(Warning: Discussion of domestic abuse)

As some of you may know, I am doing my best to shift the way I'm thinking back to an earlier version of myself. This isn't being done maliciously but I've realised that I've changed over the years that I've been following Kerrass around, and now he follows me, and I don't like all of the changes that this has brought about. So I have decided that I need to go back to that earlier form of myself.

Don't get me wrong. Many of the changes that have been brought about are for the positive. I like to think that I have lost a lot of my trained and learned arrogance that being a nobleman's son teaches. I like to think that I understand the villagers, merchants, townsfolk and craftsmen that much better than I did when I set out. I look back on interactions that I had with some of the castle staff and the locals of Oxenfurt town and I wince in memory of my naivete.

Obviously there is the thing that I am most grateful for which is the opportunity to meet and fall in love with a wonderful woman who challenges me to improve in every way. So that I can be the best version of myself in order to reward her trust and decision to choose me over the other decisions that she could make.

Also there is the thoughts of the knowledge that I have gained. The prestige that I have attained as well as the skills and experience of the world that has helped me, in my own small way, to make the world a better place. Both on the micro scale with helping my family to root out a years old evil in our midst, but also on a world wide scale. Everything that I can do to help lift the load on the Empress' shoulders is a good deed. I can also be proud of waking up the Sleeping Beauty of legend as well as waking up the young lady that that legend refers to.

In my own way, I can be proud of the fact that I have informed, even a little bit, the people in the world around me as to how it all really works.

I am pleased and proud about these two things.

What I am not pleased about is my worsening worlds view. The increasing bitterness that I have felt that the world is the way that it is. My anger and growing disdain for the world. Whereas before, when I came across ignorance I would try to argue my point. To shift that person's understanding of the world, even a little bit and I could feel that I had left the world a little brighter than the one that I had found.

Now, I simply decide that the person cannot be helped. That they are ignorant or stupid and that they will always be that way. There are some cases where this is true. An old person is going to struggle to get over prejudices that they have held for decades, that were taught to them when they were children. But the same can't be said for all.

I must relearn this behaviour. I must relearn how to change people's minds by both showing them a better way, but also by giving them a better way. It is not enough to write something down in my own travel journals and hope that they will reach the people there. I must show them the better way, in my acts and deeds as well as in my written word.

To that end, I am reminding myself about my original mission statement. That statement being that I intended to teach the world about the life of a Witcher so that they wouldn't be lost. The reasons that they do things, even if they won't tell me the actual methods. I wanted to show people what it was like to be a Witcher. To walk the path of a Witcher and to live in the world as a Witcher. To make their living as a Witcher and to behave like a Witcher. Things did shift, early on, into also talking about some of the things that Witchers have to deal with on a daily basis. But I didn't feel as though that was too far a diversion as I was still talking about Witchers and so I felt that this was allowed. The way that this used to work was that I would pick out stories from our travels that would address different aspects of what it was like to be a Witcher and how that worked out in the real world.

I have lost sight of that somewhere. Although I have still been teaching people about the world in which they live in, I have drifted off topic and have ended up simply recording what is going on around my person.

What I have been doing and although my readers tell me that this is also something that they want to hear about. To hear about how I survive on the road. It is not my mission statement.

So, I have decided that I need to go back to talking about the Witcher a little bit more. To that end. I offer this first in a series of brief discussions. I promise that I will return to our travels and the results of Kerrass' and my search for the cultists that created the so-called Hounds of Kreve later in this piece. I offer it as more a talking point at the beginning of each chapter.

What is the most important tool in a Witcher's arsenal?

I also promise that this topic of conversation will also be relevant.

This is a question that I've been thinking about recently. Think about a Witcher. I've described Kerrass and his various tools in some detail now along with the way that he uses them on the various hunts and activities that he gets up to and I've been thinking about which ones are most important to him. Thinking about which one is the most important. Without which Kerrass and the rest of his people, the rest of his fellows, would be utterly useless. Which one is the most important and the most useful? The one that he uses the most above all other tools.

It is not an easy question to answer. If you can imagine a Witcher in your mind, they almost seem to be a collection of tricks, of techniques and equipment that makes them uniquely suitable to being able to do their jobs. They were created this way of course and in more recent times, they have been trained in these pieces of equipment and skills. These tools of their trade.

To clarify, while thinking about my question, I shall compare a Witcher to a blacksmith. What tools does a blacksmith have that he uses. And which one is indispensable. The one thing that without which, you can't really call yourself a blacksmith. Is it the anvil? The hammer? The fire? The buckets of liquid, clean water, salt water and oil respectively for the purposes of quenching. Is it the expertise, the ability to trade with the people that might require your services? Some people might argue that the most important part of the blacksmith's trade is the strength of arm so that they can bring the proper application of force onto the metal in question.

Now compare this list of qualities to the Witcher and the list of things that he carries with him. I will start with the most obvious pieces of equipment. The things that probably leap into mind the first time that you consider this question. I will start with his swords.

A steel sword, made from iron. Some stories claim that the steel sword is forged from star iron, the kinds of things that fall from the sky but I've spoken to Kerrass about that and he laughed at the prospect.

“A sword forged from star-Iron?” He chuckled. “Preposterous. The sheer amounts required to forge such a weapon would render it absolutely impossible. For a start, it would take a man a lifetime to be able to track all of it down to properly forge a sword out of it and secondly, should the iron be found, then it would be almost impossibly heavy to lift.”

“But the legends say....”

“Why do people write the legends Freddie? Consider that.”

I remember he sighed. This conversation happened relatively early in our acquaintanceship.

“You have to remember that Witcher's are in it to earn the money that is required for their own keep. Food and drink is more important then most other considerations. So what you have to do is to ask yourself, how do we get the villagers or the nobles to hire us. Why us over some kind of wandering band of mercenaries? Why us and not trying to get your own soldiers to do the job, or getting a group of townsfolk together to poison a sheep in the hope that the monster falls for the trap and gets sick enough that a rake will be able to pierce the things hide?”

“Because a professional like you is more likely to get the job done.”

“True, but the argument is flawed from their perspective. First you have to get the noble to hire you. Many of the mercenary companies that are hired to kill the monsters are much cheaper than a Witcher and much easier to understand. Alsom their own soldiers and the mercenaries could also be considered professionals as well, regardless of their competence. So what we have to do is we have to sell ourselves to the people that we deal with. We have to put across the idea that we know more than our competitors do.”

“Which you do.”

“Naturally. But you also have to give the client a sense that they are getting what they are paying for. For the vast majority of the villages that we have dealt with together, you don't need to bother that much on the grounds that those self-same villagers are far too grateful for any kind of help that they will take what they can get. Witcher's are less likely to rape all the women and steal all the food than a wandering band of mercenaries after all. But to the discerning nobleman. They have to feel as though they are getting something special. Something....otherworldly.”

“Oh....I see.”

“Really?”

“I think so. A story is spread about the mysticism of the swords of a Witcher. Meaning that the noble thinks he's hiring something special.”

“While also providing a suitable story to make people less keen to stealing the swords and making off with them if they think that they are enchanted and therefore cursed.”

“So what are they made out of?”

“Steel and silver.” He answered quickly and with scorn. “How would I know? Do I look like a blacksmith? I spent all of my early years learning how to be a Witcher. I didn't have time to learn about sword smithing.”

He did give me some more information over time. Everyone knows about the two swords of a Witcher. The works of Dandelion the bard have made this famous. One sword is steel and the other of silver. The first for men and the second for monsters with the response of every Witcher ever on the subject resulting in being told that both swords are for monsters.

When a Witcher needs to have a sword replaced from the original one that he is given, he goes to the best smith that he can find and has one made to his requirements. The length, grip, weight, width and everything are made to the Witcher's exacting specifications. If the smith claims to be unable to do this then the Witcher thanks him for his time and moves on. Mostly this is only to do with the steel sword as for reasons of the world at large, it is the steel sword that see the most use.

That says something about the world I suspect but I leave it to the reader to theorise as to what that actually says.

Contrary to what Kerrass said. Meteorite Iron is occasionally used as part of the forging process but nearly always as an alloy forming part of the greater sword. This does occasionally provide the sword with strange, almost supernatural qualities but this is just as likely to be that the sword holds an edge a bit better than normal swords or that it is always slightly warm to the touch in spite of local climate rather than it glowing in the dark when monsters are near. A catastrophically useless benefit if you ask me. What if you're trying to sneak up on the monster in question and they spy this glowing sword in the darkness?

The silver sword is much harder to make but this is very rarely a problem. Generally ,the only time it comes up is when a Witcher is unlucky enough to have his sword stolen whether by nefarious or under the auspices of so called “Law and order”. From there it is actually easier to find a replacement for a Witcher's silver sword than it is to have a new one made.

Apparently this is because there is an occasional fashion to carry silver swords. Normally occurring whenever The bard publishes a new epic on the subject of the White Wolf of Rivia. Also those noble orders of knights that take it upon themselves to try and tackle the monsters of the continent will sometimes equip themselves with silver blades in order to help them to this purpose.

The quality of these blades, for obvious reasons, is rather variable and although it might be expedient to simply get a replacement blade, it is often better to make the effort to hunt down a dwarven or gnomish smith to have a proper one made according to your specifications.

So we're talking about the weapons of a Witcher. Those things that he uses to directly slay the monsters that he is hired to destroy.

But are they indispensable?

Ooh, I should also say that I'm counting the crossbow that some Witchers carry as part of this category of our discussion. As Kerrass has told me, traditionally it's only been the Cat and the Bear schools of Witchers that have trained their students in the study of the crossbow but since then, many of the other Witchers have started to see the practical things that a crossbow can provide. They all, including the feline Witchers and the bear Witcher that I have met, agree that a crossbow is not something that can be depended on but people are increasingly beginning to insist that it is an important tool.

But let's return to the central question. Are they indispensable. Is a Witcher, still able to be a Witcher if you take his weapons off him? I'm using the use of the term “Witcher” to mean the profession of being a Witcher for the purposes of this debate.

My argument here is that the weapons are not indispensable. That a Witcher can still do his job without his weapons. Without those weapons, a Witcher can still use the signs of which I have spoken. A monster can still be blasted with Air, onto a spike or out of the air. The creature can still be burnt at the hands of a shower of sparks while an assailant can be confused or escaped from while the blows of the enemy, no matter the form of that enemy, can be turned aside with the golden shield that those signs can generate. I have also seen Witchers being consulted on the proper methods of dealing with infestations. I've seen advice given. I've seen Kerrass aid in criminal investigations when there has been the suspicions of monster or magical effects there and I've also seen Kerrass dismiss spectres and other ghostly figures by the use of rituals. Curses broken where possible as well, all without swords (or crossbows) being used.

If anything, in certain situations, Kerrass has expressed a conviction that the used of swords would actually be a failure in certain situations. That they are the last possible recourse for what was happening and only used in the last resort when it made the difference between saving his own life or the lives of others or lifting the curse.

So I will argue that the weapons of a Witcher are not essential to the being of being a Witcher.

I will come back to this subject at a future date, I promise.

-

We actually spent a couple of days around the rock, camping in that little enclosure. I woke up the morning after that first night with my body being as stiff as a plank of wood and I doubt that I could have gone much further that day anyway. I made another decision then which was to stop dancing round the subject and to start thinking of Sir Rickard as a friend. He had been moving that way in my mind anyway but I had just been a little hesitant to take that leap into trusting him with my deeper inner workings of my mind.

But I needed to take into account what Kerrass and I had discussed about my growing isolation and I decided that one of the things that I needed to start changing was that I needed to make more friends. He was obviously extremely curious anyway about what Kerrass and I had been talking about for so long the previous evening and so I ran the entire thing past him.

He clapped me on the shoulder and squeezed my arm firmly in support and an expression that I took for sympathy. His eyes searched my face for a moment before he turned away.

“Well, what I think we should do,” he began. “Is to get you laid. A good hard shag, that's what you need. Or alternatively. To get so utterly, perplexingly drunk that crawling is too much like hard work. Where all you can do is locate the ground and hold on for dear life unless you might fall off. That's what you need to do.”

“To get drunk.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. Alcoholism. It's good for what ails you.” He grinned at me as though he had just given me the most divine wisdom. The type that is given to you by a hermit that sits on top of the mountain.

You know the one. The one that was chosen by the previous hermit to be his successor. That one.

“But still, it sucks.” He said after a while.

“What do you think I should do?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He stared ou at the trees for a moment before answering.

“I'm the wrong person to ask.” He said. “I never knew my father but for a while my mother took up with a man that I decided might have been my father. I was four so you have to understand that the reason I liked this guy was because he was a tough man who wouldn't take any shit from anyone without punching them in the face. He would come round to visit mother and she was always, always happy to see him. I mean that genuinely. She would be happy to see him which meant that he wasn't one of her normal marks which she would always greet with this kind of fixed expression of forced delight. It was all in the eyes you see. She liked this man. I suspect that she even loved him.”

He scratched at his stubble.

“She would always send me into another room of course. Can't have the baby watching while you got your brains fucked out by a stranger can we? That would be immoral.”

There was a certain savagery to his voice.

“I remember looking up to that man. I taught myself to walk like him, to talk like him and to act like him. I even got him to teach me to fight and show me some tricks with the knife that he always carried. I still use some of them on the battlefield and you can still see echoes of him in my character if you know where to look.”

He hawked and spat, an impressive line of sputum that splattered on a nearby rock.

“Turns out that the bastard had a violent temper. His method of getting rid of his temper tantrums was to beat on my mother. It got worse and worse over the years as he realised that my mother loved him like the fool that she was and so she put up with him rather than taking one of her, many, knives that she would have readily used on any other punter that might have tried such a thing.”

“What happened?”

“I found out.” He shrugged. “I was getting bigger and meaner myself by that point and had learnt how to lift a latch. I was, eight I think when I had a dagger of my own. Given to my by that splatter of diseased Prick Dribble as it happens. One day when it happened and I could hear the sounds of blows landing I lifted the latch and saw what he was doing. So I stabbed him with my dagger.”

He grinned briefly at the memory.

“I didn't know what I was doing though, not really and all I did was to hurt him badly. Then my beloved mother came after me with a knife. He'd rebroken her nose, her body was covered in bruises and her eye was blackening and she came at me with a kitchen knife.”

“Fucking hell Rickard.”

He shrugged. “I ran away and never went back. Still furious with both of them. My mother and that bastard. I did hear that he'd finally gone too far and choked the life out of the stupid bitch at one point.”

He chose that moment to pick his nose a bit and flick whatever he found out into the shrubbery.

“This was a couple of years later. There was a while there after that, where I saw his face in the face of every belligerent drunk that I fought, every watchman, every guard and every arrogant, superior bastard that thought he could tell me what to do and force me to do something that I didn't want. I still see that face sometimes.”

For a moment, looking at him as his voice turned savage while he described his mother and his fury at the way that she had behaved. The savagery with which he spoke was more eloquent than the actual words that he said and I thought, just for a moment, that I could see the horribly wounded child that lurked just beneath the surface.

For that moment, my trials and problems seemed to be so insignificant next to what this man had gone through that I felt guilty for having brought them up and made a huge deal out of it all.

“How did you deal with it?”

He grinned, all signs of hurt and anger left him and he was back to being the genial, charming and funny man that I had travelled with.

“I joined the army.”

He laughed at his own joke and I suspected that it was an often used punchline that he used when talking with his friends.

“Seriously though.” He said after his own mirth had died down a little. “I've taken out my anger on a lot of bastards over the years. Small people out on the battlefield that utterly deserve it mostly. But also....why do you think I hate rapists so much?”

I didn't say anything. Thinking it better that I just let him speak.

“The truth of the matter is that when I see a woman raped, I see my mother in the face of the woman and the bastard that killed her in the face of the rapist. When I can, I find the families of the woman and offer them, or the woman if she is able, the chance to take their revenge. If I can't then I take their revenge for them. I figure that it's the least I could do on their behalf.”

He grinned at me again. “Not for nothing. But I suggest that you find a different way to express your rage than the one that I found.”

“I don't think I would do well in the army.” I said after some thought.

“Oh, I don't know, we could always use a decent quartermaster.” He grinned and seemed disappointed that I didn't rise to the bait. As it turns out, being referred to as a Quartermanster is considered an insult in certain parts of the armed forces.

We were quiet for a while.

“Also, not for nothing.” He said suddenly. “But have you talked to your intended about this?”

“No.” I shuddered. “I don't want to trouble her with it.”

He stared at me for a long time.

“I read your accounts too you know.” He said. “You know that the biggest problem that the two of you had, according to your own accounts, is when you didn't talk to her. Just a thought.”

He was right, and I knew it.

“I....I'm ashamed.” I admitted. It took a great deal of effort to say those two words.

“Don't be.” He said, more kindly than I deserved. “It's what you do with your feelings that have the grounds to make you ashamed.”

He left shortly after that to go and see to the disposition of the sentries. He was taking the opportunity to run some drills including having the Sergeant take a group of men up the mountain for some “High altitude training” whatever that means. Kerrass was off doing whatever it was that Kerrass does when he's not hanging around making my life more awkward and so I returned to the cave and sat for a small while staring at the fire. I don't think that I was there for too long before I shook myself, pulled a blanket around my shoulders and pulled the cloak on on top of that. I was only wearing my shirt and trews and still had my boots on. The problem was that I was feeling the cold rather keenly.

But I pushed back out into the cool air. Not unusually there was the feeling of dampness in the air and I suspected that it would rain in a not short amount of time.

But Rickard was right. I chose a direction and I walked for a while until I found a small patch of ground under the spreading eaves of one of the larger trees in the local area. The ground was nice and dry and a cushion of woodland detritus provided a softish cushion that was still uncomfortable enough that I wouldn't fall asleep but soft enough that I could sit there for a while and be undisturbed. I leant back against the tree and took out the flame amulet that Ariadne had given me, not even a year ago. It felt as though it was part of my body by this point that I almost had to think about it to remember that it was there.

But I took it out and held it out before my eyes sot that the weak sun light could shine through it. Beams of red light shot through the red jewel and I stared into the brightness.

I wasn't looking forward to this bit. I took a deep breath and called out.

“Ariadne?”

I had a feeling, the sense of heavy paper and leather bound volumes as well as the very distinct odour of the chemical that they treat old manuscripts with in order to preserve them and the sharp, nose-stabbing scent of ink. There was something missing though and I decided that it was the smell of dust and unwashed student that was missing from the overall scent.

She was in a library.

Communicating through my pendant was always a little odd. I always had the strangest feeling that she was right next to me or just behind me, as though I could reach out and touch her. I could almost smell her, but at the same time there is this sense of incredible distance which leaves you with the overall impression that she is both nearby and at the same time, incredibly far away. At first, the sensation left me feeling nauseous and dizzy and we could only communicate in short bursts. It was another one of those instances where I always tried my best to keep my eyes open. When I had first used the thing I had taken it into my brain to close my eyes as though that might be better in the long run.

It was not.

“Betrothed?” She answered. She was trying out various different terms of address in an effort to try and decide what she wanted to call me. She had admitted that she was looking for a term of endearment that made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. Something that she could say, a small name that was between the two of us. Like so many things though, she had set about the task of finding this endearment with the focus and method of a scientist.

Being called “Betrothed” wasn't too bad on the list of things that she had called me. “Future sex partner,” and the variations on that term were a little excruciating while being referred to as “Pet,” was a little worrying.

Fortunately she herself decided that she didn't like that particular term and moved on quickly.

“You know that soon that name will be redundant.” I commented, absently putting off the moment of conversation for as long as possible.

“I know,” she answered primly. I got the sense that she was writing something down and had marked her place in another book. “But I thought I would get as much use out of the term as possible while it is still accurate.”

“I don't know,” I commented. “It's a bit....clinical don't you think?”

“Why? It's a statement of fact along with the fact that only I can call you that. Doesn't that lend it a little bit more....Ooomph?”

“I'm not sure I like it.”

“I see.”

Again that sense of movement as she pulled over a notepad and crossed something out. “I shall endeavour to find something else to call you.”

“Why not just call me Freddie?”

“You don't like it.” she stated matter of factly.

“That's true, but everyone calls me that.”

“That's kind of the point though is it not? Something that I call you that no-one else can.”

“That doesn't mean that you can't call me Freddie.”

I could almost hear her thinking. “Yes, but I want to call you something that you like. I don't want you squirming with embarrassment every time I call your name over a crowded banquet hall or over a drawing room when I'm calling for your attention. I've also been experimenting and I'm not sure I can make “Freddie” sound erotic or sexual in any way.”

I swallowed. “I see.”

“And “Frederick” sounds so formal all the time. I suspect that....” she consulted her notebook. “Yes, I have it down here for those times when I'm feeling irate with you or to attract your attention to something that I find displeasing.”

“Wait, are you looking for a different name for all occasions?”

“Isn't that how it's done?” It was always endearing how much confusion there was in her voice when she was trying to get to grips with a concept. “Anyway. What did you want to talk about.” She made a small note on the piece of paper immediately beneath her fingers before pushing it away and producing yet another notebook.

“I ummm. Saying that I “want” to talk about this is a bit of an exaggeration.”

“I see.” There was no emotion in her voice at all.

“But Kerrass and Sir Rickard both tell me that I should talk to you about it.”

“Go on.”

In slow words, I started to talk to her about the things that had happened since we last spoke. Which I was astonished had been long enough ago that I had to tell her about the defence of the village of the cave.

“Fascinating,” she said with a small amount of relish.

“Wait.” I said, “Are you making notes?”

“No,” I got a feeling of sheepish guilt from the link between us. As though she was a young child that had been caught looking at erotic illustrations in their parents bed chamber or having been caught watching a couple fornicating. I got the sense ( I know that this is a repeated phrase but that's how this works. I don't see what she's doing, or hear it. I get the “sense” of the thing. Of her surroundings and her body language. A bit of her mood and I can hear her speaking. But what I'm actually doing is “getting the sense” of these things that she is doing.) that she was hurriedly pulling other books and sheaves of notes over the book that was in front of her.

“Ariadne,” I did my best to make my voice sound dire and portentous.

“Well, mayyyybeeeee.” She was trying to make me laugh and if I had been in a better mood, she would have succeeded. Certainly it makes me laugh now whenever I hear someone else saying the word so if we see each other in a social context and I suddenly come out in fits of giggles then this is why.

There was a long pause.

“Uh....hello?”

“Hello fiance?”

I breathed out a sigh of relief. “I thought you'd gone.”

“Why would I?” She sounded surprised.

“I don't know.” I answered. I felt the tears at the back of my throat again. They were a constant presence now, never far from my mind and it felt like a constant effort to keep them down or to keep them from showing in my voice.

I could almost sense her surprise followed by her almost exasperation.”

“Have I made you angry?” I asked her in a small voice, feeling as though I was about twelve.

“Angry?” She swore for a little while in a language that I didn't recognise and doubted that, even if I knew it, I would struggle to form the words. “Why would I be angry?”

“For the weakness of humans.”

She sighed again. “No. I'm not angry with you. You are human. Anger is one of the most basic human emotions and, let's be fair to you, you have every right to be angry. You should also consider the possibility that the way you are feeling at the moment is due to the leftover toxins in your blood from when these “Hound creatures” attacked you.

“Such mind altering substances affect different people in different ways and it might be possible that it has upset your brain chemistry in such a way as to make you more susceptible to depression.” She took a moment to take herself in hand. “Sorry, I went a bit clinical there didn't I.”

“A little,” I admitted, “But it's not an unfair comment. I would counter with saying both that the others weren't affected in this way. But also that these feelings are not new to me. They certainly existed before these attacks and, I suspect and Kerrass confirms, that they have been around for a lot longer.”

“Yes, but it may be that these toxins have brought these feelings forward much further than you were used to and before you were entirely ready for them. On the other hand, it is also possible that this gives you an opportunity to head these feelings off and learn how to deal with them before they become too destructive.”

“They're pretty destructive now. They've rendered me useless. A shaking mewling thing that shivers under the blanket like a jellied eel.”

“Ah, but it hasn't sent you into murderous rage though has it?”

“That's true,”

“You may even see this as a positive thing.”

I shuddered.

“I'm not sure that I'm entirely ready to call this a positive experience.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“But now you know that it's a problem, you can take them into account and make sure that they don't overwhelm you in the future. It will take work, I have no doubt and you should be aware of that.”

“I am, but why were you frustrated?”

“I was more frustrated because I didn't know what to say.”

“You're doing fine.” I told her.

“Really? How marvellous.” She said happily. “It does take some practice though, comforting humans and I need to put the work in otherwise it's a skill that I worry that I will lose.”

“Also,” I commented. “You won't be able to play the part of clueless vampire for too long. It's going to get repetitive sooner or later.”

“I know, but if it works for now then I intend to use it for as long as I can manage.” I could sense a toothy grin before she subsided. “Do you want me to come to you?”

“Flame yes.” She was already out of her seat and gathering things up. “But, I kind of need to start building myself back up. If I see you, I might just go to pieces.”

She had settled back down. “You know that going to pieces is not necessarily a bad thing.”

“I do. But right now I feel that that's not what I need to do.”

“Then I shall stay here. But you are aware that I am here should you need to talk.”

“I know. So I haven't driven you away?”

“Whatever for?” She demanded. “For admitting that you are human? Don't be ridiculous, I am made of sterner stuff than that.” She subsided a little. “I am pleased that you talked to me about it. I do think that it's something that we need to talk about and something that we will work on for the future but you will get through this. We will help you.”

“Ok.” I said after a long while. That small fear that I had known to be ridiculous even as I thought about it began to subside. “Maybe talk to you later?”

“I would like that.” I could feel her smiling nastily. “I have wedding details to discuss with you.”

“Oh goody.”

She laughed before the contact broke.

I sat with my back up against the tree. I felt better. Speaking to Ariadne always managed to cheer me up although I was never quite sure how much of what she was telling me was due to her vampiric nature, the fact that she is so much more knowledgeable in certain areas than humanity is but in other ways, so much more naïve.

That riddle used to frighten me but increasingly now, I find this interesting. Like a puzzle that I am looking forward to untangling. But at the same time, I had the strangest feeling that I wanted to defer that pleasure. To wait for it and enjoy it at a later date. In the same way that you save your favourite morsel of food for the last bite on the plate. Or put off finishing a favourite book because you know that you will then need to put it down.

I was, and am, looking forward to my wedding day and the prospect of spending the rest of my life with Ariadne. I am still scared of her but I can no longer deny the way that I am drawn to her and how much I cherish those times that we spend talking. Now, I feel as though the fear that flutters in the centre of my chest is the same kind of fear just before you are about to kiss a woman for the first time. That fear and nervousness that you feel at the beginning of falling in love.

But right now, I felt that I needed to keep that feeling separate from where I was at the moment. I needed to focus on what I was doing and to think about what I was going to be doing over the next few weeks and months.

I sat there for a while, letting my thoughts drift and settle wherever they wanted to. The only concern was that I might fall asleep. A strange kind of peace was settling over me. The outside air was cool and damp but I was wrapped in a soft and dry blanket and my warm and waterproof winter cloak. As though I was a small bubble of warmth and softness that I could use to defend myself against encroaching cold. It was peaceful there in that small area and I found that I was enjoying the sensation of letting my brain become still.

It was a long time before I moved. In the end, the thing that got me out of my chair was the sight of one of the bastards hiding up in the branches of a nearby tree watching me. I don't know which one it was and it took me a long time to see him. What it did do though, was to remind me that my friends were worried about me. I was still feeling incredibly stiff in the legs though and it took me some time to lever myself to my feet and I stretched before picking my way through the undergrowth to get back to the rock where Kerrass was waiting for me.

I spent the rest of the day resting. I don't know why all of this had affected me so much but I was absolutely exhausted and I could feel my eyes wanting to close. When I sat and tried to talk with Kerrass, or with Sir Rickard then I found that I struggled to follow the track of the conversation. In the end though Kerrass told me that it was alright and that I should just admit defeat before I fell into the fire. He gestured towards my bedroll and I took the hint.

I spent the rest of the day alternating between gossiping with Rickard and Kerrasss. Rickard had a little more to say about what had actually been done back at Kalayn castle. He told me that he had possibly upset Sam quite a bit but that he had taken the time to inform him that he would be taking the vast majority of his men to come and follow Kerrass and myself. Which meant that he, the Sergeant and another seven men had come with us including Dan and Harris.

Bones had been left behind to continue to help care for the sick and the wounded as a castle Surgeon although there had, apparently, nearly been another fight between Rickard and Kristoff when Rickard had questioned the competence of a group of soldiers who had ridden to a combat zone without a surgeon. He had also lost Perkins who had acted as a guide to get some of the messengers out and through to the relevent authorities which had caused another fight when Rickard had asked how all of the armed men had found their way to the castle in the first place.

The excuse he had been given was that Perkins was needed to guide them out because they were concerned that there might still be agents of the Hounds in the undergrowth that might be watching everything. Rickard retorted that, of course there were still people watching everything, that we knew this, so surely speed was the best option. But Sam had put his foot down, therefore providing the moment when Sir Rickard saw his duty clearly and had left to come and follow us.

He claimed to have been a little bit conflicted before this on the grounds that he still wanted to help out at the castle but he was still under orders to help protect me. He had sent a few men to follow Kerrass and I who had left trail markers behind so that others could catch up.

He also told us that the last of the captives had died. The one that we had all held out hope for that he might have survived whatever it was that was being flushed out of his system but, either through his chemically induced madness or because of his convulsions, he had dashed his brains out against a wall.

Lovely

Father Trent had begun his missionary work in the local area, all but moving into Father Gardan's old chapel. They had left him a set of guards to keep him safe while Inquisitor Dempsey had travelled out to make contact with the church authorities being able to provide an eye-witness account as to what had happened. Not a bad idea really as the word of an Inquisitor is better on the grounds that people might take that into account a little bit more than the “simple superstitions of peasants.”

Both Kerrass and I snorted at Rickard's saying of this comment. Just because the villagers and country-folk are being superstitious does not meant that there is nothing there worth investigating. The worrying trend of the church and the civil authorities only really caring about the things that go on in the big cities and more cosmopolitan areas is a worrying trend that I hope turns around fairly soon.

I came back to myself a bit later that day and took out one of my blank notebooks and scribbled some notes. Nothing that I particularly want to share, just some observations on my own mental state and some things that I mean to look into when all of this is over. I was in the process of deciding that I needed something else to look forward to when I finally left Kerrass to pursue the path by himself and return home to be married and move on to the next stage of my life.

Ongoing self-education is a process but it's not really something that would achieve much beyond my own sphere. True, educating ones' self can be a means to an end and I certainly looked forward to doing a lot of that, especially if what Ariadne had said turned out to be true and that I would end up living for a lot longer than my previously expected lifespan. But I wanted something else. Another way that I could impact the world, or help other people to impact the world in my stead.

I jotted down a few ideas about things that I intended to pursue. The list didn't include exploring marriage with Ariadne either as I took that as read.

But I wanted some things to think about. Some other things to get excited about. Something else to look forward to that wasn't so tied up with finding the bastards responsible and killing them.

Then I sat with Kerrass and Rickard and we chatted. Small things, pointless things, going over things that the three of us already knew about our current enemies. Kerrass and I used Rickard as a sounding board for things that we remembered from Francesca's disappearance to see if he had any insight, which he didn't. He did do some positive reinforcement though, reminding us both of just how incompetent the Knights Errant had been and how he couldn't blame us for everything that had happened. That we had fallen for the distraction was not something that we could blame ourselves for and so that we could give ourselves the benefit of the doubt.

We also talked about the Hounds of Kreve, we bitched about Sir Kristoff and the other people back at the castle including a period of time where Rickard made me feel supremely uncomfortable by having a good old moan about Sam. It was a bit of a strange feeling for me that Sir Rickard, a man that I respect and admire for his skills, experience and the fact that he has come out as well as he has, despite his history, seems to dislike my brother. Another man that I respect and admire. Fortunately, Sir Rickard had the good grace to spot that he was making me uncomfortable and changed the subject rather abruptly.

Kerrass went out to train for a while and Rickard kept me company by playing gwent. Which he won, repeatedly.

In the end, I went to bed early with a belly full of soldiers stew. The difference being that it's full of salty meat and wild vegetables and a thick gravy and served over a weird kind of pancake that they made from a mixture of flour and water which I insisted on trying. The best that could be said for it was that it filled the belly although the stew was, indeed tasty. Then I was brought a tin mug of a soldier's evening “tea”. It wasn't tea but that's what they called it. I can say that it was indeed herbal, there was too much honey in it for my taste and it was so potent that I strongly suspected that it could double as the stuff that you use to clean chain-mail.

I spent a bit more time talking with Ariadne, a sight that Sir Rickard laughingly informed me made me look as though I was utterly insane. We spent time discussing the wedding service and what was going to be expected. She told me that she had discussed the matter of a dress and that she intended to go and visit Emma in order to have something called a “fitting” which is what I understand happens when women get together to try on dresses. She also had some questions about the Cult of the Eternal fire as she was getting closer to her baptism date. The questions made me squirm uncomfortably which, I have a strong suspicion, was the intention.

I woke the following morning, stiff but with the soft feeling that my brain was starting to work again. I rose, splashed some water over my face, collected my spear and went outside where I found Kerrass already up and working his own sword exercises. He said nothing, just gesturing me into place and we got back to work.

It felt good to be doing that and I felt a little bit as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, or that a shadow had departed a little. I could still feel it though, hovering above me or darkening the horizon but for right now, my brain was working and I could enjoy the physical sensation of working with my spear.

I was unsurprised that my skills had slipped a little and resolved to redouble my efforts. I also worked a little to make peace with the fact that I would be training in martial skills for the rest of my life. Even should I be a noble man and surrounded by guards. I have now seen and done too much to be able to rest on my laurels and trust that other people will guarantee my safety. I begun to get to grips with the fact that I would be uncomfortable without having my dagger to hand and would always want to know where my spear was. That was a difficult moment and a thing that I am still, at the time of writing, coming to terms with. We worked for the majority of that day, joined by Sir Rickard and Taylor. Watching Taylor and Kerrass fight was a spectacle that I won't soon forget.

That moment of surprise when Kerrass realised that he needed to raise his game a little in order to beat Taylor but also that moment of surprised delight in Taylor's face when he realised by just how much he was out-classed were absolutely priceless.

I asked him about it later and he told me that it is rare that he is challenged and that the only way a fencer can test his worth is by facing a man who is better than he is.

We set out the following day. Following the track that Kerrass and I had been following previously. Sir Rickard rode with us along with Taylor. There were two other men assigned to each of the points of the compass relative to ourselves with the Sergeant being part of the advance scouts. The plan was that Taylor and Rickard would be more of my “companions” on the road to aid with our general cover of my having paid Kerrass to allow me to follow him around. But now that I was more important, it had become necessary for me to have “bodyguards” as well as “companions” who would keep me company on the road with the suggestion that Taylor was some kind of servant or squire.

A thing that he seemed to find endless amusement with and took great delight in being extra subservient towards me whenever he got the chance in an effort to wind me up.

Which worked.

The feeling of the weight having been lifted from my mind was still there, as was the same feeling that the clouds on the horizon were a long way off, however they were still there and I was aware of them. So, I had decided that I already needed to take some steps about changing my attitude towards the world in general. I realised that I had formed a habit of relaxing in the saddle which meant that my head slumped forward slightly. That might not sound like much but what it meant was that my posture had suffered and that I spend most of my time staring at my Horse's neck.

So this was the first thing that I endeavoured to change and I rode, back straight in the saddle and trusted that my horse knew what it was doing in order to find the path or to, at least, follow Kerrass. I looked around and tried my best to take notice of the world. TO look around rather than letting myself be closed off from it. I deliberately engaged Rickard in conversation and failed to engage Taylor in the same way.

I also chose to take some increased care over my own appearance. As I had promised Kerrass, as soon as we came to a deep enough pool of water, I jumped in and bathed properly with some of the lavender plants used as both soap and so that I could have a better scent than cold sweat. I was already going to have to dress up and look all “noble” should we meet anyone after all.

So doing, we rode north and a little west, following the line of the mountain range. The land descended a little to a flatter and lower land table and we could see roads and more stable paths and increased signs of civilisation. We were still out on the edges of civilisation but there was....more of a sense of people here. That the local area was more settled. And so we continued our mission.

The first place we came to was a small village and mining town that mined salt. The people there were hardened by long years of mining the gritty, dry stuff and I didn't envy them their lives. We asked them about the God and they expressed surprise and scepticism that we were open to the idea, but they weren't overly hostile until I began asking questions about the Hounds of Kreve whereupon they clammed up and steadfastly refused to talk to us any further. Politely and calmly asking us to leave.

The next village was a farming village. A lot like the village of the cave. More a collection of buildings that serviced the local farms with a blacksmith, a mill and a tannery as well as a small thatched tavern where the farm workers would gather to drown their sorrows and complain about their masters. These men and women were a little closer to the border so they were rather firm in their denial of Crom Cruarch for fear of being called heretic, but we all had the feeling that they were a little too vehement in their denial. As though they suspected us of being spies for the eternal flame and didn't want to give the game away. They too refused to talk about the Hounds although some of our scouts told us that one of the women we talked to had been seen in the village's small graveyard, weeping at the side of a fresh grave after we had left.

This was pretty much the pattern for that time as we talked to the various villages. The nobility that we met, or at least, what passes for the nobility in that part of the world were a little different. Here, instead of Kerrass doing the majority of the talking it fell to me instead. I would approach, begging leave to talk to the noble, introduce myself which would often be enough to gain me entry whereupon I would spend a day, maybe two days “resting” in their care. I would tell them that Kerrass was hunting the creatures described as the “Hounds of Kreve” often laughing with them on the grounds that such creatures so obviously didn't exist and that he was wasting his time. But then, he was being paid to do the job and so....

I was forced to admit that the increased power of the Coulthard name as well as my own prestige was occasionally useful as without which I suspect that we would have been thrown out for the vagabonds that we were.

The first place that we came across was a small manor house which turned out to be the summer residence of quite an elderly couple. I hadn't met either of them before but I was welcomed with open arms and the enthusiasm of people who are starved for any kind of social contact. Walking through the gardens with the Lord of the manor, an old man well into his seventies who I occasionally had to help along through the more overgrown parts of his own garden, I slowly learned his story which was an exceedingly sad one. They had once been relatively important nobles in the court of King Vizimir II, Radovid's father. They had lulled themselves into a false sense of security as they had several sons and a couple of daughters who they had married off being able, at the time, to provide considerable dowry's for those daughters.

Their second son had died on the field at Sodden during the first Nilfgaardian invasion. A tragic accident that they couldn't prove was anything but an accident. The eldest son was killed in a duel over some woman which was the result of some political manoeuvring by some of their political opponents. The third son died as part of the Second invasion but it was the fourth son who had really brought about the family's downfall.

In that he was a drunk, a lecher, gambler and late in his life had turned out to be a drug addict. But now that he was the only heir to the family name it had become essential that he survive and that the good name of the family be preserved. Gradually the family wealth was eaten up to pay off his gambling debts and to hush up the scandals that this had led t before, in the end, the family had been reduced to this relatively tiny manor house on what had once been the outskirts of a considerable, royal grant of land. The youngest son had died, relatively recently on a religious bonfire outside of Oxenfurt.

I stared at the old man for along moment as he gave me this piece of information.

“Yes, I know who you are Lord Frederick.” He was a heavily bearded man although it was fairly well groomed and although his voice was weak and his body was failing him. There was still more than a little bit of a brain lurking behind the slightly cloudy eyes. “I know that you and your Witcher companion found him in the woods doing horrible things to innocent children in the woods down there. I know that it was by your action that he was killed.”

I took a deep breath. This was not the first time that I had been confronted by family members of people that I had killed. Not even was it the first time that I had met people who were family of the people who we had caught outside Oxenfurt. Those people tended to be a lot angrier though. There tended to be a lot more shouting.

“Do you hate me for that?” I asked him as politely as I could manage.

He stroked his beard for a moment or two.

“A little,” he admitted. “I would be lying if I tried to claim that I was not. Your actions have left me without an heir of my name. My eldest daughter will inherit my lands and my titles now which means that her husband will have them. Odious piece of snot that he is. Preventing her from visiting us when she wants and refusing to help out his father in law, even though it was his wife's dowry that provided the foundation of his fortune. At least they will pass on to my grandson after him but it is of small comfort to me as I head into frailty. Yes, I hate you a little.”

I took a moment to think about what to say next.

“I wish,” I began. “I wish I could tell you that I am sorry that your son died and that it was my hand that made it so. But I am not sorry. You did not see what we saw.”

“Oh I know. I know all of that. I read your account of the matter later when my grief had begun to play itself out a little.” His eyes took on a vacant kind of look. “I have gotten so damnably good at grief over the years.”

I did feel sorry then. But only for a moment.

“I am not so far gone that I don't know the truth of the matter.” He told me. “I am well aware that I lost my son years before he died. That his actions were heading towards real evil and that he was lucky to survive for as long as he did before some angry husband or brother ran him through on the duelling grounds, or in some back alley somewhere. But he didn't die at their hands. He died at yours.”

“Technically, he died at the hands of religious fanatics and local moralists who declared that he and his fellows did not deserve to live after everything that they had done.”

“Do not quibble with me Lord Frederick, it is unbecoming.”

I said nothing to that.

“I know all of these things. I know that he was already a marked man and I know that his time was limited and, indeed, I hated him myself a little. But he was my son and I loved him.”

I nodded my acceptance of the point.

We stayed for dinner which was relatively good in the form of roast pheasant with a red berry sauce. If they were going to murder me, I decided that they would already have done so and ate with relish. It was very pleasant and our hosts were gracious and good company despite their feelings towards us.

As we left the Lord came to me again.

“What are you doing here Lord Frederick?”

“My Lord?”

He smiled. “Do not act so naïve young man. I may be old but I was once a player at court. I know your brother has taken over at Kalayn castle, the scion of which was the ringleader of the Oxenfurt cult. So why are you here?”

I looked into his face for a long time. “I am here to hunt down the remains of that cult and destroy them.” I told him.

He returned my gaze for a long time before nodding. “Good,” he said. “Make them bleed Lord Frederick and you will have my forgiveness.” There was teeth in the old man's voice. And hate.

An hour later as we rode along the track, Kerrass turned to me and raised an eyebrow in question.

“We're on the right track.” I told him.

He nodded and stared ahead of himself, looking down the path.

We also had the moderate entertainment of finding several, similar sized manor houses or small castles that would probably be better described as “forts” rather than castles, or even “towers” for that matter, that were almost utterly deserted. We were able to stop and get some water from the castle well by grace of the one or two older folk that still lived there as caretakers that looked after the places while their masters were away. What it seemed was that at some stage, royalty of some sort or another had spotted that this area of Redania was relatively unsettled. So they had parcelled off the land into small chunks and started giving it out as rewards to various people that had pleased them.

Or in some cases had not pleased them in the case of courtiers who needed to be shuttled off into another part of the world and away from the public eye. Or old courtiers that had served their use and needed to be “rewarded” for their service. The most famous example of which that I can think of in recent times was the old man who had helped Queen Meve of Lyria and Rivia. When her husband had died and she did her best to exert her control over the countryside there were many people who helped her including the erstwhile Lord Burleigh. He helped her secure her throne and advised her well in military and political matters.

But by all accounts, he was an old-fashioned soldier and kept on reminding the queen that the best thing that she could do in order to secure her throne was to marry, as soon as possible. Eventually, the Queen got fed up with this enough that she declared in a proud voice that it was time for Lord Burleigh to retire to his new country estates well away from the capital that had just been awarded to him in return for his long and faithful service.

As I recall from reading about the incident, he was displeased.

Sam has a similar parcel of land on the coast of Redania to the North West of our home that he received as part of his knighthood. As far as I know, he has still never been to the place but it means that as well as calling himself Sir Samuel von Coulthard, Baron Kalayn. He can also add the title of “Lord of the chalk cliffs” or something similar. Apparently it depends on his mood and the mood of the relevant herald as to whether this kind of thing actually gets announced when he enters rooms and formal areas.

But that's the kind of countryside that we were riding through. Small castles that ruled over small domains. The largest of which contained a small staff of civil servants that made sure that the taxes were paid on time and ran administration. They were generally fairly welcoming and we were allowed to use spare rooms for the night on the grounds that such people are often left without a job when their distant masters suffer some kind of mishap at court. You know the kind, where people lose their lands or heads and so they like to make friends with whoever is passing. So we were able to eat well and maintain ourselves.

More interesting were those places where the Lord of the manor was actually at home. They seemed to fall into two camps. The first camp were those people who didn't really care about where they were. Where they really wanted to be was back in the capital. They wanted to be closer to where that elusive thing called “polite society” exists and as such were here under sufferance. Maybe because of some kind of scandal or because their enemies were in ascendency at court and they were staying out of sight until some other factor at court could begin to gain traction. These were their ancestral estates but they didn't care for them. They came back occasionally on a kind of restful holiday over the summer which is when the royals or, in more modern times, the more important folk were off hunting.

Again a thing for those people who don't know. Court tends to break for the height of summer. The public excuse for this is so that the royal personages can get away and rest up for a while. Maybe visit friends and go and make private deals and attend parties. But more often than not, the real reason that the larger cities empty of the upper, noble classes is so that they can avoid the stench and disease that almost crops up in the middle of summer. There were a great number of these kinds of families lurking around in the places that we were travelling through.

That's not to say that they were bad people you understand. Nor is it true to say that they were utterly uncaring about their people. It was more that they were neglectful. That they had other things on their mind rather than worrying about what their peasants feared in the night. Almost universally in these cases I was told that I was welcome to interrogate (their words) all the peasants (their words again) that I liked and that should I find out that this is some kind of monster rather than a group of bandits then I should get in touch with some kind of chancellor for a reward. If it was bandits then I was to ascertain whether the miscreants (I'm not making this up. They really do use words like this) were on their lands and if so I should send word and leave it to the professionals.

Most gave the opinion that these “Hounds of Kreve” were just a small group of bandits that had hit upon the cowardly nature of the lower classes (again) and were using that against them. We were told that we had already broken the backs of them during our actions against them and that they would now be in the wind, or would have cannibalised themselves in an effort to get away from us. Furthermore we were instructed to treat any story from the peasants with skepticism on the grounds that they were probably using stories of these “Hounds” for an excuse to do less work. Whether on grounds of fear or laziness.

I swear that the majority of that was not written using my words.

But nor would I say that these Lords and ladies were evil, nor particularly noteworthy in their apathy towards the trials and tribulations of the lower classes. They would simply argue that they were playing on a higher level. That they were seeking to further their own standing in an effort to provide for their lands all the better. Arguing that their wealth and prestige was the wealth and prestige of their lands and people. It is a common attitude amongst the nobility and I should also point out that using this thinking has made sure that the noble classes have remained the noble classes since our particular branch of humanity landed in the Pontar delta.

My point being that they weren't being cruel, but rather they were being...I suppose that neglectful is the best word to describe them.

I was highly amused, though, on a personal level. One of this type of Lord that we came across was known to me. He was the father of one of the many daughters that I had been sent to court for their hands in marriage before I left for university. The poor man had fallen on hard times since I had known him. When I had met him he had been living in his town house in Novigrad and my suit for his daughter's hand had been turned down on the grounds of “not rich enough for his liking, not noble enough for his wife's liking and not handsome enough to turn his daughter's head.”

That was a quote from himself by the way. He admitted as much to me when we saw each other. He also admitted that he had made a mistake on the matter. He was a more middle class nobleman who had made a lot of his money on the trading circuit but had fallen on hard times before I met him which was why money was such an important consideration in considering the suits for his daughters hand. But those self-same creditors had been angry with him in turning down my hand, given my later rise to prominence and the increased riches of the Coulthard trading company.

He was bitter that this was a development that his creditors hadn't known about either and that, originally, he had been praised for giving his daughter to someone else. But those self same nobles and merchants needed someone to get cross at for the rise of the Coulthard family and they had chosen him amongst others.

He was gracious enough to admit that he had been wrong and magnanimous in defeat to host us well. I offered him an introductory letter to Emma and took an hour and much more flowery words to say, essentially, “if you can't beat us, join us.”

I remembered his daughter as being a generally kind girl but a little too besotted with herself for my tastes. She was pretty, knew it and didn't see the need to do anything other than to look in the mirror, try on dresses and attend balls. As far as I could tell, since she had learned to read she had not read a book or written a letter since. Although I was a little disappointed at being turned down at the time, I was far from heartbroken and looking back, I strongly suspect that we might have killed each other had we married. She would certainly have run off with someone fairly quickly.

Or I might have no matter how much I would like to believe that I would remain faithful.

Human nature can be an ugly thing sometimes and I have recently been educated in the fact that there are aspects of my own character that I dislike and have avoided thinking about for a long time. That and loneliness can be a powerful aphrodisiac sometimes.

Lucky escape for both of us I suspect. In the end she had married a knight of a fairly decent family, a little older than me and had been just old enough to die in the fighting in Velen. According to my host, she presided over her household as a widow and seemed to be enjoying herself playing host to all of her suitors. He would recommend her to me again, if he had not heard that I was already betrothed and if he had any influence over his daughter at all.

I thanked him for the thought and pointed out that Sam was still without a woman in his life. The old man's face took on a predatory gleam.

This recommendation along with my letter to Emma on his behalf as well as information on what kind of flowers and sweet-meats that she likes, meant that we had a base to operate from in a few days as well as introductions to his nearest neighbours. So we were able to sleep in real beds and eat hot food every evening for a week or so before we had to bed our farewells.

So that was one kind of noble.

The other kind of noble was the kind of noble that was almost certainly involved in the “Kalayn” cult but that we couldn't prove it. In almost every way they were identical to the first kind of noble but there was something in the way that they talked when we brought up the “Hounds” that just set us all on edge. They were perhaps a little too dismissive of the concerns of their people. A little too vehement in their denials of any knowledge. There seemed to be rather more sidelong glances between the people sat at dinner and it just triggered our instincts. Both Kerrass' instinct that he was being lied as honed by the many years living on the road as well as my courtly instincts from my training and the time spent at court.

It was also prominent as to how they would try to trap us all in some kind of scandal. Sir Rickard and I, both had to work at it in order to not get drunk or to get into some kind of duel. Numerous women, including the lady of the castle in one case, tried to come to our chambers in the dead of night and I strongly suspect that if either of us had agreed to such assignations then people would have burst into our rooms and all kinds of unpleasantness would have come from it.

Sir Rickard was the best barometer. He has an instinct for battle similar to Kerrass'. Where Kerrass is aware when a monster is nearby, Sir Rickard is aware of it when people are getting aggressive towards him and spoiling for a fight. He would stiffen, his walk would change from the kind of bowlegged walk of a cavalry man crossed with the bounce that marks a man that spend a lot of his time walking through the undergrowth, to the march of a soldier. He would hold his sword stiffly and behave a bit more like the common soldier that he used to be. He would take to using monosyllabic words in conversation and start calling me “sir” rather than “My Lord” and wouldn't meet anyone's eyes, staring at a point just above their shoulders.

That's when he came with us at all. You see, one of the things that I like about Sir Rickard is that he has a habit of speaking his mind. He has a character trait, or defect depending on your point of view, that he always spoke truth to the people ahead of him. We have talked about it and he claims that it was trained into him, indeed it was flogged into him at one point, that he should always, always speak truth to superiors. What this meant in his case was that when a Sergeant ordered him to do something but he saw something that might threaten the order, then he was expected to tell his sergeant this. The sergeant needed as much information as possible in order to make the decisions.

I am well aware that this is unusual in the army but for the Harriers it is essential. Vital to their very survival. As I think I've described before, these men fight in pairs, pointing out threats and risks to each other while picking off these threats and sniping at the enemy battle line. So it was his job to point out problems to the Sergeants and the officers that were in charge of their units and to never just assume that they knew what was going on.

When he became a Sergeant himself he carried on with this. He absolutely expected that his men would tell him that he was being stupid providing that when he gave the order that his men would jump to the task assigned to them.

This carried on when he was knighted but he still spoke the truth and gave his opinion to his superiors.

Unfortunately for him, this sometimes meant that he was giving his honest and frank opinion to people who were much more powerful than him. More powerful and much, much more influential. Especially when he was assigned young knights to his command who he ordered around without caring for their personal whims and needs. If they had a military opinion then he would listen but after his orders had been given then he would expect them to be carried out.

As a result of these things it meant that he made a lot of enemies, both in the army and at court as younger sons wrote home to their parents about this jumped up ragamuffin from the ranks who had the temerity to give them orders and who then issued punishments to those people who disobeyed his orders.

Remember I told you that Sir Rickard doesn't like rapists. It would seem that some of the younger men under his command had forgotten. Long story short but there was a reason that Sir Rickard and his men, although being among the most highly trained and deadly soldiers that I have seen, were shuffled off into Redania to “aid the locals” with policing their roads.

What this meant to us was that he would periodically recognise a flag or a pennant and quietly advise us that it would be better if he stayed with his men to met us on the road after I had done my business at the castle and he would meet us on the road where we could continue our search.

But, as I say, we couldn't prove anything.

Until, one day, we could.

We came to a castle. One of several that we had seen in the area by this point that followed this particular pattern. It was the same kind of place as Sam's castle Kalayn was in that it was built primarily as a defensive fortification before anyone had chosen to make it their permanent domicile. So you could see the old walls, massive and thick, looking as though they would be impervious to any but the most sustained attack of modern Temerian artillery but then you look at the surrounding area and you start to wonder as to where such artillery would be placed. Then you find yourself starting to look at the surrounding hills and forests, noticing their uniformity and how they are all carefully set out to take advantage of things and to properly aid in the defence of the huge stone edifice and you start to wonder whether the hills and the woods were artificial. As though some kind of giant hand had shaped the land in order for this, impregnable monstrosity to be built.

“Nasty little brute,” was Sir Rickard's assessment of the structure. “You'd lose a lot of men trying to assault that place.”

Kerrass grunted in his agreement. I've seen worse on our travels. Nastier castles that could give this place a run for it's money in the unpleasantly unassailable stakes. Kaer Morhen being one, I won't count Castle Coulthard as I am by no means unbiased on that but Castle Coulthard was renovated with the most modern advances in military engineering that my father could find when he agreed to take over the place which is what adds to it's danger as a defensive fortification. It's also designed so that the locals can seek shelter there should an enemy force choose to try and invade and that's what it was designed for.

This place was different. This was a place where a garrison lived and policed the surrounding area. Looking at it, I couldn't imagine how you would fit the local populace into it at all.

As we got a bit closer we could also begin to see signs that defence was no longer at the front of the castle keepers mind. The wooden archer's steps were either falling apart or missing completely. The portcullis was raised and even from that distance we could see that the iron had a red dusting that would suggest rust and the moat was all but non existent. Instead you could see a slight dip in the ground where the moat had used to be before people, whoever that might be, had filled in the land with earth for pasture or whatever else that you might do that kind of thing for. We could see soldiers using it to drill.

There was also a small town or large village beginning to spread out from the castle's walls. You often see that kind of thing around the larger cities where the walls were built but then, as the years pass, more and more people come to the city but can't find the room inside the walls. So they build a hut outside the walls. Then a merchant decides to set up a stand there to feed the people that queue up before the main gate is opened. Then someone opens a beer tent which later turns into a tavern before slowly, the city starts to creep beyond the initial defensive walls. It takes a stern ruler to keep this from happening but it can be dangerous from a tactical standpoint. Often it's these areas that house the cities livestock and industry so that if an invading army were to turn up then it would mean that all the food supplies would be outside the wall.

Human nature at it's finest.

There was not a lot of wind that day and as a result, the banner was slumped, loose as a rag, next to the wall and so it wasn't until we were starting to pass workers in the field and we saw a guard that we saw any kind of heraldry. The heraldry in question was that of a black crown of antlers. The field behind the crown was gold on the top and dark blue on the bottom and the two were separated by a thin red line.

“I know that flag,” I muttered, searching through my memory. Heraldry is a required subject for someone in my position. “The Lord's Cavill” I declared with some satisfaction. It's always slightly gratifying when you remember something important and get to prove your learning to your fellows. “Currently led by Lord Alain Cavill. Really old nobility. Surprised that they're out here to be honest although I never heard of them going to court. One of that particular clique that condemned my family for being “jumped up merchants”

“And that's a nasty little brute too.” Sir Rickard muttered.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

“I knew his son.”

“ Knew?” Kerrass asked. “Past tense?”

“Yeah. Stupid little sod tried for glory didn't he, leading a group of men off into the opposing ranks. Had some damn fool idea of going after the enemy standard.” Rickard shifted in his saddle. “Had all kinds of ideas that chivalry is a shield on the battlefield and that the only people that would fight him were of similar or greater rank to himself. I think he was honestly astonished that some lowly little peasant had the balls to stick his horse with a pike before he was beaten to death while still demanding quarter and offering ransom. When we recovered his body, he had been stripped. Everything of value had been taken off him including several gifts that had been given to him by his father. He looked very surprised as I recall when we discovered the body.”

“I sense there's more to this story.”

Rickard sighed before nodding. “There is unfortunately. I was the nearest knight at the time and I didn't go to his rescue or follow his directive to follow him. It was one of those situation to be honest with you. I would have gotten myself and all of my men killed and the stupid little snot would still have been trampled to death. But I was a “jolly jump up” and a Temerian which meant that I didn't have the friends at court to protect myself from the bastards when they came after me later. One of those situations. My superiors agreed with me but the courtiers at the capital agreed with Lord Cavill. It was a mess and if we hadn't been at war I would probably have been in some rather hot water.”

He looked at the soldier with a sour twist to his mouth.

“Probably better for everyone if I go around.” He commented. “We're leaving here by the east road after this right?”

“We are,” Kerrass confirmed. “We need to start heading back towards the mountains. Getting too far into civilisation for my comfort. Our enemies need ignorance and isolation to thrive.”

Rickard nodded. “Then the lads and I will meet you a little way down the east road.”

“Careful,” I told him. “If these people are as pleasant as you suggest then we might be coming in a bit of a hurry.”

“We'll be ready.” Rickard rode off.

“Alone at last.” I commented.

“Save the romance for your wedding night.” Kerrass commented.

“Kerrass,” I began as we turned out horses back towards the castle. “I've been to weddings. By the time we've had the ceremony, the presentation, the reception, the party, the portraits and everything else. Are we going to have time for any romance?”

Kerrass smirked.

“Are you honestly going to tell me, honestly going to look me in the face and tell me that after all this waiting and all this time of self imposed celibacy since you've been betrothed. Are you honestly telling me that the two of you are going to wait one second longer than you possibly have to to tear each other's clothes off and get down to the serious business of seeing if a vampire can produce offspring with a human.”

“You make it sound so loving.”

“All I'm suggesting is that by that point, you in your best suit, her in her best dress. You might want to escape early and get down to some good hard shagging and....what was it you said?....Seeing If her erogenous zones really do line up with what you are used to.”

“Mmmm.” I commented, my mind going blank for a second before giving myself a little shake. “But that doesn't change the fact that by the time that she's done organising things, Emma...”

“And the Empress,” Kerrass put in.

“Oh, holy flame. I had forgotten that she might want to get involved. But by the time all is said and done, will we have time to get down to business. We might both of us be absolutely gagging for it but, although the mind might be willing. I might just pass out due to alcohol poisoning and exhaustion.”

“Not an invalid concern.” Kerrass admitted. “So we shall start working on raising your tolerances. We have been lax on this matter for some time and it is my duty as a best man to start training you up.”

“You take your duty very seriously do you?”

“I do. Certainly seriously enough that I'm sure I can find some kind of potion to ensure your stamina on the night in question.”

I would be lying if I said that I didn't muse on this idea for a little while.

“I would remind you that Witcher potions are probably fatal to me.” I told him.

“Who says anything about a Witcher potion?”

I nearly fell of my horse as he out and out grinned at me. After a moment the grin subsided into a more genuine smile. “You seem better.” He decided.

“I feel better to tell you the truth.” I told him.

“Good.”