal conversation. “The fact of the matter is that the currents of magic are particularly strong here. To properly map them would need a trained magic user.”

“Couldn't you do it?” Inquisitor Dempsey asked.

“No.” Kerrass said flatly. “I'm a Witcher. I kill monsters. You are an Inquisitor, you hunt out heresy and cultists. Be careful that you don't end up looking at the entire world like it's a nail.”

Someone sniggered. I thought it was Rickard but I couldn't tell. For those who don't know or for whom the joke might have missed you. The saying goes like this.

“If you are a hammer and all you do is hammer in nails, then the entire world's problems look like nails that need to be hit on the head. It is a problem with the Inquisition. They spend all their time hunting cults so that before too long, everything looks like evil cultists hiding in shadows.

“You would be angry, Inquisitor Hacha, if I started going around hunting cults in the same way that Sirs Kristoff and Rickard gets cross if you started telling them about military tactics. I wouldn't know what I was doing,” Kerrass went on. “I get angry when soldiers and churchmen try and hunt monsters because they always, and I do mean always, make the situation worse because they don't know what they're doing. So I wouldn't try and map the flows of magic because I wouldn't know where to begin, or more importantly, what it all meant. Is there a source? What causes it? What is it being used for.....?”

“We get the point Kerrass,” Sam put in.

“Is it going anywhere? What is happening?” Kerrass finally finished. “In short, if you have a monster or a supernatural creature? Send for me. If you have a political problem, send for an assassin or the army. If you have a cult problem then you send for the church. This is a magical situation. Send for a professional.”

“You finished?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow and more than a little amusement in his eyes.

“For now,” Kerrass nodded an apology. “This is a subject that seems to come up an awful lot and, as you can imagine, it is something a little close to my heart. I also can't help but notice that the honourable gentlemen are much more accepting of Witchers now that the Empress has declared that she likes us.”

“Have a care....”

A couple of chairs were pushed back as the churchmen climbed to their feet in indignation.

Sam slammed his fist on the table before waiting for silence.

“Honestly,” he said after a moment. “It's like talking to children.”

He spent a bit of time glaring at everyone. I did my best to look aggrieved and give an atmosphere of “Why are you angry with me?” expression. I thought I saw his eyes twinkle in appreciation.

“You were making a point, Kerrass, before you got sidelined.”

“Yes,” Kerrass was pouring himself a cup of the watered wine from one of the jugs that were around the table. “The point was that there is a background magical aura in the area and I don't know what the cause is. It might be the presence of the cult, as was. It might have caused the presence of the Hounds or there might be something else going on. I don't know what. But what I do know is that there was that same aura when I was trying to investigate the hounds. Was that because of the hounds? Or the background aura?”

He shrugged.

“It's impossible to tell. But as there weren't any changes when they were suddenly in the area, nor did they leave any residual magical trace in the path of their passage, I think we can assume that we are dealing with normal people.”

I winced. “You know how I feel about assuming things Kerrass.” I commented.

He smirked at me.

“So, we're dealing with men.” Sam said. “What next?”

“Wait?” Inquisitor Dempsey raised his hand. Dempsey was a quiet man generally, he liked to speak his piece only rarely, often to gently mock and tease Inquisitor Hacha but it was clear that no matter how different the two Inquisitors might be in character and method, they had a lot of respect for each other's skills and experience. He smiled at us all apologetically. “I want to know more about the....apparently magical effects that these hounds exhibit. I will admit to struggling to believe that they ride fire-breathing, flying horses and likewise I struggle with the accounts that part of their clothing is made up of leathery wings but at the same time.... “

He smiled again, doing his best to disarm us but I was wondering how much supersititious fear there was underneath the charming smiles.

“From Lord Fredericks accounts, they are described to put out an aura of fear and distortion. People fly from them and become frozen to the spot, unable to fight back or act properly when they come. I'm as eager to face this evil as much as the next person but....what could be causing that?”

“Have faith brother,” Inquisitor Hacha had his best “benevolent priest” face on. That particular expression that leads me to want to punch it. “Let faith be your shield and you will be protected.”

“That's nice in theory,” said Sir Kristoff, “but I am also a little concerned by this. It's all well and good to think that faith will provide but faith is often reinforced by a stout shield and a good blade in my experience.”

“I don't think you need to worry.” Father Danzig said. “I think, what we're dealing with here is a little more societal than that. I agree that these things are men. I think that they wear outlandish costumes and move in strange ways. Their weapons are forged to look more wicked and unpleasant than the next persons weapons so that they can inspire fear and terror in the hearts of their victims. With all due respect to your subjects Lord Samuel but common folk, especially isolated common folk, are a superstitious and cowardly lot. I suspect that they have been told about the strange magics of the Hounds of Kreve and that the other commoners are seeing what they want to see.”

“That's an awfully blasé way of thinking about it.” Father Trent was frowning.

“Maybe.” Danzig's own brow furrowed in thought. “But look. I loved Knight Father Gardan like a father. In many ways he was more my father than the man that raised me and got me on my mother. He taught me about the world, about the Sky-Father and about combat and I owe him a significant amount of what I am today. However, by his own admission, he wasn't of his right mind. He was just as much a victim of these suggestions as the common folk are.”

“I will admit to struggling to believe the prospect of mass hallucinations however,” Sam said, jumping into the discussion with both feet. “That's not to say that what you are telling me is incorrect, but if that were the case then surely, by now, Freddie would have found someone who would have told him that it's all nonsense and that he doesn't need to worry about it. Someone who isn't affected, isn't imaginative enough to be affected by mass suggestion and hallucination.”

“Maybe,” Father Danzig sighed unhappily.

Inquisitor Dempsey spoke up. “Such suggestion would speak for part of what was happening here but not all of it. There would need to be some kind of “triggering effect” something that could be seen and pointed to as evidence for it to work which is why I am concerned.”

“What do you mean?” Sam wanted to move on, he was shifting in his seat and fiddling with his cup, trying really hard to stay interested and invested in what was happening but couldn't hide his dissatisfaction. He wanted to be doing something.

“This kind of thing comes up occasionally and I am sure that Inquisitor Hacha will agree as he will almost certainly have experience with similar circumstances.” I liked that. A little sop to his fellow Inquisitor's vanity to keep him onside. “Suggestion is a technique, they especially use it in cults where people are so desperate to see a thing, or to start to believe in a thing that they actually start seeing the thing. They convince themselves that there must be a thing there because everyone else is seeing the thing so there must be something there. Then they want to see something because they don't want to be left out.

“All of that is true but there still needs to be a cultist number one if that makes sense. Someone who actually sees or experiences the thing and that's why I'm making my concerns known. In this kind of situation, there are three possibilities. The first, which is the most common is that there is someone there that is actually delusional that is seeing something due to some form of sickness or weakness of the brain. However someone else is taking advantage of this and spreading the story around. I should say that I don't think that this is what's happening here because these circumstances say that these “Hounds” have been doing their thing for many years now. So that would be a lot of delusional people all seeing the same thing because such delusions and suggestions need maintenance.”

“Which is unlikely,” I heard myself comment. I didn't mean it to carry but Inquisitor Dempsey nodded.

“Precisely, you can't just leave them to it. Such things need shepherding and maintaining.”

“That's how the church do it after all.” Sir Rickard joked. Dempsey had the good grace to smile, as did Danzig. Father Trent Frowned while Hacha glared. I noticed that Kerrass had to hide a smirk behind his cup though.

“The second possibility is that there is someone in place to feed these delusions. An agent of the Hounds if you like. Someone in the villages that is there to feed the paranoia. To sell the illusion to the populace and to be as terrified and scared as the next person. They are the people suggesting sacrifices and telling people to hide. If this is the thing that is happening here then it will have been one of these people that suggested spreading salt across the threshold and across the windowsills.”

“It would also explain why these “Hounds” are so aware of strangers, pretty young people and traders coming to visit. That's how they know who to attack and why they knew that Father Gardan, Sky-Father accept him with grace, was speaking to us and needed to be disposed of.” Danzig mused.

“That is a most feasible option.” Sir Kristoff rumbled. Like Sam, Sir Kristoff seemed to be getting bored with the entire affair.

“Then how do we find such men?” Sir Rickard asked. “It would be a lot of trouble to march into town and start accusing people of being in league with their enemy. At best that would start a witch-hunt against the potential traitors, or at worst it would cause the countryside, such as it is, to turn on us.”

“Peasants against soldiers in our defensible positions?” Sir Kristoff bridled. “With no leader and habitually cowed as they are?” He seemed outraged at the possibility.

“I'm not saying I don't like our chances,” Rickard commented. “But have you ever seen a swarm of insects take on a....”

“You had a third possibility Dempsey?” Sam's voice overrode the muttering and raised voices.

“The third point,” Dempsey said after the voices died down. “The third point is the dangerous one. That's the possibility that there is something genuinely going on. That the cult really has found an item or place of power, that there really is a demon possessing someone or that there really is a magical user out there. In this case, that these “Hounds” really do have some kind of magical ability to a certain degree.”

“I don't believe it,” Inquisitor Hacha shook his head. “I have seen some of the things that you speak of, even though my areas of expertise are primarily to do with the physical evidence of what has happened rather than the way that people think, but in this case...?” He shook his head. “I have to disagree. I would put my thinking towards defending ourselves, and these people from the Hounds the next time they come to attack.”

Danzig was shaking his head though.

“How do we determine whether it's one thing or the other? If there are agents, how do we expose them? If it is some small magical power? How do we counter it?”

Dempsey shrugged. “Time and careful investigation.”

Danzzig was unhappy with this though. “That's lovely and everything but we have neither the time, nor the resources to start a full on Inquisition here. We would need to use some other method.”

There was a slight pause. I was only half paying attention and felt that Sam's impatience was becoming contagious. We were talking round in circles and we needed to stop talking, get out there and do something.

So it took me a couple of minutes to realise that everyone had stopped talking. As I looked up everyone was looking at Kerrass. He realised it a moment later.

“You are joking.” He said. “I refer you to the answer I gave you no less than twenty minutes ago. This is not something that falls within my skills. If you want to see if there are traitors or agents either in the castle or in the villages then you need a professional investigator. If you want to see if there are some people here with some kind of magical ability then you need to consult a proper magic user. A Sorceress or a Wizard of some kind.”

“If they are magical creatures...” someone, I think it was Danzig, began.

“They are not.” Kerrass said firmly. “There is no such creature that answers to what we saw. There are things that exhibit those powers but believe me, we would know the difference if we were dealing with them, but they only tend to live in swamps and in warmer climates apart from anything else, so this isn't even a mutation of something established before someone gets that idea into their head. This is not Witcher's work anymore. I am here as a free citizen helping my friend and as a friend I would advise Lord Samuel to get himself a professional.”

“So you are just going to stand by and....”

“Be careful, I....”

“Not that I'm happy with the prospect but.” Father Trent lowered his voice when Kerrass and Danzig subsided. “Could we lay our hands on a Wizard, or a Sorceress?”

“There are none in the area.” Sam said. “My understanding is that Magic users like solitude but they also like to have access to the creature comforts of polite society and we are far too remote for that kind of thing. I did invite Lady Laurelen to see if she could help, back when I was planning this expedition but she declined on the grounds that she wanted to spend as little time as possible around the Inquisition.”

“Not an unfair sentiment,” Rickard commented unhelpfully, only to be glared at by the churchmen present.

“Besides which, to get a message to her is a quick weeks ride at full gallop and with replacement horses waiting. Even at best time, we still need to be doing something about this before then.”

“What about Lord Frederick's paramour?” Kristoff asked. “Surely she would help as she has a family tie here.”

“No she doesn't.” I said, “For we are not yet married.” I sighed. “I would love to help. But people round this table have called Ariadne a “vampiric, magic using harlot”.”

“In jest Lord Frederick. In jest.” Danzig winced at the memory.

“Yes.” I said sourly. “In jest. Even in jest though, it was a poor joke and I remember not being very happy with it at the time. She would be outraged and rightly so. What do you do when you're outraged Father Danzig?”

He looked at the table.

“What do any of you do when you are outraged? You react. The lady Countess Ariadne of Angral would do the same. She is an Elder Vampire, a Sorceress and a member of the Lodge of Sorceresses and would be considered a prize capture by the Inquisition.”

Kerrass snorted at the thought.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Not that you could capture her. But that itself would cause more problems wouldn't it? If she is forced to defend herself from church knights and church soldiers?”

“My men are disciplined and would never....”

“Wouldn't they?” I asked. “Not all that long ago I had a reminder about what so called “Knights of the Eternal Fire do, if you remember. Bishop Sansum's troops were disciplined as well.”

“Do not equate me with that....” Danzig began, his own temper rising to meet mine.

“I will not call the Countess,” I said. “I will not ask her to risk herself in such a fashion.”

“You mean you won't help?” Inquisitor Hacha was aghast and furious. “You won't even ask her? You have a duty here, sir, and you should be mindful of it for your souls sake.”

“I have a duty sir?” I snarled. “I have a duty to my fiancee, to protect her and....”

“That's enough.” Sam said again in his battlefield voice. “That's quite enough.” He glared at us in turn before sighing.

“We're nowhere,” he said after a while. “For the record, I agree with my brother. Countess Ariadne has other duties and even if she didn't, she is not yet married to Lord Frederick and he has no hold over her. If they were married then he would be quite correct to protect her from harm as would be his duty as a husband. This is our problem and we will fix it.”

He took a breath. “Let's take a break, stretch our legs, get something to eat and calm down. When we come back, I want to discuss deployment and how we gain more information about our enemies. The villagers need protecting and it is our duty to do so. Now get out of my sight, all of you.” He sat back down in a thump.

I waited until it was just the two of us sat in the room. Kerrass caught my eye but I winked at him and waved him off.

“Sorry Sam,” I said when it was just the two of us, “But I have visions of Hacha opening his stupid mouth and saying something insulting. Ariadne has admirable self-control but I would imagine that it has limits.”

He looked up. “Don't fret Freddie.” He said. “You are right, which is why I didn't push the matter with Laurelen. Sooner or later someone would say something, one of the church knights with too much “honour” than sense and then you, or I, would have to fight a duel to avenge the ladies honour and then it would be a whole other mess.”

He chuckled. “Although it's quite a mess as it is. What the fuck do you think we should do Freddie? Gotta admit, I obviously won't, but I've been a little tempted to sack the whole thing off and go and live on that little parcel of land that I got with my knighthood on the coast.”

“Is it nice there?” I asked sitting back down.

“It's on the coast.” He told me. “I understand that it's remote and windswept. Pretty, but not worth very much. I understand that they built a warehouse there when I gave the lands over to Father.”

I nodded.

“We need more information.” I said to him. “We need to know more.”

Sam nodded. “I thought you would say that but it's not going to go easily. They know where we are and we haven't got the first clue about them.”

I nodded glumly.

“Now piss off.” Sam told me. “I need to think.”

I did as I was told.

As it happens, despite my bluster from earlier. I did talk to Ariadne about the problem because I thought that she might want something of a say in the matter. She told me that, attractive though the prospect of annoying a bunch of church officials might be, that she wasn't available at the moment. She was working on something and couldn't get away at the moment despite any desire to see me. No she didn't tell me what it was although she did tell me that she was working on something that might get us some more information.

She also told me that she agreed with Kerrass. That the “Hounds” were not any kind of magical creature and that if anyone was performing magic on the kind of scale that would cause the effects that I described, then Kerrass would have been able to tell. I passed this information on to both Kerrass and Sam when we all reconvened.

“So Ariadne won't come?” Sam asked. I couldn't tell if he was pleased or disappointed.

“Not now at any rate. She told me that she couldn't get away.”

“Pleased to see that your sense of duty is not completely wasted although I cannot speak for hers.” Hacha sniffed. I would have reacted but Kerrass had changed his seat so that he was sat next to me and held on to my arm.

“Lady Ariadne is currently performing her duties according tot he Empress' dictates Inquisitor Hacha and it is not our place to counter that.” Sam said coolly. “My brother's sense of duty is not in question here, nor would it have been if he had chosen not speak to the lady and I would thank you not to bring the matter up again.”

Inquisitor Hacha sniffed hugely. I got the impression that he could give a shit about the Empress' orders and wanted to make it abundantly clear to everyone sat around the table what he thought of the entire affair.

“So it's not magic.” Inquisitor Dempsey said. “But we know that there is a magical aura in the nearby vicinity. Is it possible that the magic is a greater thing that makes there suggestions and theatrics take on a greater scale?”

“That is possible,” said Kerrass. “If the magic in question was cast a long time ago. Magic degrades over time but a skilled person could render such a spell. But a counter argument would be that there would be more magical effect when the Hounds were present. My medallion is moving no more or less when we saw the riders than at any other time.”

“What about the mist?” Sir Kristoff asked. “Surely it can't be a coincidence that they only appear in the mist or when the world is obscured in some way.”

“No, I don't think it's a coincidence,” Father Danzig said, “but there is another possibility. The “Hounds” only appear when there is a mist but that doesn't mean that they are not there. It's just that when the mist comes, they put their outfits on and ride out.”

“We can wear ourselves out speculating” Sam finally said. “We've already been talking ourselves around in circles for what has been hours but feels like days. The simple fact of the matter is that we still don't have enough information. We need to know more about our enemies and I think that we're already on a back foot here. We ride openly whereas they conceal themselves.

“I don't think it can be argued that there are people out there that are feeding information to the Hounds. So now we need some information to come back the other way. We also need to see if we can put some thought into where the Hounds might be hiding.”

We were all nodding.

“Just to be clear. I still think that this is something to do with the cult that was based here in the castle.” Kerrass spoke up. “I think there is enough of a similarity between what we saw down in Oxenfurt and what has been reported here.”

There was more nodding.

“Right, so here's what I want.” Sam leant forward. “I want there to be some patrols set up to search and to be seen to search around my lands. I want each patrol to be made up of a mixture of Redanian soldiers, Church knights and Bastards.”

Sir Rickard shifted in his seat unhappily. “I would rather not split my men up.” He said, “Unit cohesion and all that.”

“I know and I understand. I also know that you are assigned to Lord Frederick and not to me but I hope that you will see the sense of the matter.”

“Oh I see the sense. I will insist on a couple of things though.”

“Such as.”

“I have trained my men to think and work differently to standard military units and as such they are not held down to standard military discipline. If anyone has a problem with the way my men behave they will see my Sergeant or myself before punishment is meted out as they may be acting under my orders.”

“Agreed.”

Rickard threw his hands up in surrender, “Then you have my men. But I work with Lord Frederick and I want at least three of them to help with that.”

“Done.”

“Do you always argue with your superiors about the disposition of your men?” Sir Kristoff was unhappy.

“I do when I think people want to use them improperly.” Sir Rickard answered properly. “Also, as Lord Samuel points out. Technically I answer to Lord Frederick, not to Lord Samuel.”

““Technically,” you sound like a barrack room lawyer.” Kristoff sneered.

“When I have to be to protect my men, I am. My men are a dozen of the best scouts, bowmen and skirmishers on the continent and I will not see them wasted.”

“Gentlemen.” Sam snapped. “Let's not.”

Sir Kristoff subsided. Sir Rickard couldn't give a damn.

“So, patrols, looking for trails and roads and things. Any sign of bandit dens or camps that we haven't heard of. Caves....anything that might hide an armed force like the hounds. I want information gentlemen. Not heroes. In the meantime, I would ask the priests to continue their investigation into what happened at the castle. We're still looking for more members of the staff that might be able to give us something more. As well as that we need to keep talking to Aunt Kalayn and her servant and see what they can remember. But be gentle. Do not go to far or you will answer to me.”

There was more nodding although the priests were plainly unhappy.

“Ooh, and also. We've heard about there being the presence of some Elves in the local area. I would like to hear more about that. See if you can find them, or be found by them which is probably more likely if they don't want to be found.

“Freddie, if you could take Kerrass and Sir Rickard and keep talking to villagers. And I still want everyone back here by nightfall unless you tell me in advance. I don't want to be fretting about people that have been left out there and wondering. I want to know.

“Right now, the Hounds and there masters are having a discussion, a lot like this one, about what they are going to do about us. They are trying to decide what to do next. There are two options to my mind. The first is that they will decide that we are not a threat, or at best are a minimal threat. This will mean that they will continue with all of their established patterns. This will not be allowed by us and we will have to take steps to protect our people.

“But I think that the far more likely option is that they will decide that we are a real threat and they will come after us. They will depend on their tricks, and the fact that they know the land and the people better than us and they will start to attack.

“So we must remove those advantages. We must learn about this land. We must learn how it works. The safe option would be to retreat to our own holdings and hide behind these walls. But I refuse to be reactive. We must find out where they are and we must take the fight to them.

“So let's get to it.”

We all nodded and got to work.

It didn't take them long to find us, nor us them. It seemed as though there had been some kind of signal given and now the scouting began.

The next time there was a fog we saw them. Often in the distance, watching us. There was a vantage point above the tree line and at the top of a cliff above the castle. One of Sir Rickard's men who was standing on look out spotted the man and pointed. By the time that men got out there though, there was no sign of him. The ground too rocky for tracks but it would have been a struggle for someone to get there. I couldn't have done it and the men that did it had to use rope and pitons.

Several of the men commented that they felt as though there were eyes on them as they travelled. A cold feeling on the back of the neck. You might scoff in your safe havens in built up cities, but when the hardened soldiers start stringing bows, knocking arrows and start walking cautiously, you would do well to listen to them and do what you're told.

One morning we woke to find a wolf's head, stuck on the end of a spear in the pathway leading up to the castle, it had been left there in the middle of the night during a mist. No lookout saw anything.

And then we started to hear the sounds of howling.

The villagers also felt as though something was beginning, as though they were under attack and were increasingly getting worried. We tried to be calm and confident in the face of the villagers fear but the truth is that we were getting just as nervous as they were. Despite Sam's best efforts and intentions, we were becoming reactive.

Our maps improved, we became skilled in moving through that particular part of the countryside at speed and without having to resort to the roads too much.

We even found what we thought might have been old camp-sites that might have been used. There wasn't much, dug out patches on the ground where people could have lit fires that wouldn't have been visible at a distance, as well as a couple of places that were probably the burial of people's bodily waste.

But nothing concrete. We didn't even know whether the old camp-sites were human in origin or were the remnants of some of the elven camps that we had heard so much about.

Kerrass declared that the camps were human but that made little difference to the theorising. In short, it wasn't the most frustrating period in my recent life, but it was close.

It was maybe a couple of weeks later that something happened. We'd had a few good mists, even one or two that the locals described as being “proper” blood mists but if the Hounds attacked anyone then it wasn't us or any of the other villages.

Again, there were more theories that were tried to try and explain this but it still didn't amount to much. Inquisitor Hacha wanted to suggest that this meant that the actual physical number of Hounds was relatively small and that they had quiet a large amount of land to cover. But that was quickly countered by Dempsey who argued that the suspense and the waiting was just as powerful.

But in the end, it was when the two Inquisitors had been making one of their many visits to the Dower house to speak to Aunt Kalayn and her maid. They were still working on some of the chemical compounds that had been discovered in the castle and Inquisitor Dempsey with Father Trent was still trying to get information out of Aunt Kalayn's frazzled brain. Poor woman. Normally Sam went with them but he had injured himself after getting too frustrated in a training session with Sir Rickard and the Temerian had schooled him to much hilarity and a slight improvement in castle morale.

I remember wondering whether or not he'd done it deliberately for that reason but I never got round to checking with him whether or not that was the case.

Certainly his relationship with Aunt Kalayn did not improve to the point that the Inquisition had to ask him to leave the room for fear that she would physically attack him or that his presence would taint what they were being told.

Which was not very much.

I was stood on the corner tower of the castle watching the countryside. I had formed a habit of going up there to sit and have a conversation with Ariadne through the medallion that she had given me. We talked, on average, once every couple of days, sometimes we would talk for upwards of an hour, sometimes one or other of us would only have enough time for a small message of affection and to complain about whatever was annoying us at the time.

Very occasionally she had questions about how I wanted the wedding to take place, what I wanted from the ceremony and things but more often than not, she was telling me what was going to happen as part of, now, a four or five way organised wedding. The people that were getting involved were obviously my family to begin with who wanted to show off the Coulthard trading name, throw a bit of class and weight around to show off how wealthy, benevolent and wonderful we were.

Then there was the political aspect of the thing, that I was marrying into the noble families of Angral, and area of land that had been argued over by Kaedwen, Aedirn and Redania for a long time so there was also a certain amount of politics happening there. The Duke and Duchess of Angral (formerly the King and Queen of Angral for those people who like to pay attention to the complicated nature of the dynastic excitement that happens, had happened and will probably continue to happen in that corner of the world) wanted to be involved and have their own say about where things were, what flags would be flown and things of that nature.

Then there was the fact that the Empress had semi-formally adopted me into her family along with Emma, Mark and Sam. Therefore she had decided that, as another big sister of mine, she should have a say in what happened and when. Not that I think anyone, least of all me, was going to argue with her on that matter.

When the Empress decides that she wanted to do something, then generally the Empress gets to do what she likes. This is because, as she is fond of saying, “The Seventh and Light Vrihedd division works for her.” This didn't bother me too much, she wanted some semblance of normal family life and given that her “parental figures” were a Witcher and a Sorceress as well as the former Emperor and his bride who is arguable younger than Empress Cirilla, she really struggled with that. If it makes her happy to stick her nose into my wedding arrangements so that she can feel like a big sister, then so be it. As it happens, Emma had forged the beginnings of a friendship with the Empress and was teaching her about Economics, much to the consternation of some of the older Nilfgaardian courtiers.

But that led us onto the Lodge of Sorceresses. Ariadne was an open and public member of the Lodge of Sorceresses, was also working openly on helping the Empire with some of the magical problems that have cropped up in the Empire over the last few years and now she was marrying a nobleman openly. This was causing some head shaking but the Lodge were determined to make a point of this, as if to say that the Lodge were people too and as the Lodge were also heavily involved in and with Kovir and Poviss, there might end up being some other formidable people sitting in on our ceremony.

There might be nothing more emasculating than the sights of Madame Yennefer, Madame Eilhart, Lady Vigo and Lady Maleficant sat in a row, glaring at anyone who might think differently of them.

That's if the honoured Lady Findabair doesn't turn up. She's being invited as she's a member of the Lodge although Ariadne promises me that it's unlikely that she will actually show up.

Also, Ariadne tells me that she's still working on who will be in her bridal party. With no-one to walk her down the aisle, she will almost certainly be accompanied by Maleficant. Imagine that if you like. Lady Maleficant carrying flowers in a pretty bridesmaids dress.

You can thank Kerrass for that mental image as he was the one that gave it to me.

But I've gone off topic. I was stood on the top of the tower watching the sun set. I'd had some hard training with Kerrass earlier as he had been moaning about not getting enough proper training in and I was feeling sore. I was also trying to enjoy the undeniable beauty of the countryside. Because it was, honestly, beautiful despite all the darkness and misery that had taken place within the walls that I had stood on and in the surrounding landscape.

Kerrass was with me, still working his sword forms, well away from where I was perched on the walls and Sir Rickard was watching him. Sir Rickard was struggling a bit with having his men split over the different patrol groups he complained about it bitterly whenever he could get anyone to sit still long enough to listen. He'd nearly gotten into a fight about it with Sir Kristoff as Kristoff demanded to know whether or not Rickard was questioning his competence to which Rickard replied that he wasn't questioning his overall competence, more his ability to command specialists like his men.

His temper was not improved. Not helped by the fact that he had been soundly drubbed by everyone there on the practice field today, other than me. Partially because he was worried about his men, but also because, in Kerrass' words, “He's not a fencer, he's a duelist. If any of the others fought him on a battlefield, I think that they would be in for a shock.”

He was pacing.

“They're late.” He told me.

“Who's late?” I asked as I looked up from the small book of notes that I was working on.

“You know damn well who I'm talking about.” he snarled. “The noble Inquisition is late getting back.”

“So?”

“So? They're supposed to be back before night fall.”

“And they will be. Night hasn't fallen yet.”

“The sun is sinking.” He protested. Pointing indignantly.

“It does that.” Kerrass commented drily.

“Fuck you and all.”

“What's all this commotion?” Sam grinned as limped up the stairs to where we were all standing. “As if I don't know.”

“They're late.” Rickard snapped at him.

“I know, and believe me, I will have words with the noble Inquisitors when they get back about time keeping, but in the mean time there isn't really much we can do.”

“Something might have happened.”

“Something might have.” Sam was being reasonable. In that way that is almost designed to wind people up even further than they had already been wound. Especially when the person in question wants something to get angry at. “But what should we do about it. There are men here and they need to stay here to secure the castle. Father Danzig's group are staying out at the other village tonight”

Rickard subsided a little but not much. “They're late.” He said again.

“And there is a mist growing on the mountainside.” Said Kerrass walking up to the wall having stopped his practice, “and the sun is setting red.” He started to reach inside his tunic to get his medallion out.

I turned to watch the mist form. As before, it seemed to slither down the mountainside, it felt as though it was less like water this time, there was an added dryness to the air which left it feeling odd. A strange kind of static feeling like what you get when you rub your hands over course sheeps wool.

The sun was still shining though and it shone on the fog with a strange red glow which only made the fog seem more solid but at the same time as though it was glowing.

We watched it for a long time. Kerrass had his medallion out and was watching carefully. “No more or less magic than there ever is in this part of the world.” He declared before tucking the medallion back into his shirt and starting to pull his leather coat back on.

“Your men to the walls I think Sir Rickard.” Sam commented. “Bows strung and ready.”

“There are only eight of us here.” But Sir Rickard was moving despite the complaint. “Not that they'll be much use in the fog.”

“But better shots than the crossbowmen I have with me.” Sam countered “Now snap to it if you please.”

I was rubbing some life back into tired muscles. I suddenly had the premonition that I was about to need to move very quickly.

Sam gave a few more orders. He ordered the remaining horses saddled and that the gate should remain open for as long as possible. A bugler joined us on the tower as well as a signal man with the flags ready. The trees and the fog might deaden one or the other but the hope was that at least one of the two messages would get through. Other soldiers and knights formed up next to the gates, ready to sally forth.

The bastards took up their positions, War-bows strung and leaning on the walls. They had a bag of arrows per man, easily containing a hundred arrows each. Each of the men flicked through the bag, choosing out a couple of favourites to be kept on the wall next to them.

“This is going to be fucking messy.” Sam muttered to himself. “We're not going to see a fucking thing.”

True to his word and with surprising speed, the fog rolled over us. At one point it was a bank of solid, red, rolling cloud moving towards us and then suddenly it was as though we had been wrapped in a blanket.

It was much darker in the fog. Colder too.

It was not as heavy as we thought it might be either. You could make things out enough to move around without falling off the walls but that's not the point, the same as when you try and move around to fight in the darkness, it's not what you see, it's what you might see. Or that you imagine seeing that cause you the problems. I knew I was useless up on the wall. If I was going to be any help at all I would have been better down in the courtyard with the horses or getting ready to help receive wounded. Sam had brought a field surgeon with him but if there was anyone else then I might be able to help with stitching up wounds and setting bones, leaving the more serious injuries to the professional.

Heh, there's that word again.

But I wanted to see what was happening.

Time passed slowly in the mist. There was no way that we could mark time, we couldn't see the sun other than the fact that a particular quarter of the sky was markedly brighter than the other.

Then we heard the thunder.

But that wasn't what it was. It wasn't a storm at all. There was no lightening, nor was there that feeling of imminence that there is when you have a serious thunder storm. It was also a constant, rolling sound. There was a rhythm to it but I couldn't quite tell what it was.

Because then the howling started.

I looked at Kerrass who, once again was standing with his medallion out in front of his eyes. He didn't react otherwise. Sam was frowning in concentration.

The howls weren't those of dogs or wolves as far as I could tell. Dogs less so but I have found, when I have heard a pack of wolves howling, there is an odd sense of harmony about it. As though they have agreed something. With dogs it's a lot more chaotic, a lot more lacking in organisation. There are peaks and troughs to the sounds of dogs howling. Like valleys and hills of sound. This was a constant thing. Like a blanket that covered us all like the fog that really was. Mixing it in with the sound of thunder, it felt like it was going on for years.

I took to pacing, I couldn't see anything, so I would walk from one end of the parapet to another and then back again. I knew that I was out of bow-shot range. The tower had seemingly been placed here for precisely that purpose. It was a long way down to the valley and causeway below. The only way to shoot at a place like where we were would be to be above us but that wasn't going to happen.

I should explain something about the terrain that we were facing. Down from the castle gates there is a roadway that circles the rocky hill that the castle is built on. On one side of the road is the rock face that would, eventually, lead up to the castle and on the other side there was either a steep drop off or another, equally steep rock wall. Anyone attacking the castle in force would need to make their way up the causeway to get to the gate house which would not be a pleasant climb with the castle defenders raining arrows, rocks and any other generally unpleasant things on to your heads. It would be up this road that the returning men would be coming and peer as I might, I couldn't see the road. Or I might be able to, but the distance and the fog was distorting things.

It's at times like this when we realise how much we see depends on movement.

So I paced while I waited, not very constructive but it made me feel better

“We need fires,” Sam commented to himself. “Fire baskets on poles down there so that they can be lit in times like this. It would help burn the fog away and give archers more light to shoot by.”

“It might also obstruct the view by distorting things.” Kerrass commented without looking up.

“It might,” Sam admitted. “But right now I want to do something, there isn't anything to do other than to wait, so all I can think about is how I might make the situation better.”

Kerrass said nothing.

I continued to pace, unconsciously counting off the time as I went.

Have I mentioned before how much I fucking hate waiting?

“How many men with the two Inquisitors?” I asked Sam.

“Two of the bastards. Half a dozen of the flame soldiers, a couple of the Redanian footmen and a Church knight from Danzig.”

“Not a small number of men,” I commented.

“No, but.” He grinned suddenly. “It suddenly doesn't feel like enough.

Rickard rejoined us on the tower after having organised his men. His own warbow carried easily in his left hand with three arrows carried in his right. Another arrow was already knocked. His bow was a huge thing, easily longer than he was tall and Rickard is not a short man, while at it's thickest I couldn't fit my entire hand round it. Sir Rickard is an officer and a knight now. He once told me that he rarely fires a shot in battle or when his men are fighting. There was a change that happened when he was elevated from the ranks to the nobility and although it is a change that he sometimes resents, he has become incredibly good at it. He says that the difference is that no, his men are his weapons. I had never really seen them fight but I guessed that he used them very well. He still carried his bow though and he trained with it obsessively.

“Who's still out there?” I asked him as he walked up.

“Pendleton.” He said before taking a deep breath. “Pendleton and Shepherd.”

“I don't know Shepherd.” I commented.

“You won't. Quiet man, likes to stay at the back of things, quiet like. I once managed to get him to admit to being a trained killer for someone in Temeria until he got burnt and joined the army to hide away. Truth be told, since the war ended I keep waiting for him to desert but he never has.”

Rickard looked me in the eye.

“I've got a bad feeling about this Freddie.”

“You and me both.”

“I should be down there with them. I should....”

Then we head a scream from deep down in the valley. A cross between a bellow of rage and a scream of pain.

No sooner had my brain registered the sound than I realised that Rickard was running back to his position on the wall.

“Eye's up,” he called. “Eye's on. Look to.”

The Bastard's drew their arrows to half-draw. Not so that they were straining their bows but so that there was that small amount of time cut out for them to be drawn to full. I could see soldiers getting on their horses down in the courtyard.

The screaming didn't stop, but it seemed to be getting closer.

Something moved on the causeway. As it turned out, with the movement I could see more than I thought I would be able to. A lone riderless horse, stirrups banging it's side as it ran headlong up the causeway.

“Steady,” Sam's voice rang out. Maybe because I knew him so well but I thought I could hear strain in his voice. It wouldn't have surprised me if it was.

Somebody caught the horse and brought it into the courtyard. Sam clapped me on the shoulder. “Go and find out.” He told me, ordered me really but I wasn't about to complain as I ran down into the courtyard and ran up to the groom who was bringing the horse further into the courtyard. “Well?” I demanded.

“Redanian sir.” It was one of Sam's squires who answered. The lad was physically shaking. “Our shoes and gear. Standard issue.” I nodded and turned back to get Sam the news.

“Sir,” the lad called turning me round. “Sir, there's blood on the saddle.”

I nodded.

The screaming was getting closer, it felt as though it was almost on top of us by the point that I climbed back up to the tower and gave the information over to Sam who said nothing, he barely even reacted as I told him, just nodding slightly. I left him to his brooding and went to stand next to Kerrass. He'd put his medallion back under his short and was leaning against the parapet, peering down into the smoky darkness.

“There,” he said after a moment. “On the edge of the clearing at the base of the causeway. Coming up the road.”

“Where?” Sam and I said at the same time.

But then I saw. Seven Horsemen riding back for the castle. Riding hard. They had been riding in formation along the road but that dissolved when they got to the clearing. A couple of them broke forward, the horses leaping into the gallop as the sped towards the base of the causeway.

Then a swirl of the mist carried them from view.

“Flame curse this mist,” Sam snarled, pounding his fist on the castle walls.

Then the flames leapt up. The old huts that we had slept in while the castle had been made safe along with Sam's temporary hall. They were suddenly engulfed in flame. So suddenly that there must have been oil or something in the mix because fire simply doesn't spread that fast. Especially in the cold chill of altitude and thick fog.

But it did mean that we could see. Three horsemen were still riding for the castle but it looked like the rest had either dismounted or had fallen from their horses. They were turning and waving at things in the tree line. I thought I could see one of the figures on the ground shooting a bow but it was a distant thing, seen through strands of mist. It looked like a scene from a nightmare. The flames and the jerking figures. One man was waving his sword around as though he was fighting but we couldn't see what he was fighting against. I saw another man throw his hands up into the air as though he had been shot before falling to the ground. Another horseman came out of the trees, the man in the saddle was slumped down.

“What are they fighting?” Sam wondered aloud.

But then we saw them too. They didn't attack like we would. They weren't organised, they didn't move in ranks or move together. One would dart forward, come within weapon range of the fighters before veering off and fleeing.

But the effect that this had on the defenders was profound. We could hear them screaming. Even as they fought, swinging swords blindly and wildly. Those were not screams of anger or the normal battle cries.

Those men were terrified

Sam spat over the wall before turning and bellowing down into the courtyard. “Kristoff, take men down there and see what's going on. I want everyone back inside the castle walls right, fucking, now.”

He span without waiting for a response.

“Kerrass, go with them. If anyone can make sense of all of this it's you. Those men are free and clear so why aren't they retreating?”

Kerrass nodded and turned to go and I followed.

“Freddie,” Sam called. I turned ready with an excuse of comment on my lips. “Be careful Freddie,” Sam said softly. “I would tell you to stay but you'd ignore me. I don't want to explain your absence to an angry vampire.”

He turned away before I could respond and stepped out of sight, presumably back to the edge of the parapet. I ran on, Kerrass had already pulled my horse over and I climbed into the saddle.

“Hard and Fast lads.” Sir Kristoff was saying. “Hard and fast. Get them out, pull them onto the horses bodily if you have to and then get them back up to the castle so Lord Samuel can do his thing. Hit hard, hit fast.”

His horse was in front of the group of men and it reared for effect. I always wonder when I see this kind of thing whether or not the horse rider was doing that on purpose.

Redania.” He yelled.

The men cheered.

“Redania.” He yelled again.

“We cheered louder.

Redania.” He didn't wait for the counter call instead signalling the bugler who sounded the charge as we surged forward. I had time to glance over at Kerrass who's eyes were gleaming in the firelight.

The horses surged forward and we thundered through the gate and down the hill.

You have no way of knowing this but I have just paused in the writing of this account. I needed to think about how to describe what it was like. It's taken me a not small amount of time so the only way that I can think of to describe it is like this.

It was like descending into hell.

I know that that's going to cause some confusion. Mostly because to, as far as I know, the vast majority of my readership, their idea of hell is based on the version of hell as described by the cult of the eternal flame.

For followers of the eternal flame, hell is a cold place. A place of ice and snow, of darkness and quiet. I haven't really looked into it and I imagine that there are others that are much more knowledgable about this kind of thing than I am but I believe that it's because if the eternal flame represents warmth, guidance, shelter and security then “hell” must represent the opposite of that. Hence the cold, darkness and so on. But in that, the Eternal Flame is actually the rarity in most modern religions.

By these I'm referring to Kreve, and the cult of the Divine Sun in Nilfgaard.

I don't know about Melitele but I did hear one priestess say that Melitele is a woman's religion. They have no need of a concept of hell because women are living through hell everyday and Melitele represents shelter from that and an ease of suffering. Therefore, for them, hell is living through every day.

But I was talking about the other version of hell.

For Kreve and the cult of the Divine Sun, Hell is described as a hot place. A place of fire and smoke. Of pain and heat where the air is poisonous and the ground is fire.

I could speculate as to why this is and again it's because of opposites. Kreve is referred to as “The Sky-Father”, the important part of that sentence is “Sky”. The Divine Sun is a worship of the Sun itself which is a thing of the sky. Therefore the opposite of both of those things is what is going on underneath the ground.

We know, from the volcanic eruptions that have sometimes occurred in Skellige and up in the mountains down South that under the earth is a lot of lava and molten rock. Therefore....

I'm sure you get the point.

But that is what it was like. Riding down that causeway and into the valley.

It was like descending into hell.

I've talked about the fog and the mist aspects of things but I don't think I've properly got the idea across of how thick it was and what it was doing to the landscape. It had this strange effect where it was causing rocks and trees to seem as though they were jumping out at me. Small movements in the undergrowth seemed massively amplified and overwhelming to the point where I didn't know what to do with it. I felt like ducking all the time and had to fight not to jink to one side or another to avoid obstacles that I was absolutely sure were going to lead to my being unhorsed.

This was ridiculous because I was riding towards the back of the column. In the middle of the column so if there was anything there then it would have struck the other soldiers in front of me.

It was cloying as well, it sounds ridiculous as I write it but I could feel it at the back of my throat, this odd kind of rasping sensation in the same way that you get when you've had a particularly sweet, creamy desert and it sticks to the roof of your mouth and to the back of your throat, or when you have a cold and you get that cloying feeling of sickness in your lungs.

It had a smell as well. I knew that it shouldn't smell, that mist smells of nothing but damp.....leaves or grass or whatever else you are riding through at the time. But there was a smell that you could taste. It was an awful kind of vinigary smell. The closest thing that it reminded me of was of bad eggs. A soldier a couple of rows ahead of me had to lean over the side of his horse and vomited.

As we followed the causeway round, it bent to the left as we came round the hill that the castle was built on. There was a ripple in the troop as we narrowed our profile to let a trio of horsemen past. I thought I could see the red tabbard of a church soldier as well as the robes of a priest of the Eternal fire but I couldn't be sure as they sped up the hill towards safety and the castle gates.

I found that I was struggling to breathe, each breath hissed in my throat and I began to feel light-headed. The men that we were riding with had begun to shout at each other now. Prayers and curses, battle-cries and small whimpers of fear. Some of those sounds might even have come from my own mouth. My spear was strapped to my saddle, already linked together. I had wanted to ride down with it couched under my arm-pit the same way that a knight might carry a lance in the jousting field but, rather prudently I had thought at the time, I had decided that I would need both hands to steer and control the horse that I was riding. It wasn't that I was incorrect. But I found the distance between me and the spear increased as I thought about it. I desperately wanted to unstrap it and have it in my hand as though it would comfort me by it's sheer presence. I began to want it, to need it.

I shook my head to try and clear it and I could see the same gesture being reflected in the other men riding up and down the column.

Then, we started to get the smell of smoke, burning straw, wood and grass. Filthy from the rain and the mud but still hot and even more so we were being choked and blinded by the stinging smoke. At one point I had been worried that I might become afraid of fire after the adventures with Sansum but I drove my horse on.

A man in front of me leant over and fell of his horse. Just leant over as far as he could go and simply fell off in the same way that a tree might fall in the woods after a wood-cutter has been working at it for hours. At first I flinched as I supposed that some kind of weapon or spell had caught hold of him and that he was dead but then I saw him push himself to his knees and begin to pray.

Not far now. Not far to the battlefield.

Kerrass caught hold of my arm as he rode next to me.

“Turn back.” He yelled. “Go back Freddie.” But I ignored him. I flinched away from him as though his touch burned me, his eyes blazing in the animal skull of his face. I yanked my arm from his grip as we rode on. He seemed furious but he didn't have time to grab me again as we had arrived.

I could see the burning buildings off to one side, ahead and a little to the right as we came to the clearing I could see a small knot of men, our men, who looked as though they were fighting for their lives. There were men all over the place.

I've never been on a battlefield or in a battle really but I'm told that it's generally not as chaotic as this. I'm told that experienced men can tell you what happened on any given field of battle just by looking at the lay of the land and the way that the corpses are arranged. Walls of dead horsemen, crowds of men in the same uniform with arrows sticking out of them. Corpses like unmoving waves as though an artist has taken a still picture of the sea from above, only instead of water, there are bodies and they are everywhere. They can tell you where the shield wall broke and where the cavalry hit the infantry line.

Or so I'm told.

This wasn't like that. This was chaos. I saw one man staggering through the grass with the skin off the side of his face missing. He was reaching up to the sky, begging for help from some kind of unseen thing. Another man was lying on the ground clutching at his belly even though there was nothing wrong with it. Individual men wandering about, screaming at nothing, gibbering and yelling at apparitions that only they could see.

Then there were the horsemen. The Hounds themselves that would come riding out of the smoke and the fog with eye-hurting lack of speed as they almost leisurely reached down and out to the side with long, claw-like hands as they killed their chosen target before they would scream to the heavens and ride off.

These weren't men. I don't know what they were but they weren't men. They looked to be made out of bone and metal. You could see the spurs of bone sticking out from their leather cloaks as they raised their arms. That makes no sense I know and I've struggled to try and define what I saw that night.

Try and imagine a man, this will be more useful to those of you that might be more medically minded. So Imagine a man, keep the same proportions so, the same height and build, but then start to increase the size of the bones in the man's skeletons. Not just thickness but the length of the bones as well so that they get to the point where they can't fit inside the skin and muscle of the man and it breaks free. The skin breaks along with the blood and other liquids that run freely along the bones.

But the muscle remains behind so that all the limbs keep working. The limbs and the other organs.

But then start to think about the cartilage and other things that hold the bones together and help them move. Imagine that those things are made from metal that has been oiled and moves around like the clockwork of the gnomes and the dwarves. Then wrap the entire thing in a dark leather hooded cloak and cowl. I don't know why but I thought that the leather was blue in colour and I remember thinking that it was strange to think of it as being blue but that was what I remembered.

They would ride out of the surrounding trees at a gallop and dash up to their target whether this was a man by themselves or whether it was the small knot of men that were still trying to fight together as some kind of unit. They would ride up, swing their claws or their weapons. Some of those men carried swords, others carried spears but by far the most just had these strange claws that seemed to extend out of their arms that when they would brush, even just near, their target, then there would be a fountain of blood as the claw would unerringly strike at an artery or some other vital area and the man would go down.

The knot of men were still fighting. There was someone there, although I couldn't tell who it was that was holding everyone together but they wouldn't last much longer. Those men were already puking and screaming, weeping and shaking with their fear and their utter abject horror. I watched and another man died.

The group of men that I was with just shattered. What little unit cohesion that we had from the ride down into the valley just exploded under the onslaught to our senses in the same way that a hammer would break glass. A good half of the men just turned their horses and fled or, if they fell off their horses, just turned and fled back up the causeway. The other half let out their own howl and charged towards the knot of men. A couple of them had managed to keep their heads and started forcing wounded or otherwise incapacitated men onto horseback and herding them back towards the keep.

I would later learn that Sir Kristoff was one of the men that managed to keep his head. He would later claim that it was one of the benefits of superior Redanian training but I personally came to think that it was just his utter lack of imagination. The credit for salvaging what could be salvaged from that action lies with him. I don't like the man as he is a stickler, the kind of man that looks down on others if they haven't served in some kind of armed conflict or another and treats those of lesser ranks as being lower than himself. His conversation is full of rules, regulations and military history which, to be fair, in the right hands of a skilled teacher can be fascinating. In the hands of Sir Kristoff it can be mind numbingly tedious.

But he held the men together that day and if anyone can claim to have saved lives, it would be him and Kerrass who also, unsurprisingly really, kept his head and was able to fend off those horsemen that attacked the group of men while Kristoff got them organised.

I saw none of this at the time. I was too busy looking at one of the hounds.

I had seen a man staggering towards me. He was clutching his belly and he had a quiver of arrows on his back so, on some level I must have realised that he was one of Sir Rickard's bastards. He was weaving this way and that, obviously wounded. I might not have reacted but one of the hounds was charging towards him. Sword outstretched in the typical pose that has been immortalised in paintings, plays and tales all over the continent of what happened when a horseman is chasing down a fleeing footman. Sword out, held up and high over their shoulder ready to sweep down in a huge blow to the back of the fleeing man. The archer hadn't seen him and I screamed something.

The horseman looked at me and it's own mouth opened. A horrible sickly grey, pink kind of light came from it's eyes and it's mouth. Fire seemed to emanate from that gaping maw and then it screamed itself with an ear shattering sound that made my teeth hurt.

Something snapped inside my head as various conscious parts of me just shut down and I started to act without thinking.

I jumped off my horse, tearing the spear from the saddle as I went and sprinted forwards so that I was between the chasing horseman and the staggering archer. I was howling, saying something but I couldn't for the life of me tell you whether I was screaming for help from the Eternal flame or calling for my mother. I planted my feet and lunged forwards with my spear. The rider's sword came down and hammered into the spear with force enough to cause sparks to fly from where the two weapons impacted with each other.

I staggered, he drew back and struck down again at the same angle, this time I managed to turn the blade to one side ready for a strike of my own. I howled in triumph as I plunged the spear forward into the place where I knew, I knew that my enemies body would be. So much so that I staggered as I overbalanced when my spear didn't reach the resistance that I was expecting.

The horseman had vanished.

I felt, rather than heard myself scream in frustration as I looked around for my enemy, for my quarry and in the end it was a flash out of the corner of my eye that saved me. I ducked and spun round, bent to one knee as the Hound's sword whistled over the top of my head.

I used the fact that I was down on a knee to use the extra leverage of climbing to my feet to strike out with everything I had.

I saw it this time.

As the spear connected with where his body should be, he disappeared into a puff of smoke.

I howled at the moon, slashing out at the open air.

I heard a shout and I turned before I felt as though a horse had kicked me in the stomach. The breath whooshed out of me and I fell hard. Kerrass had grabbed me round the waist and had pulled me down. He was screaming at me but I couldn't hear the words.

I quailed before his face. His eyes were huge in his face, glowing yellow, stark against the white skin. There were flames in those eyes but that wasn't the thing that drew my eye. I have often commented that I have thought that I could see fangs in Kerrass' mouth. This time there could be no doubt. As he snarled his teeth grew and as his mouth opened saliva and bile dripped from his maw.

He was screaming, bellowing at me but I couldn't hear him.

His arm raised and I tried to pull away but his hand came crashing down and got me across the face. A huge, open handed slap, the sound of which echoed in my ears.

I snarled my own response and tried to close my hands round his throat. I had no idea where my spear was and suddenly it didn't seem as though it was that important. All I could think was that I wanted to kill, to slaughter.

Kerrass threw me aside, rolling away himself as another horseman came thundering towards us. I rolled to my feet. Somewhere I was aware that I was aching, that I had hurt myself as part of the fall and the impact, maybe a bruised or even a cracked rib but I ignored it. The need to kill was still a strong one.

I could no longer see Kerrass but the horseman was coming back. This time I remembered the knife, tucked into the belt in the small of my back.

I drew my weapon and decided that it was unfair that only horsemen could properly charge an enemy. So I ran at the horseman and leapt into the open air. I should have landed on him perfectly.

But he wasn't there, because of course he wasn't there.

Again, his body turned to smoke before my eyes and I flew through the fumes. The red haze over my vision deepened and started to take on a deeper texture, a thicker feeling to it. I landed awkwardly and collapsed forward into a roll, not quite making it to my feet in the process. I was on my knees and I looked around, panting for breath.

The red smoke was in my eyes and in my head and I couldn't shake it free. A wave of nausea came on me then and I had to turn my head to one side, sucking down deep breaths of air into my lungs. Spectres of horsemen rode through the clearing. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them and I lashed out with my dagger, no longer caring if I lived or about the fact that the prospect of taking on armed horsemen with a short dagger was utterly ludicrous.

I could see lines on the edge of my vision like the webs of the spiders that Ariadne loves so much. I couldn't tell if they were on the surfaces of my eyes or if I was seeing them in the clearing.

The horsemen had become phantoms now, phantoms made of smoke and they would vanish as I struck out at them. Sometimes the smoke would swirl but sometimes they would change into figures of blood that that shattered with a pop, drenching my feet and the land around me.

I saw other things as well. I saw a Dragon flying over head. Not the majestic, awful magnificence that Maleficent had possessed. This beast was fury and decay.

I saw Arch-Bishop Sansum's face drifting out of the smoke as well as Lord Dorme of Angral riding with the Hounds. I could see the pail corpse face of Ariadne from back when she was still a skeleton looking at me with disdain and disgust.

I could hear Jack laughing through the screams of the suffering.

All the while, my fury rose in my chest until it became a tangible thing, a ball in my chest that tried to drive me onto greater feats of energy while at the same time weighing my steps so that I could barely move. It was formless at the same time, lashing out at anything

I saw a red reflection on the ground and recognised my spear for what it was.

I limped over and pulled the spear up before turning and looking for another enemy, another target to strike out at. Someone to kill.

I saw that the member of the Bastards that I had first tried to rescue had slumped down to his knees. He had his hands clutched over his belly and was looking down at his hands in horror and fascination. A Horseman came out of the mist and smoke. For all I know it might have been the same horseman but there was no way to tell. He was aiming for the fallen man.

“No, you bastard.” I remember thinking. For all I know I might have screamed it aloud. I was up and running towards it, aiming for the horse.

But I wasn't going to make it.

Kerrass was there for me though. Spinning out of the smoke. Flames spitting from his eyes he ran at the horse and gestured. I saw the horse rear up and shy away. Kerrass picked up the fallen man, draping one of the man's arms over his shoulders before half carrying him off into the mist.

I blinked and my vision swam as another wave of nausea and dizziness struck me.

I staggered.

I would have fallen but Kerrass caught me.

He spun me around to face him.

His face was worse than before and I could feel my mind shying off what I saw. Trying to shut down. I screamed as his mouth split wide open and his fanged maw gaped wider and wider and wider until something struck me in the gut.

Hard.

And again.

A strong grip of my tunic and light armour held me to one side as the nausea raced over me again and I vomited. Hard.

I realised that my head was pounding as though someone had wrapped a red hot iron vice around it and was tightening the screws.

I was hauled upright again and saw that Kerrass' face was approaching normal despite being a little wild eyed and covered in soot. I could still see fangs though.

“Come on,” he bellowed through the din. I could still hear Jack laughing and Ariadne screaming. I tried to shake my head clear of the sound.

“Come on,” Kerrass said again. I almost walked into a horse that he was holding the bridle of. Another man, the injured Bastard who was groaning with an awful agony was slumped in the saddle.

“Get him back to the keep Freddie.” Kerrass snarled. “And whatever happens up there. Whatever you see, do not come back.”

“But...”

“Don't argue with me. Just go.” He was screaming. The flames were back in his eyes again while his fangs grew in his mouth. He turned the horse's head and slapped it across the arse with the flat of his sword.

Fortunately for me, the horse knew what that meant and leapt forward. I didn't steer so much as just hold on for dear life, half onto the reins and half onto the injured man that I kept in front of me.

The injured man that turned out to be the young thief from Vizima. Pendleton.

The sound of the ground under the hooves turned from the packed earth of the Grassy meadow where the huts were to the loose, stone of the causeway up to the castle. Cold air hit me in the face and I had to lean aside before vomiting again.

Although the headache got worse, I almost instantly felt better but I was weak as a kitten.

Again I thank the Holy Flame that Kerrass knew what he was doing and chose the right horse to carry me back. I still have no idea if it was my horse or just some random horse that he picked out of the crowd but it served me well.

Pendleton was similarly affected and was vomiting hard which took him out of whatever reaction had over come him and was weeping with the pain.

“Hold on lad,” I whimpered. I had meant it to be reassuring but it came our like the raspy pleading that it was.

We got to the castle gate. Other men of the Bastards were there. Pendleton's pain was getting worse. Rickard, Dan and I think Taylor helped me out of the saddle as by now I was shaking like a leaf and vomiting up a kind of yellow, greenish goop. The Giant Skelligan Sergeant cradled young Pendleton as though he was a child. A child groaning with agony.

“I'm sorry Sarge,” He moaned. “I'm sorry.”

“You don't need to be sorry lad. You don't need to be sorry.” The Skelligan's accent became thicker with emotion. The faces of the other bastards were white with shapeless anger and sorrow.

“Mother,” he pleaded as he was carried to a blanket in the corner. “Mother?”

I was lowered down into the courtyard where I was propped against the cool stone that made up part of the gate-house. I wasn't wounded. Other than the physical reaction, I was unwounded. Someone handed me a skin of watered wine and I drank greedily.

No wine, or nectar of the Gods has ever tasted so wonderful.

As it turned out, I was one of the lucky ones.

Pendleton was dying. Stabbed through the stomach which he was clutching at with both hands. I hauled myself over. It took focus to keep my limbs from shaking. There were still tremors that would seize me every so often. But I felt that it was important somehow.

Sir Rickard was there. Standing over the small knot of men. The pain seemed to be ebbing and falling for the lad. When I had first met the Bastards, Pendleton had put me in mind of someone in his late teens. I thought he might have been sixteen or seventeen. Young, but still old enough to be a soldier. Now I was left to wonder if he'd lied about his age.

He looked as though he was twelve. Sweat standing out on his head, beading up and running down his face and onto the blanket that he'd been laid out on. Black blood smeared across his head where he'd wiped the sweat from his fore-head with the back of his hand and I winced at the sight. My training was not great, but it was enough to know that if the blood is black then you should call for someone who knows what they're doing.

He looked awful, pale and shivering.

Any man that ever tries to tell me that war is glorious will be punched.

In the throat.

By me.

“Captain?” The lad called. “Captain?”

Rickard knelt on the other side of the boy from the Sergeant and took the boys hand. “I'm here son. I'm here.”

“I'm sorry sir.” The lad whimpered. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to fuck up.”

“You didn't Pendleton. You didn't. You did your job and I'm proud of you.”

“Am I a good soldier?”

“A better soldier than I deserve.”

The Bastards could have been carved from stone, despite those men who had tears running down their cheeks. Jenkins, the pale-eyed killer was weeping openly. It took me a moment but I realised that they were stood to attention.

“I'm sorry sir.”

“What do I say about being sorry?” Rickard forced the words past a plainly dry throat.

But Pendleton didn't answer. He had died. Gone from shuddering to utter stillness.

Corpses get so still. It becomes so odd. All of the energy that had animated the young man had vanished and suddenly it was just a shell.

Rickard placed the hand that he was holding onto the lad's chest. The Skelligan Sergeant placed a sword in the lads right hand. It looked wildly oversized in his young hands.

It all felt deathly quiet as though a strange peace had settled like a blanket over the world. I think it was the lack of noise, more than anything, that got to me. Things weren't being drowned out by the blood pounding in my ears, the screams of terror and the distinctive sound of metal striking metal or flesh.

It all seemed so peaceful.

It wasn't, but that's what it felt like.

There were people dying in the castle courtyard. It seemed that the hounds had taken a number of people from us and they were moaning as they died, more people were retching and whimpering. Pendleton was not alone in crying for his mother and other men wandered from body to body bringing water and comfort where they could.

An unhurt looking Father Trent was walking through it all. Weeping openly, trying to offer blessings but too often his tears were overwhelmed by his sobs.

The one question that seemed to be on everyone's lips was “What had happened?” Walking wounded sat together while their injuries were cleaned and stitched together and tried to talk it through, putting the pieces together.

There was another noise though. A noise that I had forgotten about. In the distance. That distant scream of a man in agony and fear drifting over the night sky.

Sir Rickard got up and abruptly walked away. The Sergeant managed to catch my eye and jerked his head in the direction of his knight. “For you to do sir.” he said simply. It suddenly struck me as odd that I had forgotten his name if I had ever known it. “Sergeant” seemed such a fitting name for him and I thought to see if I could remember him being called anything other than by his title, or maybe “Sarge” when the men were being cheeky.

I nodded and did as I was told, wandering after Rickard.

I found him on the other wall. The one facing away from where the fight had happened staring out into the darkness. This was the wall that faced away from the approaches to the castle. The approach that would be all but impossible without climbing equipment and a man on the inside to lower rope. He was staring out into the darkness.

“Sent you after me did he?” I didn't need to ask who he was talking about and said nothing. “I should call him Sergeant nurse-maid.” Rickard sighed and kicked the wall before turning back to me.

“Shepherd didn't come back either. He's out there somewhere, probably with a sword through him.”

“Are you ok?” I asked, rather redundantly. Of course he wasn't ok. Neither was I and I hadn't lost someone. I've said it before and I'll say it again. The ridiculous things that we say to each other when we're going through grief.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Or I will be in a minute.” He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to hide the fact that he was brushing away the water that had formed in the corner of his eyes.

“It's just,” he began before turning away, trying to keep his voice from cracking. “It's just I haven't lost a man since the end of the war. A war that Pendleton survived, Shepherd too, only for them to die out here.”

“How old was Pendleton when he joined?” I found that I suddenly had to ask.

Rickard chuckled. “He was seventeen when he died and I caught him stealing our rations when he was twelve. Took him a while to get the strength to use a bow properly but he could move through the undergrowth and no-one would know that he was there. He could hide in an empty field. Fast as a hare as well, jumping out at an enemy in a blur of his daggers until he eventually realised that his target was dead. Bless him.”

He sighed. “Go on, I'll be with you in a minute.” He waved me off.

My strength was coming back to me and I realised that I was famished. Someone was bringing around some fruit and I snagged an apple as I went off to find Kerrass and Sam. That screaming was still there. There was a plaintive quality to it. Like the sound of a dog mourning the loss of it's master. It was ebbing and flowing. Sometimes it would become silent whereas other times it seemed as though the air throbbed with the sound.

Kerrass was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps that would lead up to the tower that Sam had chosen for his look out.

He stepped out to meet me. “You ok?” He asked. He looked a little wild eyed and pale so I guessed that he was a couple of potions down. I tried to be subtle about looking to see if there were fangs in his mouth but if they had been there at all, I couldn't say.

“Tired,” I said. “And sick to my stomach.” I took another breath. “Thank you Kerrass. I'm self-aware enough to realise that you saved my life.....Again.”

He smiled a little. “No thanks this time. I should have seen what was happening and guessed how it would affect you.”

“Affect me?”

“You always react violently when people terrify you.”

He turned and we started to walk up the walls to where Sam was.

“No I don't,” I protested.

“You really do.”

“But....”

“Think about it. All of the times that you've killed people and gotten really, really violent. Not fighting to defend yourself or something. You've been utterly terrified haven't you.”

I should stress that this was not a new conversation between the two of us.

“Yeah but....”

“That time with Lord Fuck-face and his men?” he went on. “Where you drove your dagger into the man's skull. Or that time I used the Axii sign on you and you went berzerk. How about that time with the bandits, or the golem when you thought you were dying. Or Jack for that matter. Or when you were being tortured by Sansum which is, by far, the most violent thing you've ever done to my mind.”

“Ah,” I said in triumph. “Ah, but I was absolutely terrified when I met Ariadne as well and I didn't attack her.”

“No, but you did take leave of your senses.”

“Now hang on.”

“Hey, you have to be a bit mad to stand up to an ancient vampire.”

“Yeah but she still terrifies me.”

“You and I both know that there is a big difference between erotic fear and physical fear.”

“Not much of one.” I muttered.

Another thing that always astonishes me. How quickly we return to humour after intense action.

The lone voice, screaming on the wind took that opportunity to start up again as we got to the summit. I don't mind admitting that, although I'm a lot fitter physically than I was in my student days, I had to stop and catch my breath as we reached the top of the stairs.

Sam was still looking out over the burning buildings. It was now properly dark and the night had fallen and the mist became silvery rather than the red soup that it had been. Sam came to meet us as we got to the top of the stairs and shook Kerrass' hand firmly. Inquisitor Dempsey was there, his arm in a sling and looking pale as he and Sam talked before Sam gestured him to silence as we got to the top of the stairs and approached the pair of us.

“Well Freddie,” he said with a slight smile. “Of all people, I did not expect you to be the one that was a berzerker.”

“Oh for crying out loud, I am NOT a berzerker.”

“Sshh, sshh, don't get angry, we don't want you to get angry.”

“Fuck off.”

Neither of us had much energy for extended banter though.

“Seriously though. You ok?” he asked.

“As well as I ever am. Do we know what happened yet?”

“Not yet.” Sam answered. “Lot's of people still getting their story straight.”

“Don't be hard on them Sam.” I told him. “I was there and I, the trained observer of events and people, could barely tell you what was going on.”

Sam grinned.

Another scream rang out.

“What the fuck is that?” I snapped, surprising myself.

Inquisitor Dempsey turned away and I was shocked to see an Inquisitor's shoulders shaking in sobs.

Sam sighed. “Come see.”

The three of us, Sam, Kerrass and I walked to the edge of the wall where we could look out and down on the valley. There was more smoke now than anything as the fog was beginning to lift. It still gace the air a dreamlike quality and things occasionally drifted in and out of view.

Down at the edge of the clearing where I had so recently fought against phantoms, a new fire had been set on the far edge. Or rather it was a series of fires that had been built up to give out illumination. In the middle of the flames and tied, spread eagled to a pair of posts that had been driven in the ground, was Inquisitor Hacha. Recognisable by his stature and his bald head. We couldn't see the details but we could see from some of the injuries that, certainly his eyes had been put out.

They were skinning him alive. Some people call this being flayed alive but somehow I feel as though that doesn't properly convey the horror of what that act entails.

Skinning him alive and it was his cries that echoed around the castle walls.

“It was set up like that just as the last of our people came up the causeway to get away.” Sam said, his voice flat and dead. “They lit the fires and brought him out so that we could see him. He'd already had his eyes taken out when they tied him up.”

I had not liked Inquisitor Hacha when I met him but I had been impressed by his competence and his working method. Some people might say that as an Inquisitor he got what he deserved. That he had been responsible for far worse during the Witch hunts. That I can't answer for. I never got the chance to talk to him about his role during those times but I fancy that this would not be justice.

What I do know was that no-one deserves that.

Standing in front of the torture tableau was another man. It was in the distance, in the dark and the firelight so I didn't get all the details as fog and mist still absorbed some of it and did, indeed, often obscure the sight of Inquisitor Hacha's torture to us. But there was another man. He seemed larger than the other hounds. He moved as though he was in charge and he towered over the others. As well as the normal skull outfit that the others wore, he had a huge pair of antlers on top of his head. They looked as though they were spiked and vicious as though they were dripping in blood in the same way that a Fiend's horns seem dirty and weaponised.

Periodically, the horned man would walk up to the struggling form of Inquisitor Hacha and bend closer to him. Each time, Hacha would become more animated, straining at his bonds and screaming again.

“We're going to destroy these people gentlemen.” Sam snarled at the sight. “We're going to figure this out and we're going to destroy these people.”

I said nothing.