We weren't going to make it.

I don't know when the thought first came to me but I do know when I first said it aloud. I was crouched in a thicket of thorns watching the back trail. Rickard was next to me and my breathing was shallow. I was breathing carefully, trying not to let the noise carry but it was pointless. The fog had descended, it had been the second one since we had set out from the Elven camp and that had contributed to the ominous feeling. It was only a light mist really, not even worth the name, but it hung in the air like a blanket and it seemed to leech away what little of my strength I had managed to hoard for a time like this.

We crouched as we watched four of the men hunting us. One of them had dismounted and was examining out tracks with the analytical eye of an experienced tracker. We had seen him get down from the horse carefully, looking at the sign of our passing from a little distance away before slowly approaching the marks that had been seen. He bent, got close to the thing that he had noticed and seemed to sniff, the general kind of uplifting of the head that I always associate with Bloodhounds when they're trying to get the scent, before bending even closer to what he was looking at.

I had no idea what it was. We had been careful, as far as I knew, but it was clear now that we hadn't been careful enough. The other three men waited for the tracker to finish doing his job. These men were different from the rabble that we had dealt with before. These were not the drug and pleasure addled conscripts that had been taken from the local villages. These were professional men despite their cowls and voluminous cloaks. Their equipment was well made and they handled it well and easily. They rode correctly as well. It's a quality that I couldn't really tell you about but I know it when I see it. Men born and trained to the saddle sit on their horses differently to those who learned their horsemanship later in life. Rickard is one such man. The few times I've managed to persuade him onto the back of a horse, he rides like a sack of potatoes and promises violent retribution any time I try to give him any kind of advice.

These men were different. Their horses were proud and well trained. Well fed and built for speed. They wore swords and daggers rather than the broken down bits of metal that were forged for their psychological effect rather than for any kind of practical use. There were proper grips on their swords and they held them out of their way with subconscious ease so that they didn't trip.

These men were hunters.

The tracker straightened from whatever it was that he was examining and scanned around himself, staring into the trees and bushes around him. One of the others called to him and he turned, reluctantly, to talk to his fellows.

This was enough for Rickard who reared up out of the bush, drew the arrow back that he had nocked to his bowstring sometime before, and fired. The arrow shot from the bow string making that odd buzzing noise that I have not found anything like. Some bards and minstrels have likened it to the sound of a harp string being plucked but I have to disagree. It sounds like an arrow being fired and nothing else. It shot down the path and buried itself low in the trackers back, the impact sending the man sprawling into his mounted comrades shoe. Even from where I crouched I could see that Rickard must have hit him in the spine as he had lost control of his legs, he was holding onto his friend's stirrups as he began to collapse. I couldn't see it but I could easily imagine the look of confusion as to what was happening to him.

The other arrows started flying then. Rickard was already nocking another arrow and choosing his next target, he was enough of a marksman to know that his first arrow had killed his man but his arrow was redundant. We had another three of the bastards with us and the two Elven Scoi'Tael veterans who had adapted to taking Rickard's orders with an ease that I found off-putting.

Another arrow joined Rickard's in the trackers back, higher up but it seemed to bite deeper. The tracker had realised that he was dying now and sank to the ground. The horseman that he was talking to also took two arrows, one to the neck and another to the chest, the impact of which knocked him backwards so that he almost fell off his horse. Some instinct made him keep hold of the reins though so he was able to right himself before he realised that the wound his neck was spurting too much blood and toppled sideways.

Of the other two horsemen, one took an arrow in the chest and was falling but the impact drove him into the flight path of the last arrow meant for his remaining comrade. The one furthest away from our ambush party. He turned his horse and was already kicking it up to the gallop.

Rickard jumped up and drew his own bowstring back to his cheek before some instinct made him stop. There was no way anyone could make that shot. The last man had gotten away.

“Dan?” Rickard snarled. “Bring him down.”

The old poacher hawked and spat. I didn't know where he was, somewhere behind me but I couldn't take my eyes of the horseman still escaping. I heard the creaking sound of his bow being drawn. Another pause before that sound again. It sounds like an odd kind of cracking buzz. I know that makes no sense when I read it but that's what it puts me in mind of

The wait felt like eternity as we watched the arrow disappear into the mist that obscured the treetops from us. I could barely make out the shape of the horseman as he flogged his horse for everything that he was worth. There was no way that Dan's arrow could hit a moving target at that.....

But then the horse reared and fought as the horseman's dead weight pulled at the reins before tumbling from the saddle.

“Shot Dan.” Rickard told him. “Get the horses.” He ordered the others. We have sick and wounded and we need them.”

A couple of the other men murmured their congratulations to Dan on the quality of his marksmanship. Even one of the Elves clapped him on the shoulder, a sight that lifted my heart a little but there was simply no getting away from the realisation any further.

“We're not going to make it.” I know I said it aloud because Rickard grabbed me by the shoulder and marched me firmly away from the others.

“Never say that,” he snarled. It is always a shock when I see Rickard the soldier and man of violence underneath the genial and good natured man that befriended me. “Never say that again. If I hear you say that again in anyone's hearing, whether that's mine, Kerrass', Chireadean's or any fucker else, I will pull your bollocks off with my bare hands. You hear me?”

I said nothing, my mouth opening and closing in shock and the sudden assault from an unexpected source.

“Do you hear me Freddie?” He demanded again. He was being quiet so that others wouldn't hear but there was an insistence and desperation.

“I hear you.” I whispered in a shocked quiet voice.

He let go of my shoulder then, smoothing down my tunic. “Never give up.” He whispered fiercely. “Never say die. Not you. If you say it and the men hear it, or the Elves or.....For fuck's sake, even Kerrass isn't in the best of shape at the moment. If you start saying it then we're already dead. Never say it. Never say die.”

“Never say die.” I echoed.

“Say it again. Like you mean it.”

“Never say die.”

He spun away and stalked off.

But they were going to catch us now. There was nothing that we could do to stop it.

By the time that this event happened, we were maybe a week out from the Elven camp and our most optimistic estimates said that we were ten days away from any kind of reinforcement.

-

I don't think there are enough words in the northern language to say how good it was to see the rest of the Bastards when we all walked back into the elven camp ad started unloading their packs. Men that I barely knew as well as those soldiers that I had spent the most time with, were coming up to me and embracing me with a smile and a joke. The mood was infectious as well so that before long the Elves were coming out of the trees to meet these strange new humans that we had brought into camp. The bastards took it in their stride and were full of jokes and insults that they gave out with a good nature and an utter lack of any kind of rancour.

I noticed one soldier, Cooper I think, who was striking up some banter with an elf that he referred to as a “pointy eared bastard” before the elf, slightly bemused managed to seal some kind of eternal friendship by referring to Cooper as a “Filthy Fucking Human” to Cooper's astonished pleasure.

My shock must have shown as Rickard came up to me “You would be surprised how often it happens.”

“What do you mean?”

“Soldiers and fighters on opposite sides of a war, realising that they have more in common with each other than they do with the people that they're fighting for. I saw it in the two wars that I fought in, before and after the big battles while the armies were still lining up for the fighting in the morning, sentry lines would cross, someone would trade a joke, someone else would offer some tobacco and before you know it, squads of men are trying on each other's helmets, sharing rations and having a party, only to try and kill each other the following day and grieve for each other the day after that.”

“These are hardly soldiers on opposite sides.” I told him.

He looked at me strangely. “Of course they are. The war has stopped for a while, that's all, but just for a moment, they realise that universal truth.” he smiled as he realised that he was in a position to goad me into asking the questions.

“What truth?” I asked him, as I knew he wanted to be asked.

“People as a whole are ignorant, dumb and want to take your shit away from you. But if you meet that person in a bar, then they get the opportunity to see past the enemy trying to kill you and see the man, the man who probably has a wife and children. Who joined the army so that he can get a share of the rations and a sense of pride in whatever it is that they're doing.”

“I'll take your word for it.” I told him.

“Fucking nobles.” He said without anger.

We found Kerrass sitting just away from the camp. At first I thought he was meditating but if he was it was unlike any of his meditation that I'd ever seen. He was muttering to himself and frowning with an intense concentration that was off putting. He saw me first.

“Why did they kill the children Freddie? Why would they do that?” He demanded.

“Desperation.” I told him, “because one child's life is better than losing the rest?”

He shook his head. “But they could have left instead. If you were told to sacrifice your children, wouldn't you flee?”

“I would fight.” Rickard said. “But that's just me.”

Kerrass grinned as he seemed to see Rickard for the first time. “I would shake your hand but....” He shrugged. “Freddie got me my arms shattered.”

“Yeah he told me. Careless of him.”

“Good to see you.”

But Kerrass was already distracted by something. “They killed the children. By anyone's account, that's evil.”

“It is....”

“So why did they do it?” He didn't expect an answer, he had already sat back down and had gone back to staring into space.

“We were gonna talk about what to do next.” I told him. “You wanna come....I don't know......contribute?”

“mmm?” He looked startled by the question, as though I'd slapped him across the face.

“Kerrass, Now that Rickard's here, we need to talk about what we're going to do next.”

“Ah.....No, leave me out of it. Just tell me where to go and what to do.” His head tilted to one side as a thought occurred to him but then he shook his head again dismissively, “No, I need to think. Just leave me to it.”

He'd already gone back to staring into space before he'd finished speaking.

“Is he alright?” Rickard asked me quietly, not quite in a whisper.

“Flame no.” I answered leading him off. “He's not being taking his Elixirs for a good week or so but now he's taking rough approximations of them rather than the actual things, and that could mean anything. He's tired as well I think, more than he has been in a long time.”

“And those injuries would weigh on a man. Especially a fighter like him.” Rickard shook his head. “I would hate feeling that helpless and I'm not a Witcher.”

I grunted my agreement.

“So anyway.” Rickard said. “I have news.”

“Tell me that it's good news.”

Rickard pulled a face. “It's not great I'm afraid. In fact it's pretty fucking awful.”

“Wonderful.”

The Bastards were already in the process of making themselves at home. A couple of them had sat down with some of the Elves, straightening out arrows and reattaching feathers to the shafts with the small pots of glue that they carried everywhere. In a mirror to the earlier scene in the village, the men were building a fire and preparing a stew, the smells coming from it were already causing my mouth to water. Another couple of the men were oiling their bows and checking their bowstrings which attracted a couple of the more curious Elven archers and they were soon talking shop.

In different languages which I found interesting. Obviously not able to entirely understand each other but there was some kind of common understanding there.

I was astonished. I had never head the words “D'hoine Filth” said with such affection before as Dan showed one of the elves how to keep his bowstring free from damp by using candle-wax to coat it. The fact that Dan called the elf “pointy eared fucker” was not lost on me, just as I suspect that it wasn't lost on the Elf either but there we go. It was strange and oddly heartening to see. That two groups of people that would have tried to kill each other without hesitation before, would so quickly be inspired to form firm and long lasting friendships.

I was not alone in my bemusement though. I could see the Elven woman stood on the edge of the camp, arms crossed firmly across her chest, glaring at everything that moved. No-one seemed to be completely free of her baleful gaze and it struck me, as it sometimes did, that if eyes really could shoot flames like in the old children's stories, then many of the people there, Elf and human alike, would have burst into flames.

Nearby, there was a small group of men clustered round the Sergeant, the giant, bearded Skelligan. For reasons best known to himself, he had been unable to take his eyes off the poor woman.

I say poor because, to all intents and purposes she seemed absolutely oblivious to the attention that she was getting from him.

“Do I need to warn him?” I wondered aloud to Rickard as we walked past.

Rickard grinned. “Nah, the worst that could happen is that she claws his eyes out and it would be his own fault as well. But she will never have a truer defender as long as he's alive.”

“What if she doesn't want defending?”

“Then that too, will be a good lesson for him.”

I considered this. “He's older than me.” It seemed a pertinent observation for reasons that now escape me.

“And me, but I don't think he's ever fallen in love with anyone before. At least not in a lasting way.”

I stared at Rickard opened mouthed. “I thought he was married.”

“He has been, several times as I understand it. Divorce is common in Skelligan society if the woman doesn't think that her man is pulling his weight. He was always overseas on campaign and as such he has never held onto a marriage. He's never been broken hearted though.”

Rickard lowered himself to the floor with a sigh.

“Believe it or not, he's the unit's mother figure. If there's ever a stray animal or a street urchin or something that follows us around, it's him that puts some of his rations aside in order to keep the thing fed. He takes in theses women, falls for them, looks after them but then they feel smothered by his affections. He's the kind of man who should have been born in Toussaint. Some kind of questing knight but.....He's also a Skelligan. He needs a strong woman to come back at him and challenge him and drive him.”

“She hates humans.” I warned him. “And from what I've heard, out of everyone, she has amongst the best possible excuses for doing so.”

Rickard shrugged. “If we get out of this alive then I'll worry about my Sergeant's love life. Find him a nice girl in Coulthard lands and get him settled down. But until then, if a gentle infatuation with a fierce Elven Warrior woman is going to get him through what's coming, then who am I to get in the way.”

He plucked a piece of grass from the ground and played with it for a long time. It occurred to me then, for the first time since the euphoria of seeing him again, that he was just as tired as I was, if not more so.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

He looked around, checking that there was no-one listening before sighing and addressed the air.

“Come out please, I would rather not have to have this conversation twice.”

“You really must tell me how you do that,” Chireadean was smiling as he stepped from around a nearby tree. “I am confident that I made no sound.”

“You really want to know?”

The Elf nodded.

“You take better care of yourselves than humans do.”

“I don't.....”

“I will finish the lessons in woodscraft later.”

“I will hold you to that.”

“And I will not forget.” Rickard retorted. “The opportunity to teach an Elf something about sneaking through the forest is not something that I should pass up if I'm given the opportunity.”

Chireadean grinned. “To be fair, I am a city Elf.”

“But you are an Elf.”

“Boys,” I chided. “This isn't getting us out of this mess.”

“No,” Rickard's mood subsided. “No it's not.”

“What's it like out there?”

“Honestly? You threw them. Be proud of that Freddie, you threw them. They have honestly no idea where you are.”

“You don't say that like it's a good thing.”

“Well, in fairness it means that you're still alive now, but that's not the point of this exercise. They're still patrolling this side of things but the fact is this. We're about three weeks away from Kalayn lands, give or take.”

“What makes the margin of “give or take”?” Chireadean asked.

“Conditioning.” Rickard answered promptly. “Not being funny but I'm exhausted and although the lads and I have lived fairly well off the land since I last saw Freddie, before too much longer that strain is going to show. And Freddie looks worse than I had hoped for.”

“I feel fine.” I protested.

“Liar,” Rickard told me. “You look like an undercooked egg, all pale and runny.”

“Thanks.”

“Don't mention it. You've been resting for a couple of days would be my guess but that's nothing. I've seen men in your state before and they needed a good week's bed rest and a proper diet before they were back up to full strength. We just don't have the luxury of that kind of time. Don't take offence Freddie,” he said as he saw me beginning to bridle. “What you and Kerrass have done is superhuman but sooner or later that's going to hit you like a shovel in the face and then we're going to have to carry you. You're just not built for this.”

“I've been on the road for.....”

“I know Freddie, I know.” Rickard tried to be gentle but it came across more that he was tired. “You're still in better shape than the majority of the toffs that I used to have to carry around on campaign back when I was a Sergeant, much better shape, but I've been conditioned to be a fighter since I was three. Most of the lads are the same. And we haven't been deprived of food, water and whatever else was done to you. And like it or not, it's you that we have to get through to get the word out. You are the only one of all of us who isn't expendable.”

I turned away from him. An awful guilt settled into the pit of my stomach.

“We had already come to that realisation,” Chireadean said into the silence that came after that.

I forced myself to turn back to the conversation. “So what's between us and Kalayn lands?”

“There are three patches of land that you would have to cross between here and there. That's presuming we don't go by road.”

“Why not?” Chireadean asked. “I know there's an answer but I....”

“They're patrolled heavily and covered in spies and informants. Not that they would do so willingly but I've already seen Hounds beating up villagers to get the information that they want. They don't torture the adults, instead....”

“I get the idea.” I told him. “So we're hemmed in by the road on one flank and the mountains on the other?”

“Correct. The problem is the narrow bit where the road skirts closer to the mountains before veering off to the west again and the terrain opens up into hilly wilderness where your brothers lands are at the Southern border of. We've already scouted it all out while we were being seen to be “looking for you” and that's going to be the area that kills us.”

“So optimistic,” Chireadean chided.

“Always expect the worst and then you will never be disappointed.”

“Military wisdom?” I asked Rickard.

“Yes, that and “No plan survives first contact with the enemy. Therefore you should spend all your time on thinking about what you're going to do when the plan goes wrong.” The earliest things that I was taught when I was learning how to lead men.”

“Lovely.”

“So we have three options to get through that land.” Rickard went on. “Running through them east to west, There is a small mountain pass, an open valley, mostly populated by shepherds and their sheep and finally a wooded area which is the one closest to the road and what passes for civilisation in this part of the world. All three areas are watched and patrolled heavily.”

“How heavily?”

“They've been doing this a long time and there's a reason that no-one's gotten out to tell the world what happens here.” Rickard said. “The people manning this area of land are Cavill's veterans and they know what they're doing and what they do is hunt fugitives through the woods.”

“How do you know that?” Chireadean asked

“Because I'm in the same line of work.” Rickard told him, “And they guard those three passes well with encampments and regular patrols. Even if we got through without being seen, which is a big “if” by the way, then they would almost certainly see signs of our passing and be able to call up reinforcements which would mean that the chase is on and this time you wouldn't have a days head start. Our trail would be fresh and they would come down it with everything that they have. Reinforced by the local camps.”

I blew out a breath. “No chance that we could conceal a trail?”

“I doubt it. They know the land, much better than we do. They would know the clues.”

“How far away is this area from where Freddie here needs to get to?” Chireadean asked.

“Maybe seventeen days as near as we can figure it and Kalayn lands are a good three weeks away from where we sit.”

“Ok,” I said, “I have some more stupid questions that I know are stupid but they need asking anyway. Is there any sign that Sam knows something is wrong and is coming for us?”

“Not that we've seen. Also, something that you probably don't know. A lot of the local lords in this area have put out a bounty on pigeons. Five copper for every pigeon brought down.”

Chireadean whistled. “Cheapskates.” He eventually decided.

“You are not wrong, but even if word was being sent, there is every chance that it has been shot down.”

My hand went up to my neck where my old amulet would once have hung. A reflexive gesture, begun and ended before I realised what I was doing. I'm pretty sure that Rickard saw it but he said nothing.

“What if we turn round and go back north?” I asked. “I know that this is one of those stupid questions again but, you say I've lost them, maybe we could come out the other end and appeal to a local garrison that might be more trustworthy.”

“I did think of that.” Rickard told me. “And it would be a good idea but for the fact that they have a line of beaters moving along, maybe three days back thataway.” he waved off in the general direction of North. “Again, they know their business and they will find us eventually, it's the same reason that we can't just stay here and wait for help. They will find us, we could fight them and burst through the line, but then they know where we are.”

“Diversion,” Chireadean suggested. “A false trail.”

“Require time, time that I don't think Freddie has. He feels better now but if Freddie has to go off on his own again then I don't think he will make it. Even if we give him a pack full of food and water.”

“So we break through and then run South. That's what you're telling me right?”

“Pretty much. We are neither equipped, provisioned or ready to go over the mountains. North and West will result in us being seen and probably caught as well, apart from being in the wrong direction. It has to be South. But lets not lie to ourselves about our chances.”

“So which one are we going to pick?” I finally asked after a long silence. It seemed fitting to have a moment of silence after that, I couldn't have said why but there was something about the finality of that that called for a pause during which neither Rickard, myself or Chireadean looked at each other.

“You're asking me?” Rickard asked, surprised. “I'm used to doing what I'm told. Being given an objective and then getting the job done. Not dictating strategy?”

“Not being funny, Ricky but who else am I going to ask?”

I saw the corner of Rickard's lips twitch. “Ricky?”

“Yeah, I'm trying it out. My point being that I can run. I can be a fugitive but lets say that you're right. Let's say that I can't run that much further.”

“Which you can't,” He insisted.

“I tend to agree for what my opinion's worth.” Chireadean put in.

“But let's say that that's true, then you're going to have to help me. That means that it's a troop movement and military action and I know absolutely nothing about that. And before you come out with some kind of speech that tells me that I'm more competent than I think I am then I will call you out for your bullshit here and now. I've been getting a lot of those little talks recently.”

Rickard sighed. “None of them are good choices. The simple fact of the matter is that if we go through during the night and manage to avoid being seen then our tracks will be seen in the morning. They have camps watching the passes on either side,” He sketched it out on the floor with a stick. It looked like four vertical lines with three spaces in between.

I I I I

“With the line to one side being the mountains and the other side being the road which, as I say, is patrolled and garrisoned.”

“So each of the four lines are ridges?”

“In one case it's a camp up against the mountain that has a perfect view down into the pass below them. They have an opposite number on the facing path. As soon as they see us then they can mount up and charge down the path.”

“Ok, that doesn't sound too healthy. The middle one's a valley?”

“Yes, wider but with a similar arrangement.”

“And the last is an open area with trees and farmlands.”

“Yes.”

“How big are the camps?” Chireadean asked.

“Big,”

“How big?” Chireadean insisted with a faint smile.

“You're suggesting that we attack the camps?”

“Yes.”

Rickard shook his head. “There's a good fifty men in there, half a company each. We would need to take them all out without someone getting away and giving an alarm. I did think of that and it would certainly mean that we could flee along the line that they are guarding as the Hounds on the other side of the valley would be watching the floor of the valley. But I just don't have the men to guarantee the success of a raid like that. We could probably take them. But we would lose men and there's no way that we could do it quietly. It would also not buy us more than a couple of days at most. They check the camps regularly.”

“A couple of days could make the difference though.” Chireadean sucked his teeth. “Fifty men. Would a dozen good Elven archers help?”

Rickard looked up in surprise before glancing over at me. “Look,” he began. “I appreciate the offer but this is not looking good. We're not asking....”

I was so surprised at the sudden offer that it took me a moment to join in with Rickard's objections. “I'm grateful Chireadean but you and your folk have done enough for Kerrass and I, more than enough.”

“Shut your stupid human faces.” Chireadean was smiling. “There are thirty of us here but only a dozen are fighters and the rest will need to come with us. As you say, there's a line of hunters coming through which means that sooner or later we're being boxed in as well. If we'd just left you to die then we might have gotten away with it but they'll know we helped you and that would be just the kind of thing that would give them an excuse to wipe us out.

“But that's not the reason I'm offering. We've been talking it through, the other Elves and I. Freddie's right. This needs to be stopped and these fuckers need to be wiped out. Who would we be if we didn't try and help? And if I am to die, I would like it to be a cause with no moral greys. There have been too many of those in the past.”

He smirked.

“Think of it as our last act of fealty to the crooked King. Even if he isn't what we think he is, then he can be what we thought he was for a little while at least. He owes us that much.”

Rickard was nodding.

“Will the Elves follow my orders? Or am I going to be following yours?”

“Oh, they'll follow your orders, they seem to think you're some kind of miracle worker Sir Rickard. They think it's destiny.”

Rickard shifted his weight. “Not sure how I feel about that. He stared at his crude diagram for a bit longer. “Right then,” he said after a long moment.

We rested up for the rest of that day. Rickard and Chireadean insisted on this, saying that Kerrass and I would need all the strength that we could muster while Rickard also argued that the Bastards would need a bit of time to catch up on sleep and take some time to do nothing at all. Which they did with abandon. It's never ceased to amaze me how easily soldiers can fall asleep, anywhere and at anytime, it doesn't matter how uncomfortable the ground might be or how confined the area might be, if there are soldiers about and they've done everything they need to, oiled and maintained their weapons and armour, done the camp chores, eaten, drilled and done their turn at the duty then they will normally find a nice patch of ground, in the sunlight if they can, before curling up and falling asleep almost instantly.

And, I don't know if this is true for other soldiers but I certainly know that the bastards never ,ever snore.

Kerrass snores. All the time, and it sounds like a wood saw cutting through a particularly stubborn tree.

The other motive, I think, was so that Rickard could get to know the people under his command. He put the Elves through their paces, watched them shoot, went on a little patrol with them and got to know their names. But not just their names.

When I first met Rickard, he had been working with the bastards for some time so it did not surprise me that he knew all their names and their histories. But as I watched, Elves who, and I know that this is racist of me to say, I could barely tell apart, Rickard could not only name, but also knew their nick-names and acceptable name shortenings as well as a bit of the history about each person.

It leant truth to the theory that I was once told about Rickard that the reason that he was knighted was that he was too much of a leader of men to be allowed to remain in the rank and file.

But he laughed and he joked, trading insults with easy charm and grace and it took that time to weld the two groups together into a unit. This was undoubtedly helped by the fact that Chireadean followed him around and called him Sir.

The entertainment for that day was provided by the ham-fisted attempts by the Sergeant to woo the Elven woman. An activity which everyone seemed to find hilarious as it was plain to everyone that she was not interested but, far from this making the entire situation uncomfortable, he was obviously so utterly incompetent at the process as well as being so clearly besotted with her that it became almost sweet. He brought her food, picked flowers for her and composed poetry. This always brought a snort, or a sneer from the lady in question before she stalked off in a huff to the cheers of Elf and Human alike.

I have genuinely no idea whether both the Sergeant and the Elf were in on the joke, but that was the other thing that brought the two disparate people together, almost despite themselves.

I found the entire thing oddly romantic. I still maintained that he stood no chance with the lady in question but it was made sweet that he took every rejection in his stride and was absolutely indomitable in his romance.

No matter how bad his poetry was. And it was pretty bad.

We set out at dawn the following morning where it soon became clear that a few days rest had been absolutely vital to my well-being, but also not nearly enough. It was a lot like being drunk although without the more pleasant side effects. I found it hard to concentrate beyond the most basic tasks, eating, walking and dressing myself as well as the cleaning that Rickard insisted that we all did on a daily basis. We moved slowly and furtively, broken into groups as we moved from point of cover to point of cover.

It soon became clear that Rickard and the bastards had done much more than just follow our back trail since the last time that we had seen them and they led us south with unerring accuracy. But it was a careful movement, slowly, scanning the horizon while listening, even smelling for signs of pursuit. I remember trying to tease him about it.

“Can you smell the hunters?” I asked him

“No,” he said. “I can smell cavalry. Horse sweat and saddle rot.”

We were camping at the time, huddled round the hole that we had dug for a small fire. Rickard had insisted that we should, wherever possible, be enjoying hot food on the grounds that there would shortly be some times where hot food would be impossible to come by.

“Is that how you knew that we were there?” Chireadean asked. “And how you knew that I was listening to your conversation with Freddie? You said you would tell me.”

“I did,” Rickard said with a smile. “The answer is that Elves smell different. I don't know why and if you're that close, it doesn't matter whether you're upwind or down wind. I suppose that it's something to do with diet as well as sweat working different for you.”

“We are, generally, better smelling than humans.” Chireadean agreed with a grin.

“But that's the point. I knew someone was there because of the movement of the trees and the forest, the lack of insects....”

“We don't hurt animals except when we need to eat.”

“No, but you have bulk. The simple act of being there means that you have displaced air and leaves and whatever else that should have been there. And you smell of Lavender that you use to clean yourself. That's why I knew you weren't human. As for sneaking into camp. I have never seen a more perfect set up for an ambush.”

“That was the idea.”

“I know, it was too good for a villager ambush, we knew that the Elves were in the area so....it had to be you.”

“How.....underwhelming.”

“It's always the same when you learn how the magic trick is done.” Rickard said with an answering smile to Chireadean's. “But, if you really want to sneak up on a human, eat more meat and bathe less often. The human will assume that the stench that he is getting is his own.”

“But the cost,” Chireadean shuddered.

I was already falling asleep by this point and rolled over, leaving the pair of them to bicker. It seemed to take us a long time to get there by my count. I know, on a conscious level that Rickard and Chireadean were taking the time to get the two sets of people to work as a unit. I know that Elves and Humans were learning to communicate and work together. But I chafed at the slow pace. Even though I could barely stand at the end of the day.

Seeing the enemy camp up on the hill almost came as something of a relief. It was, how can I put this. We've all seen those temporary forts that get thrown up by armies as they pass through a place. Wooden posts hammered into dug pits with a couple of openings for people to come in and out of along with a couple of Watch-towers that I'm not sure I would trust my life to. The Nilfgaardians can erect a large one that would put some castles to shame in terms of size and fortification in the space of a couple of hours.

This was not one of those. Once, maybe, it had been erected with professionalism and a sense of duty. Probably as some kind of “temporary” place holder so that, eventually, someone would come along and do the job properly with stone and mortar and foundations but then never got round to it.

It was a good place for a lookout fort as well. Commanding view of the local countryside, certainly of the valley that it was defending against but it just looked as though it was uncared for, unloved in some way.

The closest equivalent in my memory was the enclosure that surrounded Bishop Sansum's church but it's only reminding me of that now as I sit down to record the memories. At the time, I just felt that it looked sad and decrepit.

But absolutely dangerous.

We had not seen any sign of pursuit, whether by luck or by design, since we had set out from the Elven camp and we arrived in the area of the camp just as dusk was beginning to settle in. Rickard chose the camp-site before getting everyone together.

“We attack just before dawn.” He told us. “We need light for the archers to shoot properly. Moonlight is all very well but the shadows can hide things. So here's what's going to happen. Dan, Carys (which turned out to be the name of the Elven woman. It was a shortening of her name which she seemed to tolerate) and Pol (another Elf) are going to set up a sniping position. There is a ledge above the camp that lets you see down into the enclosure. Your job is going to be to deal with anyone who looks like they're getting towards the signal fire, or anyone that might be about to raise a horn to their lips. Other than that, save your arrows. Dan, you lead that group,”

“Sir,” The old poacher spat a wad of tobacco stained saliva at the ground before kicking some dirt over it to hide it. Then he offered the pouch to Carys who wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Chireadean, you take six with you. The Sergeant and Cooper will come with you and choose four of your best and most stabby Elves. You, sneak round the wall and get in position at the other gate on the far side. Be the anvil that my hammer smashes the enemy against.”

Chireadean nodded.

“The Sergeant knows how I work and will advise you.” Rickard added on. Chireadean took this with good grace, despite the fact that this meant that, realistically, the Sergeant would be in charge. “What if there's no gate? On the other side I mean?”

“Then these people are more incompetent than I think they are. And I already think that they're pretty shit. If that's the case then climb the wall, make a hole or whatever. Just make sure that no-one escapes.”

Chireadean nodded.

The rest of the combatants, and you know who you are, will be with me. We go in, hard and fast and leave nothing alive. The only humans that I want alive inside that camp when the sun rises are wearing my uniform.”

“I like this plan,” said an Elf in heavily accented Northern. I wondered if the accent was an affectation.

“In the meantime,” Rickard told us. “Rest up, busy morning. Because when the killing is done. I want us to wait for no more than an hour to steal whatever food, arrows and material we can find before we're pegging it for the South.”

He looked everyone in the eye before just walking off.

I moved to intercept him.

“What do you want me to do?”

He sighed. “You told me to do this, right?”

“Yes.”

“I'm in charge, right?”

“Yes.”

“You stay at home, in the camp with the other non-combatants, until I tell someone to come and get you. Am I clear?”

I stared at him.

“Normally Freddie,” his eyes bored into mine. “I would want you and your spear at my side. Barring the men in my unit there's no-one I would rather have at my side than you and Kerrass, but neither of you are in any shape to fight. You have enough in you for a couple of exchanges but then you would be done in and you know that would be true. Yes, combat reaction would help, but then we've got to move fast and you will need all your energy for that. So you wait behind. Am I clear?”

I nodded.

“Freddie?” His voice took a warning tone.

“You're clear.” I was dismayed at the whine in my voice. “I stay in camp.”

“I will sit on him if I have to.” Kerrass had snuck up behind me. Despite his injury and his growing preoccupation with Chireadean's story that he spent his time contrasting with the rites that we had witnessed in the villages, he could still move....well.....as quietly as a cat.

Rickard nodded and moved away before I could protest further.

I didn't sleep well that night. How could I. I tried to, I really did but at the same time, all I could think about was that I should be getting more sleep and that we would have a long way to go in the morning. But then I couldn't sleep.

Why?

I don't know. I was angry, to be sure, that I would be left behind but at the same time, Rickard was right. I was tired and probably a bit sick and I would only get in the way, but I wanted to be in there. I didn't feel as though.....I wanted my proper measure of vengeance. I had killed some of the riders in reflex and because I had to, because we were forced into it. As a rescue, or as a village defence back in Sam's lands and later because they were in the way and it was a “kill or be tortured to death horribly” situation. This felt different. We were setting out to kill some of the enemy. We had our targets and we were deliberately choosing to kill them. Not the ones further to the North, nor the ones further to the east or west. But these ones in particular and I felt as though I was missing out on something.

I found myself wondering about my own mental state. Was the disappointment that I was experiencing normal? Was it human and an expected healthy emotion or was it the more destructive feelings that I had talked out with Kerrass under the rock. The Dangerous feelings that might, eventually, sicken my mind. Was the desire for vengeance normal, the desire to push my spear into an enemy's body.

These were the questions that kept me up that night. Along with the universal truth that sometimes, even when you're exhausted and all your body really needs to do for it's own health apart from anything else, is to fall asleep. It will stubbornly refuse to do so.

The same thing happens before exams.

Normally when these questions come up, I would talk to Kerrass about them. He doesn't sleep as much as I do due to some kind of Witcher thing but he was sleeping more at the moment and I didn't want to disturb him. Even if he was awake, he would be sat, muttering to himself and arguing with himself. It's easy to think that I was being irrational about him but I began to remember some of my old fears of the man from back when we first started to travel together. Ludicrous and ridiculous those thoughts might have been but, at the same time, I couldn't help it.

The other person that I would normally talk to in these kinds of situations would be Ariadne. Something I had done increasingly often since we had left Toussaint and again since admitting my own problems with the way that I was feeling. Again, not for the last time, I felt around my neck for the Amulet, that old symbol of the eternal fire that she had given me and again, I felt that sense of loss and pain that it had been taken from me.

A wave of loneliness struck me then and I almost wept for it.

But there is no better aid to sleep than exhaustion of both the physical and mental variety and eventually I slept. However I only know this because I was being shaken awake with a hand over my mouth to prevent me from crying out. This meant that I was awake in time to watch those men and Elves that were part of the attack set out among the trees in the brightening day and I had to sit there with the other non-combatants and watch them go.

The non-combatants were myself, Kerrass and another twenty or so Elves that, by their own admission were all but useless in a fight, barely knowing which end of a sword to use and having no idea how to hold a bow, much less fire one and they sat there, with quiet, hollow and haunted eyes as they waited for their fellows to come back, along with the new humans that seemed to be in control of their destiny. I felt an indescribable guilt about the way that they felt and, crazy or not, I sought out Kerrass' company.

I hated the next few minutes. It was only really minutes but it felt as though it was as long as years. I feel as though people overuse the term “worst time of my life”. I don't know about that, it wasn't the worst point of my life. There have been many times where I have felt fucking awful, being tired, sick or injured and if I actually sat down and tried to quantify the way that I was feeling then I would have to admit that this didn't even come close to the worst that I had ever felt. It probably didn't break into a list of the all time top ten “worst times in my life.” The time spent running from the Hounds after Kerrass' arms had been broken, that would be on the list. The sheer hopelessness of how we all felt after Francesca had vanished, that would also be on the list along with when Lord Dorme had poisoned me and I thought that I was dying. The ride from the North when we had heard been brought news of Father's injury and illness would also be up there. All of those times were occasions where, objectively, things had been worse than when we were sat, waiting to be told whether the dawn raid had been successful or not.

But I still hated it and I would have given anything to be down there, or up there or over there or wherever the fuck Rickard had led them. I wanted to be there, fighting, being involved rather than over here and waiting for news.

“It's hard.” Kerrass said from where he was sat nearby. He said it quietly but everyone else was so quiet that his voice seemed to carry over to me across the growing gulf that had started to form between us. His eyes glittered in the cold light and he seemed like some kind of alien.....thing that haunts the dreams of normal men, those cat's eyes of his boring into me, staring deep into my brain and my soul as if to read what was there.

I always get poetic when I'm tired.

“What's hard?” I asked him.

“Waiting.” He rolled his shoulders, it was becoming a regular thing with him, almost like a nervous tick. He was moving his arms in an effort to settle them a bit better in his slings, maybe to feel that tiny little bit more comfortable but it never seemed to work. “It's been a long time since I was last forced into the situation where I was sat, just waiting like the chump that I am. But I had forgotten how much I hated it. It was one of the things that I hated as we ran away from Cavill and his cronies.”

I said nothing.

“The waiting for you to do.....whatever it was that needs to be done.” He grinned nastily. “It actually feels a bit better now that you are feeling the same frustration.”

I nodded. I found that the conversation was making me feel uncomfortable. “We need to be quiet.” I told him.

“Not really,” he responded. “The arrows have started flying and the blades have started to flash in the firelight.”

He cocked his head to one side. The “Witcher is listening” look that once had reminded me of a dog listening for signs of it's master coming home. It no longer reminded me of that.

“Those that might hear us are too busy wondering about their own survival to worry about the small muttered words of a Witcher and a scholar in the dawn.”

We said nothing for a while.

“Why do we always attack at dawn?” I wondered. Every time we attack armed men it's either at dusk or dawn, why not at midnight or something?”

His teeth flashed in the night as he smiled. “Because Sundown is when people change guards. The old guard are just relaxing and beginning to look forward to their beds and something hot to eat. The new guards are just in the process of being woken up and stumbling blearily to the latrines. People often assume that the danger has passed when it gets to that point of the night. They begin to reason that no-one will attack at dawn and so they begin to let themselves relax. The same thing with dusk. People tell themselves that the real danger comes at midnight or a couple of hours after that. It never occurs to them that people might come in at dusk when everyone's awake.”

The conversation petered out when Kerrass stopped talking and I felt the guilt again. Guilt at not being down on the raid. Guilt that I had dragged everyone into this mess, including Kerrass who, although he was getting better, I had left with an injury that he may never properly recover from. I hated the fact that people were off fighting and possibly dying in my name.

I hated it.

But I also felt guilt that I was distancing myself from my friend. His muttering and staring eyes were frightening me and I didn't like it. It made me feel uncomfortable because I couldn't follow him to wherever he had gone. I couldn't understand it and, if I was being honest with myself, I didn't want to understand it and that left me feeling like a shit of a human being and an even worse friend.

“Kerrass,” I began.

“You don't need to say anything Freddie, I know.”

I said nothing for a moment. Kerrass had returned to his muttering and facial ticks as he was arguing with himself. It seemed to cost him no effort at all to maintain both sides of the conversation and I sat there and watched him go about his rambling and was left wondering whether or not he actually was aware of what I was about to say or whether he just said something to get rid of me.

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“Are you alright Kerrass?” I asked eventually.

“Mmm?” He seemed startled as though I had woken him up from sleep.

“It's just that you spend so much time talking to yourself and arguing with yourself. You don't seem to be.....You don't seem entirely right Kerrass. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“I'm tired,” he admitted after a while, as though he was thinking about the response “and I'm finding this really difficult as well, more so I imagine than you are but I need to figure this out. I need to....” He frowned as he said this and his conversation almost seemed to peter out. I have seen this many times before, amongst the really clever kinds of academics back at the university. When a thought occurs to them and they have to run back to their lab or their rooms to check something vital in their notes or in some reference book because if they don't then they will lose whatever revelation has just occurred to them.

“I need to figure this out.” He said in that same quiet, detached voice.

“Figure what out.”

“Mmm?” Again that distracted look, vacant and bleary. A look that I didn't like on the face of a man that was always so focused.

“Kerrass, you're scaring me. What do you need to figure out?”

“This, I would wave my hand at everything but I don't want to take my arm out of the sling. You've got this all wrong, you, Rickard, even the Elf. It's all wrong. You're looking at this in terms of men, of enemies and armies. Of lords, politics and religion. But that's not it at all. You're not going to solve this by getting back to your brother. You're not going to free this countryside with swords, bows and whatever else,”

He stared into space for a moment as I tried to work this out.

“This is not a human problem, not even an Elven problem. If we get back to your brother and raise an army, lay siege to a mountain range and bring out all of his followers in the same way that you draw poison from a wound before wiping them all out. The curse will still be there. The curse is so potent that it brings Elves here despite their own best interests. It's kept Chireadean here when even he knows that he would be better off elsewhere. Killing Cavill and his cronies is only dealing with the surface of the problem, it's like.....” He paused for thought. “It would be like sewing up the wound before stopping the bleeding. Treating the symptom before you figure out the disease.”

He was staring at me intently.

“There is a curse here and it needs lifting or it will come back. In a few years, even a decade, a man will suddenly get it into his head to rape and torture a young girl to death and the euphoria from that act will overwhelm him to the point that he will want to do it again and again and again. He will tell his friends about it and so it will happen more and more until in fifty years time, less even, this is all going to happen again and we might as well have left Cavill to his own devices.

“So we must lift this curse. We must. And that is Witcher's work. I just.....I just wish I could think more clearly without all of these other voices in my head.”

“I ask this with all possible concern Kerrass, but are you losing your mind?”

He chuckled. “Nah. Insanity makes you think that you're getting saner. Here I just feel as though I'm missing something. It's something to do with the sacrifice of the First born. It's something about that that doesn't make sense. Humans might do that out of desperation but there is no way that Elves would, or encourage it in others and this was before the Elves and the humans had properly started hating each other. There's no way that the Elves would try and force the humans to kill their own children. There's something there. Something.....”

He petered out again.

“They're coming.” He said suddenly. Just giving me enough time to really start panicking at the ambiguity of that statement before Rickard and Chireadean came back through the trees.

“All done,” Rickard told us all with a smile. “Some cuts and bruises but we're ok. Time to start moving and now we need to move fast, so let's get to it,”

We descended on the camp like a wave. A tide of rage and anger, of vengeance taken. It made me feel sick.

Watching as an Elven woman with a child on her hip. A fact that I hadn't noticed up to that point stopped to kick a fallen man whose blood was still leaking from the open throat before bending to rifle through the man's belongings. When she was done she hawked and spat on the man's corpse before encouraging her child to do the same, making the young lad express a hate that he might not have understood on the corpse of a fallen enemy.

The Elves have every reason to hate us, and we have every reason to hate them. But it is a self-defeating cycle of hatred that I can see no way out of and wiser men than me have tried to find an answer to no success.

Not that I can blame these Elves in particular for their disdain and their hatred. They have earned the right to hate so indiscriminately. I wondered again if this was a path that I was in danger of going down. My growing rage at the people that had taken Francesca away from me, was that leading me to hate them. Then would it lead me to hate anyone that was associated with them or who might have been hiding information to do with those people? I had no answer but I resolved, once again, to do my best to let go of my anger in the hope that it would help me let go of my hate.

As I watched, the woman was butchering a horse for cuts of meat, she was using the knife of the man that she had just looted. It would seem that those pointless pieces of metal were useful for some things. She slipped it easily into her belt as she wrapped the steaks in some cloth and handed it over to the waiting child who didn't even blink at the fact that they were being handed large slabs of still dripping meat.

Then she was moving on.

The main focus of the looting was arrows though. I was told by someone that the bastards and the Elven archers had been ordered to hold their fire as much as possible. There was still a good couple of weeks trek ahead of us and it seemed inconceivable to anyone that we would go that entire distance without meeting the enemy. Again, I watched as one of the bastards, I don't know who it was as I was watching from the back, pulled a handful of arrows from a box of arrows that was near the watchtower. He examined them in disgust and shook his head, but nevertheless, the arrows were added to his own quiver before lifting the box onto his shoulders.

We had commandeered a number of horses and the looted provisions were quickly strapped to the beasts. I tried to help but they wouldn't let me, telling me that I would need my strength causing my anger and frustration at this enforced inactivity to grow, but then an order was called and we jogged out into the growing morning light.

The sunrise that morning was particularly beautiful. Hues of red, orange and purple. The mountains hid the sun from us until the sky was well lit but the colours that this generated as well as the clouds against the mountain peaks was a combination that made me wish that I could paint.

Or that I had time to paint.

But then I had to turn my attention to the trail as the path we were following was not easy. It wasn't long before I was, again, forced to admit that Rickard and the rest knew more about my physical capabilities than I did. I lasted several hours before the Elf, who I later learned had been assigned to me for precisely this purpose, caught me in mid stumble for the second time.

“I'm sorry,” I told him.

He smiled and pretended not to understand despite the fact that I know I was speaking Elven at the time. He also held me as I was placed onto the back of one of the horses. I complained about that as well until they had to tie me on early that afternoon to keep me from falling off. Even Kerrass was doing better than I was as he loped along next to the horse that I was riding. Consuming the distance with long easy strides. Bastard that he is. It still took me three attempts to get his attention though as he was still too busy muttering at the thoughts that were streaking across his consciousness.

“Why are you so active when I'm struggling to keep my eyes open?” I demanded of him when I finally got him to look at me.

“Being a Witcher is good for some things.” He told me. “Now shut up. I'm thinking.”

I was stiff as a board at the end of that days march. We were still going long after dark, trusting to the Elves Night Vision to find us a path and a place to spend the night so that, in total, we had started our activities of the day before dawn and finished long after nightfall. I remember none of this, all I remember of that evening was that I had to be woken up and forced to eat anything on the grounds that they wouldn't leave me alone until after I had done so.

There was a mist the following morning.

I was horribly stiff as I woke and it took me a while to force my limbs to move. Another effort of will to sit up and to begin massaging life back into rebellious muscles. I have no idea how long it took me to stand up and stretch in that way that makes your spine pop and leaves you feeling dizzy.

I found Rickard and Chireadean standing together looking at the mountains and the small range of hills that we had just come out of. Chireadean didn't move, so intense was his gaze on the hill and mountain tops as they climbed out of the layers of misty tendrils. Rickard greeted me with a nod before turning back to examine the same view.

“There's always a mist when they come.” Chireadean was saying. “Those that the villagers call “The Hounds of Kreve.” Always a mist. I've often wondered, during those moments when I can't bring myself to think about Elven survival and politics any further, do they do this on purpose? Do they deliberately wait for a mist before they ride out to terrorize people? They can certainly ride abroad in normal weather, but there is always a mist when they attack. Always.”

He said it quietly, in the same kind of hypnotic tone that a bard uses when they're telling you a ghost story.

“That's what the villagers said.” Rickard said. “Always a mist.”

We stood in silence for a long moment. I can't speak for either Chireadean or Rickard but I had the sensation of standing at the top of a cliff before jumping off it into a lake. Only this cliff was much taller than any that I had ever jumped off before. Bigger than the cliff that I stood on when I was about to ask Shani out to dinner. Bigger than the rock over the local pond where Emma taught me to swim. Bigger than the cliff that I stood on before leaving home for the university or when I packed up my belongings in order to set out and find a Witcher.

The only cliff I could think of that was comparable was in that moment before I asked Ariadne to marry me, only this time I knew that there were deadly, sharp rocks at the bottom and I could not see where they were. The worst that Ariadne could have done was to metaphorically rip out my heart and stamp on it until it shattered into a thousand pieces.

That moment, just before you jump. You know that there's nothing you can do except to jump but for a moment, you just enjoy standing on the precipice, the moment of turning and looking at the room that you are about to leave, the knowledge that after this plunge, life will never be the same again.

It was like that and the stillness that settled over us was total. It almost seemed sacrilegious to break the silence.

“They will have found the camp by now.” Rickard said as we watched the mist roll up and down the mountainside with the gusts of wind. “They will have found it and they will know that we have made our move. They will be taking to horse and coming after us.”

“The ground will shake with their coming.” Chireadean answered. I got the sense that he was quoting something, “Frost and mist shall be their herald and their hounds will play under their feet. Arrayed in black steel with sharp swords that glitter with ice. Terrible to behold as they herald the coming of winter. A winter that will never thaw.”

“Their leader will come with a crown of ice and his face shall be as a skull.” I answered him finally recognising that thing that he was quoting. “And where his blade strikes, the blood and the very marrow in the bones shall freeze. The worms in the ground shall shatter in the cold.”

There was a pause as we both stopped speaking.

“Cheery,” Rickard commented drily after a long moment.

“The Wild Hunt.” Chireadean commented. “I'm quoting from the works of Dandelion the bard, although I always heard that he took those lines from elsewhere. Freddie?”

I nodded my agreement. “I never figured out where he got it from though. One of his earlier works and not one of his best. I used to read it to Francesca when I was forced to read her a bed time story in an effort to scare the crap out of her so that I would never have to do it again.”

“She loved it didn't she?” Rickard was grinning.

“She always did. She started to ask Emma to read it, much to Emma's dismay as she hated the story. Frannie would always criticise her for not doing it in all the silly voices that I used to use.”

Conversations subsided again for a moment.

“The Wild Hunt,” Chireadean chuckled to himself. “I remember thinking that they were just some kind of a myth until I read the Bard's accounts of their attacks. Funny but I had always assumed that they would be on my side. On the sides of the Elves but Dandelion says that they had almost as much disdain for the remaining Elves of this world as they did for the humans.”

“You know Dandelion?” I shouldn't have been surprised. He had already admitted to knowing Geralt so it wasn't that much of a stretch to think that he knew the Bard.

“Of course,” Chreadean smiled. “I have known many people over the years. With a bit of luck, in fifty years time I'll be telling another uppity human that I met named Frederick von Coulthard.”

I snorted.

“Well, at least we're not facing The Wild Hunt,” Rickard said. “We're facing men who can be confounded and slain.” He rocked his head from side to side, seemingly in an effort to loosen himself up. “Let's get them all up. We've got a lot of ground to cover to get back to Kalayn lands.”

But we weren't going to make it.

I remember Rickard had sounded so....determined. So optimistic and hopeful. As though the end result wasn't in any kind of question. That we were all but home and that they end result was a foregone conclusion.

But we weren't going to make it.

The morning of the first mist still left us with a solid fourteen day, straight line march to get to the safety of Kalayn lands and that was assuming that we would march into the waiting arms of friendly troops. It was all too feasible that we would stagger over the border, exhausted from the trail, only to be caught by a raiding party.

That first mist had an odd effect on the group. It was a goad certainly and I, for one, felt a new, fear fuelled energy coursing through my body. But as I've just written. It produced a different kind of fear as well. A fear that I hadn't really felt since I crossed the border of Kalayn lands in the other direction and it was a kind of....superstitious fear. By which I mean a fear of shadows, a fear of strange noises heard in the middle of the night and a fear of odd, out of place movement on the edge of your vision.

Sudden movement becomes vastly amplified, even whispers seem to echo in the night. The cold seems colder and even bright sunlight seems intrusive as you begin to feel that it places a target on your back leaving you feeling vulnerable and afraid.

At first you laugh at yourself as you realise how silly you're being but more and more, the laughter dies and you huddle that bit closer to your fellows.

It was the type of fear that I had forgotten.

Leaving Kalayn lands I had lost the feeling that I was up against strange spectral demons from beyond the realms of myth and legend and had got back into the mindset of being up against very real and dangerous people. In this case, the “Cavill Cult”. Nothing wrong with being afraid of a significant and organised group of lunatics that get off on torturing people to death. A perfectly understandable and reasonable fear that no-one can blame me for. But now, that fear of things that I couldn't understand and that I would never be able to understand was back.

I'm trying to think of a better way to put this.

Think about the nearest abandoned building that you know. Imagine an old Farm house that is near where you live, or a stand alone town house. Big house, lots of rooms with staircases and rooms and broken down furniture. Maybe even some quarters for servants to stay in where they're separate from the other rooms or there might be large store-rooms for the keeping of....things in. It's been abandoned now for several years.

Maybe the family was forced to leave because of the war, both the father and son were conscripted into the army and never returned so that the women of the family were forced to sell to someone who worked the land. Maybe the residents upgraded to a better situation, a more modern farm or town house with more modern fittings in a more fashionable part of town. One of any number of reasons why someone might, perfectly reasonably, pick up everything that they own and decide to leave one day.

So you go and look at this house. It's perfectly normal. Dusty, spider's webs everywhere, rotten sack-cloth and other items that were either too big, or too bulky, or not worth keeping so that they were left behind. Maybe there's even sign that someone took shelter there for a night or two while passing through as they were unable to find an inn or needed shelter from the storm. Small shafts of light come through the roof where bits of thatch or individual roof tiles have been removed, either through effects of weather or having been stolen by a neighbour on the grounds that good thatch or well made roof tiles are hard to find.

Can you picture the scene?

So what if I told you that the person that used to live there was a Sorceress.

Lets say she was an Elf as well if you like. An Elven Sorceress who had lived in that house for a long time. This was long before the family that you knew were actually living there. She was the person who ordered the house built originally and she had lived there quietly and peacefully for decades. Maybe the house that you know was built as part of the ruins of this Sorceress' old home.

It doesn't matter.

The Sorceress was a good woman, she looked after the community, healing the sick, providing effective potions as well as good solid advice on how to deal with various matters including various civil problems such as land ownership or disagreements. This was because the King's magistrates are so far away that it's impractical to take every matter to them so local villages take their own problems to this woman who smiles graciously before kindly and patiently leading the village councils through their problems and helping them to find the solution.

One day an official of some kind comes through town and is seen to be arguing with the Sorceress. Maybe the official is a merchant, maybe a tax official or a herald of some kind. Rumour is rife about the man, he stayed in a local tavern for the night before he was spotted heading towards the home of the Sorceress and he was rude to the serving staff at the inn. One of the girls that worked there didn't like the way he looked at her.

Many people said that they saw him heading towards the Sorceress' home, but none saw him leave.

She tells everyone who listens that he demanded something of her claiming the right to demand that thing. She took justifiable offence and ordered him to leave her sight which he did.

Rumour spreads about what he demanded. Did he demand money for some service? Was he a tax man that demanded that she pay up, or did he have more nefarious motives. Was he one of those, sadly not infrequent people that believe that the term “village Witch” is synonymous with “prostitute”? The Sorceress herself is tight lipped on the matter, telling folk that she will not dignify these theories with answers.

But then it transpires that no-one saw the man leave her house, or the area for that matter. Someone made an uncomfortable joke about the Sorceress killing and eating him, maybe using him for some kind of dark and sinister ritual.

People laugh uncomfortably but the joke is maintained by those people who the Sorceress has reserved her most caustic and scornful responses for. The kind of person who has come off worst in the Sorceress' handling of matters.

Then one day a group of the King's soldiers come by and they hear this joke. One of them comments that they had heard of this and that the official hadn't been seen since. The assembly isn't sure as to whether or not this soldier is also joking. The soldier's man in charge, whether it's a knight or a Sergeant of some kind, goes to investigate and ask questions of the Sorceress who tells him to fuck off and not to be impertinent. The questioner, full of self-importance takes offence at this and pulls out his sword. The Sorceress defends herself and the man ends up a small pile of ash on the floor. The other soldiers are horrified and flee.

The villagers retreat.

More soldiers come, this time with a Witch-hunter. The village is full of rumours about the presence of these men in advance and they seem to be waiting for something. That something being that the Sorceress leaves her home for some reason of her own and the soldiers attack her.

She is taken, because even Sorceresses are not infallible and can be taken by surprise or dog-piled under superior numbers and then a pyre is built in the middle of the village square where she is burnt alive. She hisses and curses at everyone around about how this is an injustice, that she had just been defending herself and that they will never hear the end of things. She swears her vengeance and that this is not the end of things before she dies spitting at people, begging and pleading at the same time towards all the people that she had helped over the years.

She dies, screaming in agony.

The soldiers and the Witch Hunter go into the Sorceress' home and spend a bit of time in the tavern looking pale and spinning tales of dark ritual circles, of baby corpses and secret doors. Of demons chained in the darkness and the loss of men's sanity. Of lustful implements and obscene writings.

That night, one of the old men who had objected to the Sorceress' meddling in village affairs dies of a heart attack and people whisper that it's the curse of the Sorceress made manifest.

One by one, all of those people who had made the jokes about her being a prostitute or who had spread the rumours about her having killed and eaten the man who had first argued with her, they all die. One falls down a ditch while drunk, breaks his leg and freezes to death. Another suffers a stroke. Another is found out in the woods having had all the blood drained from his body. Another falls off his roof and breaks his neck. Another falls afoul of a passing priest and gets accused of heresy before being burnt in a similar pyre to the Sorceress.

Eventually word reaches the village that the original official is alive and well and acting as an ambassador's aide in a far off country. That the Sorceress did nothing at all. That the original group of soldiers were sent by a jealous King or, more likely, a jealous courtier who didn't want the royal power being diluted by Sorceress power, and were under orders to provoke the Sorceress into action so that an excuse would be had to have her killed.

Nevertheless, the Witch-hunter cleaned her residence out with much shaking of his head at the perversions that they found there.

The next family to live there, lasted a year before their money ran out and they had to move elsewhere. The following occupant was a scribe who wanted a place of privacy to work on something, what that thing was? He never said, but he quickly went mad and died.

The son of the next family was in his early teens when he would come into town to drink and try to sleep with the village girls and would tell stories about the wraith of the dead Sorceress roaming the house. He is a well known liar though and people dismiss his stories until, at his funeral after he died of some kind of horrific pox, his sister tells the story of how he saw the wraith and had commented to her about how beautiful she was before he died.

The next family lasted a night in the place before fleeing in terror.

A long chain of people live there and all of them leave under dark and mysterious circumstances. But another story about the place sticks out. They say that the dead Sorceress still lives there. That her corpse has rebuilt itself. Being dead she no longer has to eat, sleep or do any other kind of thing that human beings have to do in order to survive and so she spends all of her time in a secret basement working on her rituals and summoning demons to either (depending on which side of the story you believe) enjoy their perverted rituals or to further her vengeance on those who wronged her.

They say that if you see her spirit and find her attractive that you will suffer from a deadly and vile version of the pox.

They say that she wanders her home looking for people who remind her of those that stood by and did nothing to help her when she died.

They say that somewhere, deep in the basements of the house there is a secret door that leads through to the Sorceress' most secret lab. The one that the Witch-hunters could never find, so cunningly was it hidden. They say that in there there is still her diaries and spell grimoires for those who would dare to read them as well as the chained demon who taught her the darkest secrets of magic who lies there, waiting for the one who will come to find it.

The previous owners, the ones that you knew, would ridicule these stories and laugh at them, so far removed from the events as they were.

But then the Father and the son were called to war and the women had to go and live with relatives.

The little girl said that she met a strange lady in the house one night. The lady offered her a sweet and seemed nice.

Now here's my question. Knowing all this, is it the same house and would you still be comfortable exploring it on a dark night when the mist is rolling in and you can hear a distant roll of thunder?

That was what it was like.

The trees were still trees, the ground was still muddy and the mountains were still there off to the East. My spear was still sharp, my dagger was still heavy on my hip and my enemies were still flesh and blood men that could be fought and killed in the same way that every enemy that I've ever faced can be caught and killed.

But I was afraid and the slow building dread affected all of us.

Two days later and the word was passed around that we should start wearing the scarves that we all carried, the scarves that had been infused with Kerrass' mixture to protect us from the Hound's poisons. But it didn't help.

That same day, we saw our first sign that the Hounds were in the area. We saw horse tracks down a road, smaller than the farm horses that were being used in the area but still large enough to be properly shod with the kinds of shoe that you use in war.

The going went slower after that as we grew more cautious, we took our time and deliberately chose ground where the horses would struggle to pass over. We went through marshland and over rocky slopes, through thick patches of trees.

I chafed at the lost speed but on the other hand it meant that I was better able to regain some strength although I had managed to win the victory that meant that I was no longer being forced to ride and could feel like I was contributing again.

We began to see numerous signs that we were not alone in the forest. That there were horsemen everywhere that were either missing us or ignoring us completely. We would all be huddled in a hollow as we watched a pair of horsemen ride by, horses foaming at the mouth as they were whipped on to new efforts. We heard distant horn calls and cries that echoed out through the tree-tops. We had no way of knowing what all of these things were as we were deliberately ignoring plumes of smoke that were probably villages but also could be encampments.

We also didn't want to endanger the lives of the villagers. We were, as I say, getting closer to Kalayn lands with every passing step which made it more and more likely that the villages were getting friendlier and friendlier but....the problem was that there was almost no way that we could tell a friendly villager from an unfriendly villager and all it would take would be fore one of the people in the village to be an informant for the hounds and then that would be it.

Game over.

I found it fairly curious. They had to know roughly where we were, they had to know what we were doing and which way we were going and although, as I say, there was plenty of signs that the horsemen were out there, there had been no signs of active pursuit. I brought it up with Rickard that night.

“They're tightening the net.” Was Rickard's opinion. If I didn't know better I would say that he was enjoying himself. He was the only one out of all of us who didn't seem tired, who ran and walked at all times, always on his feet, checking sentries, talking to folk, learning names and back stories. Always with a word of encouragement or a goad to flagging spirits and dropping energies.

“Shame on you Dan,” I heard him call out across the column at one point. “I remember a time when you would have run twice this distance and asked where the nearest whores were. Shame on you, now pick your feet up.”

The old poacher who was acting as rear guard, his old eyes still sharper than many of the Elves, told Rickard to Fuck off to Rickard's laughter and smiles all around. The twinkle even coming back to Dan as well.

“They're tightening the net.” Rickard repeated to me and Chireadean. The Elf was stretched out on the floor nearby. I had mistaken this pose for him being asleep before but I had learned better. “They know where we've been and they know where we're going so they're taking their time in tightening things up. They're in no rush.”

“Why not?” I asked. “We are not a small number of people. We're a threat.”

“Yes, but they're confident that they can get more men at us. Men are expensive.”

Chireadean snorted at this. I guessed that he was amused by something but I couldn't quite tell at what. Rickard took a stick and poked him in the ribs. The two of them were forming a fast friendship which I found that I resented. I have no idea why as I liked them both but there seemed to be some kind of common ground there that I was missing out on.

“If they attack us at the moment.” Rickard explained. “Then one of two things happen. Either we fight them off causing untold damage to enemy morale that a motley crew of Elven renegades and soldiers led by a scummy low-born knight and an even scummier noble was able to beat them.”

Another snort from Chireadean. “I notice that it doesn't occur to anyone that the Elves might be in charge.”

“Shut up knife ear.” Rickard told him. “I'm talking from the perspective of the people that are chasing us and they are unspeakably evil, let alone open to the idea of equal representation. Also, you're not in charge so keep your pointy ears out.”

There was no anger in the voice though. More a kind of friendly mocking tone.

Chireadean's, oh so witty response, was to throw a rock at Rickard which only narrowly avoided hitting Rickard in the testicles.

“Ow,” he cackled.

“I'm surrounded by children.” I commented. “What's the other thing?”

“What other thing?” Rickard had retaliated by scooping dead leaves over the reclining figure of the Elf.

“You said that there were two things that prevented them from just attacking us?”

“Oh yeah. Well the other thing is that that they hit us and then we scatter. They're after you. You and Kerrass really, the rest of us would just be an added bonus. But if they hit us and we scatter then they're going to have to spend ages rounding us all up to make sure that they have us all, by which I mean, that they have you.”

“Lovely.” I commented. “So why don't we scatter? If that's what they're afraid of. Why don't we do that? I could go off with any number of small units, we split up and make our own way back. We'd also be harder to track too. Smaller groups move better than larger ones and we would be better able to hide our progress.”

The two of them were making obscene gestures at each other in a parody of a bitter argument. Chireadean sighed and moved off through the trees in a huff.

“Harder to spot? Yes. Impossible?” Rickard shook his head. “While we speak, the net is closing in around us. No matter which way we chose to come south we were going to be found. They can find us. There is enough men here. Enough so that they have the luxury of being able to take their time and to be lazy. They don't have to. They could attack us and hunt down the scattering people and probably do it relatively easy. Sooner or later they would find you.”

“You make it sound so hopeful.” I told him bitterly.

He ignored the comment. “The trick here.” He said. “Is to zig when they're expecting to zag and then, when we have no other choice, we make a break for it and use our superior numbers to hammer through the careful net that they are building and run off in an unexpected direction.”

“So things are not hopeless.” I wanted to say it out loud. Just so that I could hear myself say it I think.

“Not hopeless Freddie. Difficult and I would be lying if I tried to tell you that we aren't going to lose someone but.....not hopeless. You will get through to your brother.”

I looked at him for a while.

“Why do you look as though you're enjoying this so much?” I asked him.

“Because I am enjoying it.”

“Why though?” I didn't bother to hide my confusion.

“It's fun to be on the other side of a manhunt for a change.”

He didn't elaborate because Chireadean had returned having found a stick and was attacking him with it.

Then came the second mist, the men behind us and the decision that we would have to destroy the men on our back trail. The time when I first said aloud that we weren't going to make it.

I thought about Rickard's responses then, at his sudden display of temper and anger at my comments.

Comments that I thought were perfectly reasonable at the time and possibly even rather realistic. I thought about Rickard's reaction and the way he had acted in that small clearing with Chireadean. I began to wonder if I had really seen and heard what I thought I had seen and heard.

We stripped the enemy of everything that they had. The armour under the cloaks was fairly good quality which meant that we had killed some of Cavill's veterans. That was a small victory but I was taking everything I could by that point. The Elves took them into the trees and butchered them. There was no other word for it and I looked appalled. Both at the fact that they were doing it and at the fact that Rickard didn't even blink.

“There's a fox trail near there.” He explained. “With a bit of luck, the animals will do a lot of the work about hiding the bodies for us.”

I just felt sick. We also kept the horses. They were tired, badly fed beasts and they quivered at the touch of human hands but the Elves seemed to be able to get them to stay calm as we moved off to meet with the others.

I tried to tell Kerrass what had happened but I don't think he took it in.

That was the other thing I can't remember. I don't remember when I decided that Kerrass had lost his mind. The stress of being helpless when he is normally a man of action and decisive action at that. This coupled with the stresses of his injury, the inability to train or meditate as well as the reduction in his elixirs. At some point I had decided that he had just lost it. That I needed to get him back somewhere so that he could spend a bit of time convalescing and get himself back to normal. I didn't think it was a hopeless case but I felt miserable as I was forced to sit and watch as my friend disappeared inside himself. He would accept food and drink and would sleep like a baby.

At first, Rickard and Chireadean had tried to include him in their discussions about what to do next but, as time went on, it just became increasingly clear that Kerrass was just not taking it in. It wasn't that there was suddenly a decision made that Kerrass should be left out. It was just that people stopped calling for him when we all got together to make decisions.

The fact that Rickard and Chireadean wouldn't listen to me either, when they were making decisions was not lost on me. They had seemed to decide that I was terminally stupid and would just do something to hurt myself.

But we came back to the waiting soldiers and the waiting group and Rickard ordered us to speed up the order of the march Eastwards. We had been travelling roughly Southwards for the previous couple of days and it seemed that it was time for a change of direction. The bastards started to pick their feet up. What with what we had recovered, what the Bastards had had when we first travelled south and those that we had taken from the enemy, we were doing quite well for horses. Even with all of our equipment strapped to the sides of the horses there was still room for us to rotate people up onto the horses backs for a bit of a rest.

It was still me that sat up there rather more often that I was strictly comfortable with but it did alleviate things.

But now the chase was on. Where previously Rickard had cajoled and teased, now he ordered and mocked. Regular threats were made that if we didn't pick our feet up and march like we meant it then we would be left behind for Cavill's men to find.

I was not the only one who resented the change in leadership style judging by the bitching and moaning I heard from some of the Elves around me who muttered and moaned when they thought I couldn't understand them.

There seemed to be an unspoken thing. All of them knew that I could speak and understand Elven but if I didn't speak Elven in front of them then they would pretend that I couldn't and therefore, they didn't need to take offence.

But then something strange happened. The Elves determined that they would show this “Filthy human commander how Elves can move through the forest”. And they picked up the pace independently.

At which point the bastards realised what was happening and the Sergeant whispered fiercely, even though it still sounded like a bellow to me, that he wasn't going to let the pointy eared bastards out march him and he, in turn, picked up the pace again.

Both Chireadean and Rickard were quick to step in when this competition started to get dangerous but I got the feeling that they were both pleased with it in some way.

But the good mood was not to last. In fact, it's a minor miracle that it lasted as long as it did. Because now it was a race, Not just the foot race of who could cover the ground fastest which was always going to be won by our enemies who rode on horseback, but also the race of who could spot the other first.

We could move through areas that horses couldn't traverse at speed. As it was, the mounts that we did have left had to be forced through the cracks in the undergrowth. This meant that we could cross country in a relatively straight line while the faster moving hunters had to go miles out of their way if they hoped to catch us.

So they were left playing a waiting game. Waiting for us to come to them and we had to figure out a way to come at them in a way that they didn't expect. That they hadn't prepared for. The major problem here was that they knew where we were going.

On a nightly basis I berated myself for choosing that course when Cavill first cut Kerrass and I loose. I should have gone North or tried to make my way through to the West to get out of the lands. But I had chosen what, at the time, had seemed to be the quickest and easiest route. I tried to suggest doing otherwise to Rickard on multiple times but he told me to shut up. That the decision had been made and now we had to follow it through or else risk paralysing ourselves with indecision and second guesses. Of course he was right but I chafed at it. I felt responsible. I felt as though it was my actions that had killed everyone around me.

The other problem that played on my mind was that we had to remain lucky as we fled. We had to hide and run before running and hiding again. All Cavill's men had to do was to be lucky once and walk into us as we marched, strung out and unprepared as we were.

Our luck didn't hold, of course it didn't because how could it although, fortunately it went in our favour the first couple of times. The advance Elven scouts, the pair of former Scoia'Tael that liked to work together, were the advance guard, roaming ahead of the group. They spotted a small encampment of the Hounds and came back to report meaning that we could backtrack a bit before walking in on them and being able to skirt round them.

I still like to entertain myself by imagining the report that those guys had to give over when the tracks were found that led round them. I like to think about their faces and the face of Lord Cavill reacting to that news, that we had completely avoided one of their sentry posts.

Rickard was effusive with his compliments that night, positively gushing with praise over the actions of the two scouts who stood there with some bemusement at the praise that they were receiving from the human knight. He held them up as examples to everyone as to how a job can be done and how to do it right.

Chireadean made a point of translating Rickard's speech into Elven for everyone to understand although I remain confident that the two Elves really can understand Northern speech and just choose not to use it.

Then they proceeded to take all of that good will and throw it down the cesspit.

The following day they spotted a rider on his way somewhere. We have no idea where or where he was coming from as the two Elves shot him out of the saddle. Killing him almost instantly.

“You stupid Bastards.” Rickard snarled at the pair of them. Dragging them off from the main group and proving, at the same time, that a man isn't really angry until he goes quiet. I also noticed that Chireadean didn't feel the need to translate Rickard's words this time. “You stupid thoughtless fuckers. Now we have to move again. They know where he was coming from and where he was going. All they have to do is track backwards to find him and they will know where we were. You've given our position away with almost as much efficiency as if you had stood out in the open and screamed at the top of your lungs.”

The two Elves were impassive as Rickard turned and stalked off to calm down. Chireadean took the opportunity to tell them to head off.

“A bit harsh wasn't it old by?” The Elf commented to Rickard. “We killed those trackers a few days ago.”

“Yes,” Rickard had taken a deep breath. “Yes we did, but we did it in the early hours of the morning when we still had a days march ahead of us. They were also amongst Cavill's best and they were tracking our line of march. This guy that those idiots have killed had no idea where we were. Was just some drugged up conscript which we know because his gear was shit. His horse is going to run back to camp which is going to tell them that something's wrong and now we have to march through the night so that we stand even the smallest chance of not being found again.”

“Rickard.” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder in an effort to calm him down but he shrugged me off before standing there breathing heavily.

“And they wasted two arrows.” Rickard finished in a quieter voice before taking another deep breath. “Time to zag again. I was hoping that we would get further before we would have to change direction. This means that we have to go through a marsh.”

“How do you know that?” I asked him.

He snorted. “All that time you were fannying around talking to your brother and your in-laws. I was studying maps. They weren't perfect but and vast swathes of it are just labeled “uninhabited” but there were several areas that were better marked. We were heading South East towards the mountains. Now we're going to have to go South West which leads us into marsh-land.”

Another deep breath. “And we need to start now.”

Which we did, marching long into the night.

Did the death of that rider give away our position. I have no idea. Absolutely none. But what I do know is that the following day we started to be harried. We could hear horsemen off in the distance along with the sounds of distant signal horns and found signs of riders all around us. We could see them in the distance as well. Standing their horses and riding around, mist shrouded and mysterious as they seemed to watch us at a distance. There was a mist and, as we were heading into wet lands, it lingered and steadfastly refused to lift.

We were in some kind of bowl in the countryside. Although the landscape was heavily forested and hilly, this area seemed to be in a dip and water ran off the hills and the mountains which meant that there was a marsh because that was just what we needed to make our lives seem better.

We had only slept for a few hours before Rickard insisted that we were back on our feet again and heading out and thank the flame that he did. We had just gone into the water, the advance scouts finding paths through the treacherous marshland when the rear-guard called to say that they could see horsemen milling around our camp-site. Rickard nodded and kept us moving.

The stink was incredible. I want to say overpowering but the fear of the horsemen behind us was also a powerful motivator and so we went on. Rickard theorised that the marsh was a couple of days across but he also suggested that we would have to fight our way free from it. The marsh was hiding our tracks and our sent but it would be almost certain that they knew where we were. The horn calls continued and seemed to be getting nearer with every passing hour.

“Scare tactics,” was Rickard's assessment of the matter.

He was probably right but it worked.

What with the horn calls or the insects that lived in the swamp. I, for one, didn't sleep that night.

By my count we were seven days from the Kalayn border.

That count was adjusted again as we stopped just before we reached the edge of the marsh as we wanted to be rested up in case we had to fight our way through some kind of ambush as we left the marsh. It was really tempting. Ridiculously tempting and equally irrational to want to stay in the marsh itself. We could walk around in circles in there and Cavill and his ilk would never find us, hidden as we were by the shifting nature of the marshland and the mists. But we would run out of food and fresh water. The marsh-fly bites might carry any number of diseases and as we hid, more and more of the enemy would be surrounding us. We had to get out.

Which meant that we might have to fight.

We camped near the edge of the swamp. We had had to slaughter the last of the horses because they were too heavy to make it across some of the mire which meant that we had plenty of meat and provision now. Most of what we had was horsemeat and I for one was getting tired of the flavour of salted horse meat.

I began to long for chicken. I don't know why, but some kind of chicken pie with carrots and onions and stuffing. It became the thing that I looked forward to, my talisman of hope. That when I got out of the swamp, I could have my chicken and bacon pie with cream and mushroom filling. I suppose it was simpler somehow, to allow myself to consider that I might never live to see another chicken pie. Easier than trying to imagine never seeing Ariadne again.

That fear, that dread ran the very real risk of crippling me if I let it.

So instead I focused on the chicken pie.

Rickard had gone forward to where the scouts crouched, half submerged in the water, covered in filth as camouflage as they watched to see if there was an ambush out there waiting for us as we left the swamp in the morning.

Not that we were going to go anywhere else. True to form and his earlier assertations that the decision had been made and it needed to be followed through on, we were leaving the swamp here because it was close to a wooded area which would provide cover from cavalry attacks.

But did Cavill know that? Had he placed men there in readiness?

Well, as it turned out. He had.

We came out of the swamp, bastards leading as they had the trick of firing in concentrated bursts. They went out and formed a wedge. A formation that Rickard called “a beach-head” although I forgot to ask him why. Then the rest of us would follow, the rear-guard made up of the more combat experienced Elves as led by Chireadean. We had just made it clear of the swamp when the Horsemen attacked us. I didn't have time to count how many of them they were but they came from further round the edge of the swamp. For all I know it was an accident. That they had simply sited themselves at some point at a guess that this was one of the places that we might have emerged from.

But we didn't have time and they were charging.

The Bastards. Bless their aim, every one of them. Arrayed themselves in front of the mass in a line and just started shooting so that the Horsemen were charging into a storm of arrows. The Elves helped, concentrating, as was their wont, on accuracy over the sheer weight of fire that the Bastard's were turning out and although people could argue as to which one of the two was most useful, I couldn't call it.

Horses fell and started to scream, trapping men underneath who also started to scream. The sound was a cacophony in the air. The horsemen split to move round us, moving round the awful storm of arrowheads that the Bastards were turning out so that they could regroup on the other side of our formation and charge again. Some of the horses splashed into the mire as they went too far wide.

Rickard screamed instructions over the din, the Sergeant was stood there bellowing orders, bodily hauling people who had fallen back to their feet.

We continued to move up towards the trees. Seeing that we were on the verge of escaping. The enemy commander must have ordered his people to cut us off and ordered the horsemen to put themselves in the way. But Rickard had seen the danger and ordered the concentrated fire to shift so that the arrows would punch a hole through the horsemen that we could flee through.

The horsemen broke again and the bastards started to jeer that they couldn't stand before the fire, that they were cowards and useless.

Rickard, Chireadean and the Sergeant were still bellowing to stay together as we moved up into the tree line. Climbing up the slope which was getting steeper. I saw that Rickard had shifted the line of march so that we were climbing up the steeper ground making it more difficult for the horses to follow.

It was a good plan, or it would have been if we were better used to moving together.

As it was though, those of us that were faster or fitter started to pull ahead out of fear than those of us that were slower and less able meaning that we started to spread out. Which, of course made us vulnerable. The horsemen came back at us, less concentrated in their movements rendering the volley fire of the Bastard's more useless. I heard the Sergeant call out “Skirmish order” and the bastard's started moving and firing, exchanging with a partner.

But we started to die then. As horsemen started to slip past the careful net of the bastards and get amongst the less combative Elves. I tried to run to help but a large hand prevented me from moving. I remember spinning to look at the face of the person who held me as I looked into the horrified face of an Elven man who was watching his fellows die with a pain that was hard to describe.

Rickard and Chireadean had ordered him to keep me from the fight and to keep me safe and I hated them, and the poor Elf that was forced to follow those orders.

I felt it was the least I could do to turn and watch those Elves that I might have saved, as they died on the weapons of my enemies.

I don't know if it was fact that those two Scoia'Tael scouts that led Cavill's horsemen to us when they killed that messenger. What I do know is that they had hated themselves for it and they tried to redeem themselves that day. They drew the long handled swords that Elves seem to love so much and charged across the open ground to the rescue of their fellows.

I think they only managed to kill one rider between them as they were swiftly overwhelmed and cut down but they did give the stragglers time to catch up.

Rickard's face was a mask as he ordered Chireadean to lead us up into the hills “where those bastards can't follow us,” while he and the bastards acted as rear-guard.

Chireadean led us up to the crest and gave us five minutes at the top of the hill to recover our wind, to mourn the dead and to give Rickard chance to catch up.

Kerrass was fine. He had done what he was told and stayed out of trouble although I imagine that he chafed at not being able to fight. I went to talk to him about it and to check on him but he shook his head and just said. “What a waste,” over and over again.

“Oh Kerrass.” I said, hearing the tears in my own voice before putting my hand on his shoulder.

“Don't worry about me Freddie.” He told me, clearly and distinctly. “I'm alright. Just take care of yourself and make sure that you stay alive.”

At first I thought I had imagined it and for all I know I might have done. Because when I looked over at him again, he was back to frowning with concentration.

After his five minutes were up and with no sign of the bastards. Chireadean led us onwards. Keeping low in an effort to avoid silhouetting ourselves on the ridge line, we moved over the rockier areas to conceal our tracks as best we could. But speed was vital now and we went on long into the night before collapsing in and around a small cave.

The Bastard's walked up shortly after dark. They ate, checked their weapons and, to a man, just lay down and went to sleep.

All told we had lost seven people. Including the two Scoia'tael.

But I wasn't satisfied with that. I stalked over to where Rickard was still dumping his quiver of arrows to the ground and had lifted a waterskin to his mouth. He saw me coming and turned to me with a smile.

Something inside me snapped and I hit him as hard as I could in the mouth.

“You bastard.” I growled as he fell down.

He lay on the floor and looked up at me. “Flame Freddie but I think you've loosened a tooth there. You feel better for it?”

“You son of a.... but I was already going for him again. He held his hands up to ward me off but Chireadean was there beforehand. Catching my fist as I pulled back for another punch and hauling on my arm. The Sergeant had grabbed me from behind and nearly pulled me off bodily.

The futility of my actions stole the strength from my limbs and I went limp.

“You ordered that Elf to hold me back didn't you? You told him to keep me back from the fighting.” I threw the accusation in his face as though I was throwing a rock.

“Actually, I didn't,” Rickard was climbing back to his feet. “Although I agreed with the decision.”

“It was me,” Chireadean was standing between me and Rickard, arms slightly raised ready to get between Rickard and I if things turned violent again. “It was my idea. I told my biggest and burliest fellow to keep you out of trouble if it came to it. He was a labourer once and although he's massively strong he's a gentle soul and wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone a human. I ord....”

“I don't give a fuck.” I snarled. Some part of me still wanting to keep my voice down. “I could have saved those people. I could have....”

“You could have died.” Rickard said gently. Much gentler than I deserved if truth be told. He climbed to his feet, looked at Chireadean and over my shoulder to where, I assume, the Sergeant was still standing ready to catch me if I decided to do anything foolish. “You might have saved those people but you might have died in the process. In fact I would go so far as to say that you would have died in the process.”

He tested his teeth again and spat blood.

“We've all said it before, including you, but you're the one person here that needs to survive and we all know it. Every single one of us. More important than me, Chireadean, Kerrass as well as every man and Elf here. You must get through. You're the only one with any kind of authority to speak and get this problem dealt with.”

“You're a knight.” I told him. “You could speak with just as much....”

“I'm a jumped up, common born scum-bag.” He told me, his voice taking on posher vocal tones of the upper crust that forms on the upper levels of society. “Knighted by the same kind of man in Jon Natalis. I also have an antagonistic history with Lord Cavill that he made sure that everyone knew about. Your brother might believe me, your sister as well but after that?”

He shrugged and shook his head. “Cavill would march into court and denounce me as a liar with all of his old name and old money brought to bear. Your sister could apply pressure and many people might even know what he was up to but the fact remains that all the time that was going on. Cavill could continue with what he's doing here and even worse than that, he could move his base of operations so that even the evidence can't be found and the accusation of me being a liar is backed up. It has to be you and you know it too.”

“I could have saved those people.” I wailed.

“You could have. And we love you for wanting to.” It was Chireadean who spoke.

My knees gave way and I wept. “I don't want people dying for me.”

“We know Freddie, we know.” I have no idea who said that.

With the adjustment in pace due to the delay on the edge of the marsh and having to flee up hill we had lost time. We were still six days from the Kalayn border and we weren't going to make it.

We lost our first of the Bastard's that night. Man by the name of Cooper. Joined the army out of a debtor's prison in order to pay off his debts. Had a gambling problem so that the Sergeant looked after his money for him. Wagered on everything. Betting you an arrow that he would hit the next target, gambling the night watch against an early watch that he could out wrestle someone. There was never any malice in it. He just liked that risk. He liked to feel the thrill of things.

He had been one of the people who had been hurt in the attack on the fort as we came south. The wound had been bound and cleaned properly at the time but it had been submerged in swamp water at some point and something had got into the cut. Probably just infection but there might have been something Insectoid about it. When he was found in the morning after not having woken up, Rickard found the injury had turned black and stank. Chireadean went around the others that were still sporting injuries to make sure that the problem wasn't just something that had happened to one man. The Sergeant stripped Cooper of his clothes and equipment before dividing it up. The Elven woman, Carys, was the recipient of Coopers Bow. It was a fearsome thing next to her light hunting bow and I, for one, doubted that she would be able to draw it. A thought that she immediately proved wrong. Coopers body was rolled into the back of the cave and lightly covered with what dirt and loose stones that we could scoop with our hands.

He had bitten his lip in an effort to not cry out in pain.

We were then in a problem of what to do. Rickard was worrying about the fact that we were slowing down. Which we were. The marsh had delayed us for not very much benefit as no sooner had they lost us when we went into the marsh than they had found us again when we climbed out of it. As I say, we were about six days march in a straight line from where we were to get to Kalayn lands, roughly four days from friendlier lands and about eight from Castle Kalayn itself.

We all agreed that it would be a mistake to believe that crossing into Kalayn lands was a magical line that would keep us safe but there was no getting around the psychological barrier that that had.

The problem was that the higher up on the ridges and the tops of hills that we were, the easier it was to see us from a greater distance. Low as we might be able to stay, the easier it would be to spot us and even the best of us would be silhouetted against the skyline at some point. The other problem was that being high up and climbing up and down slopes meant that we were tiring ourselves out to no actual gain, not making much ground up as we toiled. True, we could see Cavill coming just as easily and he, at least, would have to dismount his troops and climb up to get to us, same as we had, where we could pick him off. That was if the supply of arrows held, which they wouldn't.

We had traded the siege like situation of the marsh-land for the siege like situation of the hills. I spent a bit of time trying to think about what we had done when we had travelled in the other direction, trying to pick out the lay of the land but the truth was that it was too different to compare the two. That time we had been going from village to village, from population centre to population centre in an effort to find things out. Now we were actively trying to avoid the population centres.

We decided that we could keep to the ridge line for the day as that kept us, mostly on course to get to where we wanted to go without too much of a deviation but that we would then need to look at coming down and making a run for the border before Cavill managed to call up more of his troops and bring them up to the area.

My sense of hopelessness was growing though. Made worse by the fact that the following morning was misty. The hilltops that we were on covered in thick grey fog that meant that we could barely see. It began to lessen as we moved and the day progressed but that was a mixed blessing at best. We couldn't be seen but now we couldn't see where we were going.

That day saw us scrambling through rocks with burning calves as we walked at a crouch, sometimes slithering on our bellies and inching our way over the ridge using our elbows and knees. Silence reigned over all of us as even the slightest whisper seemed to echo in all of our ears. Woe betide anyone who sent a loose rock tumbling as they then received the ire of everyone in the column.

We inched our way along, just below the ridge line, sometimes having to back track a little to find better paths including two memorable times when we had to go up and over the top of the hills themselves. First one way and then another and I can't be the only one that slumped to the ground gratefully when a halt was called.

The mist lifted as the evening went on and the stars came out. I had decided to distance myself from Rickard and Chireadean as I felt that I could no longer be involved in the decision making process. They were right and I had decided that I could no longer trust myself to not do something foolishly heroic. My self-loathing was pronounced as I continued to blame myself for every wrong decision that I had made.

For the historical record, no, the fact that I couldn't have known the consequences for my actions was not a comfort.

But it seemed that this was not to be as after I had eaten one of the horse steaks that was prepared for me over a fire of dry sticks with the light sheltered by bodies and rocks, I was shaken from my self-hatred by the Elven woman, Carys. She seemed to have softened a little in her attitude towards me in the time during the march. She seemed, now, to merely despise me rather than the utter loathing that she treated me with before.

“He wants you.” She told me in Elven before turning away.

“Who?” I asked but she had already walked off. I climbed to my feet and walked after her. She pointed to where Rickard was crouched on the edge of a cliff before turning and finding her own seat, not next to the Sergeant but near enough that they were obviously sitting together.

The thought made me smile and my mood lifted a little.

Rickard didn't turn as I approached. “Knowing you,” he began, “you've sunk into self-loathing since the fight at the marsh.”

“Perceptive of you.” I told him bitterly.

“You shouldn't,” he told me.

“What would I be if I didn't?”

“A worse man than I take you for.” He said. “When we get out of this I'll buy you a drink and tell you how much you've made me and the lads respect you since this whole thing began. Indeed since we first met you but now isn't the time for that.”

“What are we here for then?”

He gestured out into the gulf below us. A gulf, I knew, that mostly consisted of a rolling blanket of treetops with the odd village.

I saw the small sparkle of a camp-fire. Followed by another one and another of them. More even.

“What am I looking at?” I asked. I knew what it was but I was kind of hoping that Rickard would tell me something else.

“I think we're looking at Cavill's net. I think that the vast majority of his forces are currently between us and Kalayn lands. Spread out like a net. As soon as someone spots us they won't come within bow-shot and the signal will go up and everyone will close on that.”

“What about going backwards?”

“Whit his numbers? He'll have look outs behind us as well. He has horses and speed on his side.”

I let that sink in for a moment.

“Fuck,” I said with feeling. “What does that mean for us?”

“It means that, when we come down off the mountain then it's a straight line run to Kalayn lands and it's going to have to be a run.”

I nodded.

“We have one advantage. Not a big one but we need to make the most of it.” Rickard told me. “He has to spread out across the countryside and be reactive where as we can choose where we're going to come down off the hills and ridges. I've talked it over with Chireadean and there's a branch of hills with useful ridges down to the South West. It's gonna take us a couple of days to get there but with a bit of luck that should cut the straight line run through to Kalayn lands down to four days.”

I nodded.

“So, back to six days to Kalayn lands?”

“Six days.” Rickard nodded his agreement.

I felt my throat thicken but I needed to say it.

“I'm sorry I hit you Rickard.”

He almost managed a smile.

“Don't be.” He told me. “I deserved it, even though it was the right thing to do.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Get some rest.”

In comparison to some of the days that we had been on this march, it was a relatively easy couple of days. Rickard and Chireadean set a relatively light pace, stopping often to make sure that we could rest while we moved and so that we could enjoy hot food and take on plenty of water. There was no doubt as to what was coming which was a four day, all but sprint with the strong chance that we would be spending most of that run fighting off attacking “Hounds of Kreve”. But we did our best to enjoy what time we had. The jokes started to come back as well as the boasts about how many Hounds that we would each slay.

We also spent some time gathering the herbs together for Kerrass' protective mixture against the Hounds poisons. Another problem that we were all but certain that we would have to deal with. A couple of the Elves were herbalists. I hadn't spoken to them since joining the group but it seemed that they were either apprentices of, or had learned a lot from Ella, the woman that now looked after Aunt Kalayn in her drug and trauma induced early dotage. Ella, it seemed, would teach and pass out supplies when the Elven group passed in this direction and she was fairly well regarded. But the two Elves in question advised that we boil the herbs and mosses in the water wherever possible before soaking the scarves in the mixture over night. Meaning that, eventually, the mixture would have “saturated” the cloth.

I had to ask what “Saturated” meant and I'm still, not entirely certain what it is. Something to do with not being physically able to take on any more of a thing.

Never mind.

I did my best to spend time with Kerrass. I spent a good amount of my time fighting off a general feeling of despair that was sinking over me and round me. It was a fog that came into my brain that rendered me unable to think, to plan. I could remember Ariadne's face but I couldn't remember what it looked like when she smiled, hiding the smile behind her hand because she thought that the sight of her teeth would frighten people.

I could no longer remember the terrified hope that she had when I first held out the engagement ring or the feel of things when I kissed her for the first time. All I could remember was her expressionless face. What she referred to as her “stupid people mask” that she wore in the presence of people that she didn't like or strongly disagreed with. The face that she wore in an effort to hide what she was thinking. I kept remembering those times, early on in our knowing of each other, when she had worn that mask to talk to me.

I could no longer remember what she smelled like and when I tried to remember, it brought tears rather than memories.

Kerrass hadn't changed. He marched and moved with the best of us. Still having to grimace when circumstances forced him to use his hands as, quite rightly, he insisted on using his arms as little as possible and kept them in his slings. We had run out of the strong alcohol that he needed in order to brew the Witcher's potions and Elixirs and so the progress of his healing was slowing down again although he insisted that he had rationed his Elixir use carefully so that he wasn't in extreme danger of losing his mind. I remember that he emphasised the word “extreme” in that sentence thus managing to suggest that he was still in some danger of losing his mind.

When I called him on that he smiled and, not for the first time, I thought that I could see the old Kerrass shining behind his eyes. But then he told me to either go away or to be quiet and let him think. When I could bear it I would sit with him while he worked through his problems. The same things and the same questions over and over again. He ran through the entirety of the religious rite that we had been part of back at the village of the cave. He could recount the entire episode along with everything that he had ever been told about the peasant religion and he would go through it all, word for word, beat for beat as he turned it over and over in his mind. He didn't even appear to be aware that he was mimicking the voices of the people involved.

Including mine.

He still accepted food and drink and would sleep where he was told and accept the herbalists attentions when it came time to inspect his arms and the injuries. He had also begun a series of gentle exercises that the Elves had assigned him that were designed to strengthen his arms again and he could often be seen doing these exercises where, again, he proved me wrong. Where I had expected some kind of angry assault on his injury where he would be in danger of over extending himself and possibly doing himself more harm than good by following the often mistaken belief that if you do twice as much exercise then you will do twice as much good.

Instead he did exactly the correct amount of exercise before stopping and resting. He followed their instructions to the letter, before sitting back down, cross-legged which was a feat of balance in and of itself and going back to his muttering.

I asked if I could help on more than one occasion, trying to recapture what I was coming to consider the glory days of our early association but all I ended up doing was sitting there as he talked round the problem over and over again.

I had no new ideas, no new suggestions and that was as frustrating for me as it was for him. It seemed that my fog of despair had spread.

In the end we seemed to come to a mutual agreement that we should leave ourselves alone with our thoughts. This might have helped Kerrass, indeed I really hoped that it did, but all it did for me was to leave me alone with my despair. A despair that I was sinking further and further into the depths of.

So we ate, we drank the herbal drinks that was prepared for us in order to make sure that we were as fit and healthy as we could be. We prepared and dried the meat as best we could on the grounds that we wouldn't be able to stop and cook or even stop and eat. It would have to be food on the run as we fled. Almost head long in a race towards hope.

But it was inevitable that the day would come where it was time to come down off the mountain. Where we would have to go down and start the mad chase and I found that I didn't want to. I didn't want to risk life and limb. I wanted to stay up in the mountains. We had enough food now, even though it was essentially just horse meat, for a week and water for a few days before it would run out, but I wanted to live for those few days. It was inconceivable to me that we were going to survive for more than a couple of hours when we came down off the mountain.

There was an inevitability about it though. A weight behind the movement that said that we had no choice about what was coming. That we had to keep moving forward and so it was that overnight. The night before Rickard had decided that we would come off the ledges and ridges, I began to feel as though I wanted to get it over with. If I was going to die then I wanted it to be done.

The morning dawned cold, damp and misty. The night had been cloudy and overcast enough that we had been unable to see down to the forest below. I know that a couple of volunteers had offered to stay up and watch the forest in the hope that they would be able to see camp fires and so that we might be able to chart a safe passage through for us but that had proved pointless.

Another brave group of Elves volunteered to come down off the mountain and head off in another direction in an effort to draw off anyone who might be watching and waiting but Rickard declined the offer even though I suspect that Chireadean might have quite liked the idea. Rickard again voiced his feeling that we would need as many people as we could get in order to punch our way through the enemy encampments and get to safety.

I stayed out of the entire debate as I no longer trusted my own judgement. As I say, I wanted it to be done now, whether I ended up spitted on the end of some bastard's sword, trampled under the horses hooves or ended up on a torture rack in the smoky depths of Cavill's cave. I wanted it to be done.

The thought that I might make it through to Kalayn castle was no longer a thought that I dared to entertain.

Of course that morning dawned with a mist hanging over everything. I didn't need anything else to make me feel twitchy and paranoid.

We tried really, really hard to think of that as an advantage. To think that this meant that we could descend from the hills quietly and carefully and that the fog might deaden the sounds of our descent and that it might render us unseen. We tried really hard to be optimistic.

That treacherous voice inside my head, the one that told me that everything would be ok if I simply opened my veins with my dagger so that Cavill would have no reason to hunt these people despite the blatant untruth of this. It was trying to tell me that the Hounds had much more experience with moving around in the mist than we did.

I did my best to ignore the voice but the stupid thing was getting more and more insistent.

Rickard had made a little speech before we climbed down off the hill. Just a short one. Longer than the speech he had given in the village to be sure but it was still a speech.

“Just in case I don't get the chance later.” He told us all. “Just in case I fall to the first arrow or crossbow bolt or I don't make it past the first charge....” He had this trick where he seemed to look each of us in the eye. “I just wanted you all to know that I have been proud to fight alongside each and every one of you. Because fight we all have, even those of you that can't fire a bow or who haven't swung a weapon. This has been a battle and now we're into the decisive phase.” He looked around again. “Let's get it done.”

We climbed down, carefully and quietly as we went, the Bastards forming their beach-head again as the rest of us descended. There was some kind of loose theory that if we were attacked then we could climb back up. Personally, I didn't think that this would happen though. I thought that, if we were being watched, then they would want to cut us off from our line of retreat so that the could kill us at our leisure. They would want to make sure that they had got all of us before letting us go.

They would wait.

Whether I was right, or whether there was just no-one to see us climb down off the hill, there is no way of telling.

When we had all gotten down, settled our packs comfortably on our backs, bows strung and arrows ready he took another look at all of us. “Lets get it done.” He said again before leading us off at a gentle jog.