A Scholar's travels with a Witcher

(A/N: I seem to be making a lot of these notes at the moment. The following contains scenes describing the results of third party torturing of children.)

“So it was those... things that were in the box?” Mark asked us after a long period of silence during which he had sat back in his chair looking pale and sweating. I couldn't speak for Kerrass but I for one was certainly convinced of his innocence in this matter now. He had been genuinely shocked at the appearance of the stone tablet and the silver ankh and had asked numerous questions during the narrative about how we found the box and what had happened before and after. He had examined the reports and offered insightful comments supporting some of our theories. He had also been genuinely frightened for me about opening the box.

“So you're definitely alright now?” He said to me then.

“Yes, I'm fine.” I answered with a smile. It is always nice to realise the genuine affection that a family member holds for you, especially when that affection has been somewhat doubtful in the past.

He nodded. “Anything I can do,” he said to me, “If you need to give confession or hold a vigil or anything that might put that awful experience behind you.”

“Thank you,” I said again. “But I think I'm alright. It wasn't me thinking and feeling those things. Part of my...distress was that those thoughts were so alien to me. I couldn't have felt that. If my, I suppose that the right word is “tastes” ran in that direction, however deeply buried they might be buried, then I might be a little more upset.”

“True, true and that speaks well of you. It really does. So why come to me?”

“Because, we are still missing the last piece of the puzzle,” Kerrass chimed in. Mark sat back in his chair.

“We don't know what those, items or relics might be or what significance they have and as such we don't know what was going on. Despite being, and I flatter myself and the lady Laurelen here, experts in our relevant fields, other than the fact that these items have religious significance we don't know what they mean together. So we came to our local religious expert for several reasons. The first is that you know more than us. The second being that you can be relied on to keep the matter discreet as it concerns your family rather than the university experts who will want to discuss, debate and argue with their fellows on the subject,”

Mark snorted at that but was nodding.

“Finally we wanted to check you had nothing to do with it.”

“Are you now convinced of my innocence?” Mark asked slyly with a small smile and a gleam in his eye.

“Mostly,” I answered with a similar smile.

Mark laughed at that and it was another glorious release of tension. My sisters confession had cleared the air between us and now Mark felt less like “Arch-Bishop Mark,” and more the “Mark who used to sneak me sweets in confessional”. It felt good.

“First tell me what you understand them to be.” Mark leant back into a lecturer pose. I imagined him teaching a group of young priests in a seminary somewhere.

“Separately. The Ankh is a symbol of life.” I said. “People wear them as jewellery similar to the way you might wear a symbol of the eternal fire. I can name some famous people that have done so and publicly as well. I understand it was from the south originally and might come from Zerrikania or further but beyond that...” I shrugged. “The stone tablet is a portable alter of the Lionheaded Spider. Otherwise known as the Goddess of death and murder. I know that her worship is forbidden although her priests and priestesses have genuine power.”

Mark winced a little, presumably at my ignorance and simplifications.

“I know that much but more to the tune of how to deal with such things when I find them in crypts.” Kerrass admitted. “I know that you desecrate a shrine to the Lionhead when you find one, most commonly by kicking it over till it breaks and then pissing or defecating on it. I also know that...begging your pardon Arch-Bishop, but that they are only dangerous when unattended. If the shrine is attended by a holy person or priestess then they only cause a problem when interfered with.”

Mark nodded some confirmations.

“You are mostly correct although I would always recommend against defecation as a means of desecration. I would not want to bare my arse to an angry alter to an angry God. To the layman you should always send for a priest. Between these four walls that recommendation extends to a priest or priestess of any religion.”

“But you don't deny that the Lion head is not necessarily evil?” I asked. I will admit that I was shocked. When learning about the Lionheaded Spider from my tutor it was full of doom and damnation and that worshippers should all be burnt at the stake.

“I think that the Witcher will agree with me as to the fact that a things nature does not necessarily make it evil.”

“One of the few things that we might agree about,” Kerrass commented with a smile.

“True,” Mark had an answering smile, “but that's a conversation for another time.”

“I also know that when the two symbols are found together, bound together and inverted then they should be destroyed to the maximum degree.”

“Quite right Master Witcher, do you know why though?”

“No,”

Mark sighed. “I sometimes feel for the Witchers,”

“Not often though,” Kerrass put in,

“No, it's not their fault that they are Godless, heretical mercenaries.” The two men laughed. It was good to see them getting on.

“But no, I sometimes feel sorry for them. Mages created them, gave them the tools and the knowledge to fight for us but none of the reasons as to why.”

“To protect people surely,” I said, noting the dangerous glint in Kerrass' eyes.

“Undeniably,” agreed Mark, “In the Macro scale but in the Micro scale? Why do we destroy these things? Why do we tell Witchers what to kill but not why that thing and not the other thing? The Witchers must make their own minds up. What if they get it wrong?”

“Witchers have studied these problems since their creation,” Kerrass said carefully. “But we are getting off topic. Perhaps we could table that conversation for another time? I look forward to hearing your thoughts on that though.”

“Do you really?” Mark's smile was a challenge.

Kerrass grinned back.

“Anyway,” I said, “The combination.”

“Yes, the combination of the two.” Mark agreed and bent down to root around in a drawer in his desk producing several things that looked like empty cotton reels, a ball of wool and then, seemingly dissatisfied, added a couple of bits of stick and a paperweight. “Please forgive the crudeness of the demonstration but my teaching days are a little behind me now and my tools are back in Tretogor so this may go wrong.”

Kerrass and I watched, fascinated as Mark busied himself tying lengths of wool to the bobbins, the stone and the twigs. He worked quickly and efficiently, his fingers surprisingly nimble with the movements obviously much practised.

“Can you clear my desk please?”

Kerrass and I leapt to work carting notes and books to far corners of the room. When we came back Mark had tied all the threads together in the middle so that the pattern looked like a star only with many more arms.

*

as an example.

“So,” Mark began. This is what we call “The Web of life”.” He looked up at us again. “There is a reason why it's called “Web” so just bear that in mind. I should also add that this demonstration represents our “best guess” as to the way the world works. Study of the subject is problematic and you may see why. Now then each strand of string is a persons life where the bit in the middle is where you are born. Each of the weights” Mark pointed at the twigs, rock and bobbins, “represent the many powers that there are in the world. Some people might call them Gods. Some are simply “Powers”.”

He mused for a moment.

“The judges are still considering the difference between the two but that's a story for another time. Anyway, as exampled, the Holy Flame is probably one of these powers and a significant one to humans as it was one of the first ones to reveal itself to humanity upon landing. There is also Melitele, Veyopatis, the various Nature “Gods”, the sun God of the Nilfgaardians...”

“I thought that they deified their emperor,” I put in,

“Yes, don't they just.” Mark was grinning, clearly enjoying himself. “But where does that worship originate I wonder. That's another story though,”

“There are a lot of stories building up here,” Kerrass commented.

“Indeed, I'm trying to compress several years worth of theologic study into a short space and so I'm missing bits out.”

“Fair enough.”

“There is also the Elven Gods, I understand that the gnomes have Gods of their own. People worship their ancestors, the Skelligan gods... There is even argument that some virtues and vices are becoming Powers in their own right such as Greed, Ambition, Love and so on. We have nowhere near identified all of them. Some of them are “evil” and some are “Good,” Most are grey areas with their own drives. All these powers pull at the strands in various ways.”

Mark stared at the pattern, his lips moving before he started moving the “powers” around, seemingly at random. Every so often the strands would meet, cross and knot together but Mark paid no attention just kept on weaving. I didn't count but he was about his task a long time. Periodically he would also take a large pin and use it to anchor a knot or a thread. He kept going, even when strands of thread ran out it didn't seem to bother him at all. Instead I found myself wondering when he started sticking his tongue between his teeth when he was concentrating.

“Right,” he said after a while, standing back to admire his handiwork. “It's not the best version of this kind of demonstration. If you ever get the chance you should go to Tretogor seminary where they have a full 3 dimensional version of it, all the strands are multicoloured making them much easier to follow. It looks like an explosion and when you stand back it looks truly beautiful. The main problem is that we have no way of visualising time in our boring visual spectrum so it loses something. Anyway, in this version the centre is the point of origin. We call that birth although it also represents the past. I stress again that this is an oversimplification because where does life begin and all that.

“We know that Melitele is about fertility and the act of actually giving birth but is also about healing and it all gets very confusing and contradictory so anyway. This point is birth for now.”

He singled out a piece of string. “This is an individuals life that we have picked out for the purposes of this demonstration. Here is where he was born. His life coming from the knot of birth and if we follow the strand, each time he meets someone else his strand interacts with their strand causing a knot. Sometimes they interact multiple time in the cases of close friends, family or loved ones and other people they just meet them randomly in the street. Some people they don't interact with them at all.”

At each point that he referred to, he pointed to one of the knots that he had pinned down and I realised that his first seemingly random movements, were in fact entirely intentional.

“And then in the end, as we track the strand, this person reaches their end as the strand runs out in death. You see that?”

Kerrass and I nodded. Another moment of insight struck me then although I had always known it really. I had always thought of myself as being different than the rest of my family in that I was the one that rebelled and followed my own desires rather than the path that Father had laid out for me. In truth I had plenty in common with some of my siblings it was just that my parents had tried to force me into a certain path for which I was unsuited. I could imagine myself easily following a studious theological route such as Mark had taken or he following my academic route into the university. But I had forgotten the fact that he was also a good teacher.

“So if you take a step back from the whole it looks like a rather chaotic web. Do you see the similarity? There was an effort to try and refer to it as the tapestry of life because if you have enough strands and weave them together, from a distance enough it looks like an ordered tapestry but that doesn't take into account the extra dimensions of time, distance, numbers, locations and all of the other variables that can be taken into account in a persons life. If you look closely it's much more chaotic.”

“I'm beginning to see where the arguments come in,” said Kerrass. “It doesn't look much like a web to me as Spiders are a lot more ordered in my experience,”

“You are correct, but would you agree with my points so far?”

Kerrass nodded. I was too busy being fascinated.

“Spiders may seem chaotic to us but their more chaotic web patterns serve a purpose to them and as such I find I like the analogy. But anyway, staying on topic here...If we tug on the various “powers,” gently please, we find that our original string is manipulated.”

I was again reminded that a physical demonstration is always better than the theory.

“Even if we tug on those strings that, in theory, have no influence on the original string we can affect it. Do you see this?”

As a note to my readers. If you have trouble visualizing this then you can perform this experiment yourself with several lengths of string. You might not get such a perfect example as to what we were discussing but... Just try not to tie the knots so tight so that you can see the full range of movement.

“Now, the full demonstration grows more complex when you introduce strands with different widths and strengths which demonstrate the power and importance that a person may be born with, regardless of what you think of this person. But that doesn't have any relevance today. What I will say is that if you use any one power or strand to tug the overall web in one direction or another you get a particular result. If you'll just let me...”

Mark took the rock and gently started to pull on it and therefore the attached thread.

“Watch our original strand carefully.”

As we watched, our strand started to unravel from it's greater weaving and eventually, the end sprang free.

“If we pull on it for long enough.” My brother said a little smugly. “That happens. That person's life is no longer confined within the strands of the greater....” mark waved his hands expansively in the air, “Life and existence for want of a better word and he is flapping free, pulled in too many directions.”

He sat back down and pulled his chair over to the web.

“Now this brings us to the Lionheaded Spider and what she does. She is not a power and as such she doesn't or rather she shouldn't, have any influence on the greater web. Her job is to cut off the various exposed ends.”

Mark demonstrated by taking a knife and cutting our thread off.

“This is the other reason that we don't like the term “Tapestry” as that suggests the presence of a “weaver of the tapestry and as such, why would any being or power allow enemies of theirs to influence their creation.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Here is the nub of the matter. Calling the Lionheaded Spider the Goddess of death is a simplification. What she is, is the Goddess of necessary death. The theory goes like this. When the strand is tugged into too many directions and springs free, what happens in the real world is that the person goes mad or gets sick. It should end in old age when the Spiders arrival would often be seen as a mercy. But sometimes those powerful influences tug a person in so many directions that they go mad and become dangerous. This is what gives birth to psychopaths. Those men and women who are just so mad that you can't help them or cure them and to keep them around is actively dangerous for the safety of those surrounding them. Then the Lionheaded Spider turns her gaze upon them and they are killed.

“In an ideal world there would exist a shrine to the Lionheaded Spider in every community and there would be no offerings or worshippers but there would be one single priest or priestess. Practicalities would suggest that there might be an apprentice as well. The shrine should be maintained by the populace and the local authorities. The priest earns their keep by specialising in death. They bring the last solace to the suffering by comforting the dying and euthanizing where necessary but they also act as Executioner's when society demands it.”

“But this is not an ideal world,” Kerrass said after we both realised that Mark had stopped talking.

“No, more's the pity. Instead people decide to worship her as a Goddess of death. They pray to her to visit their enemies or they prey that they themselves might be visited to alleviate suffering. Children prey to her when their abusive parents beat them. Women pray to her when husbands abuse them. But then Assassins pray to her to bless their work and use her as an excuse for the evil that they commit. Executioners often pray to her and they are the only people who have a right to and should.”

“And we know that she has power because her priestesses are known to curse people,” I said, feeling that I needed to contribute something.

“Precisely which is why it's dangerous and why governments and people like me have taken the easy option by simply banning her worship rather than engaging people in long, complicated theological debates.”

“So the ankh means life,” I began, “And the Web means death? Sorry, necessary death. Surely they shouldn't be brought together, they are almost intentional opposites.”

“Exactly. That's why people who do this are so dangerous.”

“I don't follow.”

“It's the denial of the pattern, it's the denial of life, of death and everything that comes between.” Mark had become, if possible, more passionate. His face was red, he slammed his hands on the table and he was breathing rapidly. “Life and death, inverted and bound together in such a way, cancel each other out. They...corrupt each other. We don't know enough about death other than the fact that it involves some kind of “moving on”. To what, we don't know but we know that ghosts and spirits happen because of some form of unfinished business, am I right Kerrass?”

“You are. We also know that spirits can be corrupted but also cleansed depending on their mood, circumstances and physical situation. A colleague of mine was recently able to encourage a spirit to return back to her normal human state and then to move on so we also know that the process works both ways.”

“Yes, but these symbols represent the ultimate forms of such. If the Ankh which represents life in it's purest form is corrupted by “death” and the Web, corrupted by life into some unrecognisable form?” Mark shrugged an answer to his own question.

“Does it represent a power, or a God?”

“We don't know but we suspect not, given what is identified around the items but it is what it represents that worries us. Here's why the church is so against it. This web that I have demonstrated to you is the natural order of things. It's complex, varied, chaotic, terrifying and it applies to all living things on this continent and beyond. But this,” he gestured at the symbols. “Exists outside of that. It's the denial of the natural order. Perhaps I should state that the destruction of the natural order is our version of the end of the world. So an outside influence on it all is worrying, nay terrifying.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“We don't know but we think it's magic. This... This totem and the way it's worshipped represents a worship of magic. Magic can do... pretty much anything. We know it denies death as Magic users can live for centuries and Mages have talked about creating life and indeed have made progress in that direction by creating Golems and elementals.

“In worshipping this idol and it does take the form of worship. The followers deny the natural order. They do this in various ways but the most common form of this is a form of cannibalism and soul stealing. Their rites include horrible, horrible torture of young individuals as well as the consuming of their flesh. They believe that the torture convinces the souls to leave the body prematurely and by imbibing the flesh of the person then the soul will go to where it's familiar,”

“The flesh of the victim which has been consumed.”

“Especially as the rites tend to attract those people who enjoy such...debasements and therefore the new surroundings are a lot more attractive.”

“So cannibalism, mutilation, torture and rape as forms of worship.” I said shuddering. “Lovely.”

“Indeed.”

“Why do you connect these things with magic?” Kerrass asked. “All the Magic users that I've ever met would be equally as horrified.”

“Yes, well. What we've found is that the totems and relics that you've found are imbued with magical energy, presumably because magical talent happens in small ways sometimes. We think that those people, in performing these rites and rituals they eventually produce that power and makes it happen. In believing something they create it. It gets imbued and then they see magical results.

“We can argue about magic and the moral implications for years, ignoring the fact that someone who has narrowly survived the misuse of magic sits here amongst us,”

“Thank you,” Kerrass muttered dryly.

“But one thing that everyone agrees with is that magic came out of the conjunction of spheres.”

“Along with humanity.”

“Probably but we can't prove that.” Mark responded. “We do know that there was no magic before then as the dwarves and gnomes who definitely lived here before the conjunction tell us that that is the case. This means that although this pattern, which is what we think of as the natural order, existed before magic's arrival. Magic upsets that and tugs the pattern, violently, in all directions.”

Mark demonstrated and sure enough the pattern fell apart.

“Magic can do all of these things and more. That is why we find it so...terrifying. Along with the fact that many magic users do things because they can, long before they ever think about whether or not they should.”

We looked at each other for a moment.

“I feel like we got off topic again,” Kerrass said finally.

“Probably,” Mark agreed. “I tend to get.... passionate when magic comes up.”

“Yes, well, just to summarize. The idols represent life and death cancelling each other out and removing their worshippers from the natural order of birth life and death.”

“Yes.”

“The methods that they use involve torture and cannibalism.”

“Yes.”

“They are magically connected but we can't say why or definitively say how.”

“Ummm...”

“I should point out that the magic user that was present was as horrified at the artefacts as you were.”

“Really? Interesting.”

“That's one word for it.” I said helpfully.

“Does that answer all of your questions gentlemen?” Mark asked.

Kerrass and I looked at each other and chuckled.

“Not even close, but it's a good start.” Kerrass laughed. “We should ask though. Are you and your church soldiers up for some heretical smiting tomorrow evening? We could do with your advice and some professional church soldiers would be useful.

“We might? I have a question of my own now. What's happening and why would you need those same soldiers? I think I've been accommodating enough given that you blew my door down. How is Edmund involved in all of this and what does that have to do with anything.”

“It's not a great story. In fact I think it's rather sad.” said Kerrass. “But nevertheless it is dangerous and is close to being really evil.”

“Do continue.”

Kerrass frowned. “There are two players in the story so far. Those players being your father and your brother Edmund. We don't know in which order these things happened and as far as we know they happened independently.

“Edmund was unhappy. We know that he resented his home life, his parents, his family and indeed everyone concerned. His father put the weight of the entire family on his shoulders and he responded by lashing out. He was not as clever as he was supposed to be, not as strong or as pretty or as fast. He didn't have the mind for figures that Emma had, he wasn't as clever as Frederick or you are, he wasn't as strong as Samuel or as pretty as Francesca and even worse than that, no-one criticised him for that aloud despite his, to him, obvious failings. He just wanted to be left alone to enjoy himself.

“He fled home and fell in with a group of friends. He started to indulge in various vices, gambling, women, drugs, alcohol and all of these were a form of lashing out against his family and his surroundings. We can't identify those friends but we know it was happening. Gradually the crowd he associated with got worse and worse and their depravities got worse and worse and before Edmund had turned around he was in too deep and over his head.”

Mark just nodded frowning as he listened to Kerrass speak.

“At some point, and we don't know when, he was inducted into this “religion”. We believe that this induction was slow but at the time of the induction your brother was very angry. He believed that he was being hard done to and was being looked down on. He was impatient to take on his birthright and take on the responsibility and privilege of being the Baron von Coulthard while he was still young, vigorous and pretty enough to enjoy it. Then, given that your father showed no signs of wanting to retire or to do the decent thing of dropping dead and leaving Edmund to inherit, he fell in with a group of other rich, entitled people who felt the same. We believe that a priest of these idols, or a superior figure of some kind encouraged these feelings and fed on them inducting them all into the church. Then they would start preying on young people all over the countryside to slake the thirsts of their new religion.

“Now, we believe that this next thing happened independently. Your father was aware of a number of similar deaths happening in the countryside around Oxenfurt, including on his own lands. These deaths were always the same. Young, beautiful people would be kidnapped, horribly abused and mutilated sexually and physically over a period of days before the bodies of these poor unfortunates would be found, abandoned in out of the way places. The victim would often turn out to have been identified and tracked before hand as well by a third party before they were taken. Sometimes someone was caught, sometimes not, sometimes the body was found, sometimes not. We think that your father believed that it was some kind of circle of young nobles or entitled people who were rich enough to believe themselves above the law,”

“Which was largely true,” I put in,

“and who would then kidnap people who they believed were unimportant and then torture them for kicks, confident that they would get away with it.”

“Still, largely accurate.”

“Yes, but what your father missed was the religious or magical implications. Sometimes when, someone needed to be sacrificed then a member of the group would be thrown to the populace to keep them sweet and to keep eyes off the larger, overall group.”

Kerrass poured us all some wine and took a drink from his cup.

“So far the two stories act independently. At some point, and we don't know how or why, your father realised that Edmund was involved in the group that he was tracking. He spoke to Edmund and told him, rather bluntly, that he needed to cease these activities. We don't know if there was any threat attached to this order but we do know that Edmund felt that he was under threat of being disinherited.

“The group were, by now, treating Edmund as their cash cow. Whenever they needed money it was always Edmund who provided the money as your father was always willing to provide the cash when required. When he was threatened with this source of money being removed they started to cut him out. Before long he knew that he would be one of the members that would be thrown to justice when the group felt that they needed to divert attention away from themselves.

“He had another friend in the group and we don't know who this friend was. We hope to identify this person tomorrow night when the group intend to hold another rite but this is the figure that is the author of your families woes. He devised a scheme by which your father would die in an “accident” so that Edmund could inherit and therefore he would have access to all the money that they could ever need. The plan was implemented and resulted in the injury and eventual death of your father.”

Kerrass then went through how Edmund had interfered with Fathers horse gear causing the horse to throw it's rider injuring Father and how the injury was then poisoned to make it look as though the infection was spreading faster than it should.

“Unfortunately,” Kerrass went on, “The Stable-master had noticed the problem with the horse and the saddle and innocently brought it to the attention of your brother, presuming that your brother would inherit and therefore that he was now in charge. Your brother did not take this well and the Stable-master realised that Edmund was the perpetrator and fled.

“Edmund reacted badly, followed the stable-master and ran him through, also killing the poor man's wife when she tried to flee. Interestingly they might have got away with it too if they had simply fled at sight of him from which we can infer your brothers lack of physical conditioning.”

Mark finally reacted, shaking his head and was no longer able to meet Kerrass' gaze.

“The unknown person who had been encouraging Edmund on from the side lines realised Edmund's mistake and panicked. They then snuck into the castle, presumably under the guise of wanting to pay their respects or maybe because they had some kind of hold over other members of the castle or whatever, they got into the castle, found your brother and killed him to prevent any other repercussions falling on their heads.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Your brother told us.”

“Necromancy?”

“No no, Flame no,” I said, “Edmund kept a diary.”

“This is Freddie's bit and to be fair to him it is really impressive.” Kerrass said with a grin.

“When we finally managed to get into the bank to retrieve the contents of Edmund's safety box we found his diary inside. The beginning was fairly simple moaning about circumstances and family but then it changed into numbers.”

“A code?”

“Yes,”

“Frederick cracked it. Long story short otherwise his ego will inflate his head until he won't be able to leave the room, it was a book code.”

“Four numbers.” I said. “Page number, Chapter number, verse number and word number. That word was what he said.”

I saw my own realisation hit Mark between the eyes. “He was using the Litany of faith as his code book.”

“We found his only copy on his bedside. He had it next to him, hidden in plain sight.”

“Ok stop.” said Kerrass. “How do you two know so much about codes? I know Freddie saw coded messages in the war and would often help decode them but you your grace?”

“We all served in our own way.” Mark said with a grin.

“That was cryptic,”

“Now don't grumble Kerrass. Please continue.”

“That diary told us about future plans but the thing we're missing is names. He uses initials in the diary so that even if a third party decoded the diary then they wouldn't know who he was talking about. It seems that Edmund had realised that he was in danger and had started to keep the diary in earnest as evidence and record about the groups crimes to be used as a trade and blackmail device should they all be caught.”

Mark nodded.

“Poor Edmund,” he said.

“Poor Edmund?” Kerrass remarked. “ Your brother murdered your father and two members of your household. He has murdered, tortured and mutilated many young people and conspired to keep it from the proper authorities as well as doing things that give the rest of us magical people a bad name. Forgive me Your Grace but it rather seems that he got what was coming to him,”

Mark looked at Kerrass sadly. “You are probably right Witcher, But you don't remember playing with him as a boy.”

“No,” I said, “But I also remember him using a magnifying glass and the sun to fry a line of ants in the courtyard to upset Francesca.”

Mark nodded and his gaze sank. He looked old. Sick and old.

We talked long into the night. Lots of conversation and planning that I don't really need to go into here. The long and short of it was that we were organising a raid on the intended site of worship. The objective was that we wanted to pull the entire damn weed out to the very last of the roots so wherever possible we needed to take them alive. Especially the high priest.

Our forces came together that evening and one by one they joined us in what had become our war room. Our forces were not inconsiderable in training and expertise but at the same time we didn't know how numerous the enemy were going to be. On our side, we had already sent word and Sir Rickard and his men had returned from their patrol in the nearby countryside. By patrol we were led to understand that they had been patrolling the nearby inns and taverns most diligently and had found absolutely no enemies of the state. I was pleased to see them all as they arrived and saw to it that they were well fed and “watered”.

We also had Brother Mark's men, fifty trained soldiers of the church. Culturally it's an interesting thing that Church soldiers have almost become folk villains since the death of King Radovid. You can wander round various places and listening to the bards stories and epic poems and as you listen you can begin to see a pattern emerging. Whereas before the villains of these pieces tended to be spurned, abusive, conceited, rude lovers there has now been a subtle change that one of these additional character flaws there has been added the term 'church soldier'.

Well I am here to say that this is unfair.

Church soldiers are a lot like the rest of us in that they run the entire spectrum of morals and character from good to bad and they should be treated as such. I cannot deny that there were in their number, people who would have been better left out of them. The cruel fanatics and such who would burn and torture a person for simply using a herb to help ward off bad health, but they did so under royal encouragement and the promise of eternal bliss. You also have to bear in mind that these particular factions within the church, the questioners and the Witch-hunters and so on were at their most... aggressive around Novigrad and Oxenfurt where they were protected and encouraged by King Radovid. These places also being the largest concentration of poets and bards in the world which now spread tales of church soldiers raping and torturing good folk for implied Witchcraft to the entirety of the Northern Continent.

But I have to say that all of the church soldiers that I have met are reasonably good people. Certainly the ones protecting my brother fell into the category. They talked, laughed and grumbled along with the best of them and the only real differences between them and my Fathers guards was the need to gather and pray at particular and regular intervals.

So we had the church men which meant that we also had an Arch-Bishop on our side which was useful for his knowledge and experience.

The Oxenfurt watch were involved in the operation in as much as they would be keeping normal citizens away from the particular patch of land where the next rites were going to be held but it had been decided that the Watch wouldn't be involved in the actual raid itself. The argument made was that some of the Watch who, again, might be vulnerable to men of power ordering them to turn away and as such should not be put in a position where they might be forced to choose between their integrity, their duty and the threatened survival's of their family.

Sam and the guardsmen from the castle wanted to be involved as well but after much arguing it was decided that we could not prove that Edmund had not managed to corrupt any of the men to his cause and as such they were...vulnerable. The other problem was that if the castle emptied, spontaneously and without warning then this might give any potential watchers a clue as to our intentions.

We also had the Sorcerous power of the Lady Laurelen who was waiting for us in Oxenfurt itself.

We knew where the rites were being held as well which was fortuitous. Brother Edmund had shown that he wasn't entirely that stupid when he had realised that he was potentially under the axe. He had dates, times and locations of any and all future meetings. It was kind of frustrating to read his diary as he told us so much else but missed out names referring to people according to initials or nicknames or code-names or names that he made up on the fly in an effort to remember specific people but it did mean that we had been able to scout the location carefully well in advance as we set to our plan.

It was absolutely vital that we capture as many of the people involved as we could. Preferably alive but dead if necessary due to not knowing who else might be involved and that was the basis of our plan. In the end we agreed that Sir Rickard's men would be the scouts on site. They would be hidden around the place in pairs waiting for all the cultists to arrive. When it was clear that no-one else was going to turn up, one half of every pair would then return to a separate staging area where the church soldiers and Laurelen would be waiting. Those soldiers would then be led to the various places where they would need to be to prevent a massed break out.

This was going to be the tricky bit as there was a danger that if any unit got lost or made a noise then that could alert the cultists and they could escape.

Laurelen and Mark would be set back from the site so that she could work her magic to make sure that the cultists couldn't hurt any of us, even in their ignorance at the power that they were wielding and Mark might be needed to decipher or offer advice on what we found.

The signal to begin the attack would be given by Kerrass who would be stationed with Sir Rickard's men and I, unhappily, would come up with the rest of the soldiers. There was some concern that I might lose my temper and start shouting when I saw innocents being tortured or held against their will.

Funny that.

It was an unfortunate truth that we didn't know when the cultists might start torturing captives. They might, and it puts my teeth on edge just writing this, start casually raping the women while they were waiting for the rest of their fellows to arrive and it was felt that I wouldn't be able to contain myself watching this.

They were probably correct and I don't feel at all ashamed although I am ashamed that a decision was made that the well being of any captives was put secondary to the potential future of any other captives.

I know why and on an intellectual level I can understand why sometimes the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few but at the same time I imagine myself having to go to the parents or the significant others of the captives and saying. “Sorry we didn't stop your mother/sister/daughter/wife from being horribly raped to death but we were trying to catch everyone involved.”

I guess I just have a hangup about these kinds of things.

Which, a couple of people have since suggested, is no bad thing.

Mark and I had a very public and a very loud argument where I called him a lot of things and he called me a lot of things and so he, and all of his men left in a cloud of dust in the early morning in an effort to throw anyone who was watching off our sent. They would travel East towards Tretogor for a while before doubling back and making their way to the staging area under the guidance of a couple of Sir Rickard's men who were used to moving through the countryside without being seen.

Kerrass and I rode gently back towards Oxenfurt where we met Laurelen and Emma for an evening meal before picking up Shani as she would be acting as a medic for the night. I had to hide a certain hilarity as the female medic spent some time looking at the Sir Rickard with a certain calculating expression. When I mentioned this to Emma later she grinned and told me to leave it with her. Time will tell what happens there although if Emma does manage to get the two of them together then Sir Rickard will be breaking hearts all over Oxenfurt, including mine a little bit.

We spoke genuinely and affably until it was time to leave. We met Mark and his men, none the worse for wear despite having to march through countryside with Mark having a nap leant up against a tree. There was a small moment where there was a discussion as to how we would be protecting Mark, Shani, Emma and Laurelen (Emma had refused to be parted from her girlfriend). In the end Sir Rickard chose two of his most villainous looking men to do the protecting and two of Mark's guards insisted on staying behind. Everyone was a little perturbed when Sir Rickard's two men appeared to vanish into the trees.

“Do those men have any experience in protecting people?” Mark asked, a little worried.

“Quite the opposite actually,” Rickard said, beaming from ear to ear.

“What do you mean?”

“Those two men are trained assassins.”

Mark had to be slapped, soundly on his back to help him with the choking.

Kerrass went off into the trees with the rest of Sir Rickard's men.

Then it was time to wait.

I hate waiting, but this time there was a bit more entertainment to it. That entertainment was being able to watch what Mark, Emma and Laurelen got up to while they were also counting the minutes.

My routine is fairly simple. Check my equipment, make sure my spear and dagger are as sharp as I can reasonably expect. (I had it done at a blacksmith in Oxenfurt earlier that day) and make sure that my light armour doesn't restrict my movement in any way. Then I warm up a bit with some stretches before settling down to consider what I'm going to talk about in future versions of these notes.

Mark was both the most entertaining but also the most heart-breaking. He took the time to have a nice long prayer but then he spent the rest of his time ignoring Emma and Laurelen being all coupley. They had interacted earlier in that Mark had issued a full and, to be fair to him, enthusiastic written pardon for Laurelen's use of Sorcery in the protection of the realm from dark magics. They had also discussed collaborating on some kind of treatise that could be passed around churches and Sorcerous academies as to how Sorcery can be used to help protect against dark cults. Mark had also spoken easily with Emma as well but whenever Emma and Laurelen interacted with each other, be that holding hands, talking quietly together with their heads bent in conversation, hugging or just sat against a tree enjoying being together, Mark couldn't look at them. It was as though his brain just refused to admit that the two women existed in the same space, as though he saw it, his brain said “No that can't possibly be true,” and then erased it from his memory. It would have been funny if it wasn't so tragic.

For their part, Emma and Laurelen didn't seem to notice. The existence of their affair was now public knowledge and so they didn't see the point in hiding it any more (More power to them). They were revelling in it but it was also quite sweet. There is nothing quite like the sight of your older sister who is a good six years older than me shyly holding the hand of another person to make you giggle in memory at all the times that she had teased you.

Shani spent the time putting together what she called her “Medic pack,” You might imagine some kind of back pack like soldiers carry but this was different. She had a portable operating table that she carried on her back and used it as a frame for everything else. Her “tools” which included a collapsible fire-bowl and several potion bottles as well as the saws and knives necessary to her trade were then strapped to the back of the table. I had tried lifting it up myself and had struggled all the while Shani had carried it easily from Oxenfurt.

On foot.

While Jogging.

Heaven help Sir Rickard if she decides to set her sights on him.

As darkness fell though I saw the nerves begin to show in the others. The soldiers all did their thing though in the same routine that soldiers have developed since the first war when men organised together to go and fight those other men. Mostly, they slept. Then as time passed they started on the small things. The jokes started to creep in as some men were told not to where their helmets during the fight so that their faces could scare the enemy. They scoured armour and inspected it on the minutest scale looking for patches of rust or broken, worn links in the chain where the armour may weaken and allow the wrong kind of blow to come through.

Mark sat next to me as I was half watching, half dozing the time away while at the same time, reminding myself that my spear wasn't going to be any the less sharp since the last time I had checked it ten minutes ago. It was a well made spear, it could hold it's edge and hardly needed any maintaining but I could still feel the ache in my fingers, longing to do something.

“Is it always like this?”

I looked at Mark sidelong who had woken up a little earlier.

“Is what always like this?”

“The waiting?”

I laughed at him, well, chuckled is possibly the better word.

“The first time I was sat somewhere waiting for a fight to happen I wet myself in terror.” I said helpfully.

“I notice that you didn't mention that in your written account of the event.”

“No, but then it was a while ago that I wrote that and I was still worried about my personal image.”

“Do you not worry about that any more?”

I thought about it.

“A little I suppose. The things that I worried about at the time seem a little bit more... superficial now. At the time I wanted the respect and love of Dad. I wanted to be someone who walks by and people look up and say, “see him, That's Frederick the scholar, he's really wise.” I also wanted to be more attractive to girls so writing that you pissed yourself in terror doesn't seem like the right thing to say when it comes to attracting the fairer sex.”

“You know that Father did love and respect you right?”

I felt that swell of anger and grief again and hung my head until it passed.

“Yeah I know.” I threw a small bit of twig away, “Would it have hurt the bastard to tell me that aloud a couple of times though?”

Mark had nothing to say to that.

“So how did you get on with the rest of your goals?” he asked.

I looked at him to see if he was joking. I think he was, at least a little bit.

“Well, by accident it seems I'm now the university expert on Witchers. Whenever I'm anywhere near the place they talk about Witchers like “Those Witcher people of Freddie's,” or when they talk to me they say, “That Witcher of yours Freddie,” as though I own him. As though I know the first thing about Witchers that they haven't told me themselves.”

Mark chuckled.

“Also,” I continued, “I suspect that the reason I'm not considered an expert in monsters is due to two things, the first is that I keep telling them that the term “monster” is incredibly racist and misleading given that, by some margin, the most monstrous things that I have met during my travels have been humanity. The second thing is that I'm not in residence and therefore unable to tell them all how wrong they all are on a regular basis.”

“Is that why they keep sending you out on the road so that you don't have time to settle down and write a book on the subject.”

“I suspect that's a significant part of the reason. Although my publisher has agreed that a good number of my essays on a couple of creatures that they have are going to be compiled into a textbook. I wonder if it'll look anything like what I actually wrote when the editors are all done with it.”

“It's a common problem.”

We sat in silence for a while.

“I don't know how you stand it.” He muttered after a while.

“Stand what?”

“This, this life of yours, these challenges to your world view, this, sleeping on the road or in taverns this... this....”

“Waiting?”

“Yes, but....”

“Wait, is this about Emma and Laurelen?” I had followed his gaze and realised that he was watching them.

He couldn't meet my gaze.

“Holy crap!” I giggled, “It is isn't it?”

“Don't blaspheme.”

“Don't make this about me. What is it about them that you don't like?”

“It's.... Flame curse me for not giving me the words it's just... Flame, it turns my stomach and I don't understand, I don't...get why it doesn't turn yours and I don't know why it turns mine.”

I swallowed my anger again. My brother was in distress.

“Forgive me Mark but, I've seen more of the world than you have. You've been inside the church since you were what, five? Living and reading the scriptures and catechisms and psalms and hymns. You didn't go to university or to travel so that your horizons could broaden themselves. You've never been drunk and woken up to a partner that you don't remember their name, let alone what you did.”

Mark's expression changed to horrified curiosity.

“Have you?” he petered off.

“Have I ever... what?”

“Have you ever, you know....” He blew out his breath with a sigh as he realised that I wasn't going to help him. “Have you ever been with a man?”

It's a brothers lot to tease their siblings but I decided that now was not really the right time.

“Nah,” I said. “Not by conscious choice though. It just never interested me particularly and I've never found a man that attracts me. Also I wasn't the sort to get invited to those kinds of parties. As well as that there's the thing that I'm all but betrothed now.”

Another wave of disgust and anger flashed across my brothers face.

“And that's another thing how can you even consider...”

But he didn't get to finish that thought. Just as well really because if he'd started talking church dogmatic nonsense about Ariadne I might have hit him.

In a clearing full of church soldiers I don't think I would have come out of that very well.

The church soldiers reacted with remarkable efficiency. Several of Sir Rickard's men appeared out of the undergrowth while one whispered into the Captain's ear who just gave a quick whistle and made a complex gesture.

The plan was that we would split into several units of around seven or eight who would be guided in to the site of the ambush by one of Sir Rickard's men to each group. In that way we would surround the cultists and be able to prevent any escapees. I led one group. Shani went with another although from the way she was speaking I had the distinct impression that she was leading it. All told I think there were five groups of soldiers.

To me we moved with painful lack of speed and with far too much noise but Rickard's man didn't even flinch as we moved quietly through the trees. Fortunately the moon was out and when we got a little bit further out from Oxenfurt's noise and light, there was no disguising which way we were going.

There was a huge fire that lit up the sky.

We edged forward, armour clinking, swords clattering and my teeth were bared in a snarl that I could no longer keep from escaping. I had to keep telling myself over and over that there was nothing we could do. That I was leading soldiers, not scouts or woodsmen like Rickard's troop but men in heavyish armour who had already had a fairly long march today but every time I heard a little tinkle of chain-mail I could imagine more and more cultists escaping into the night.

As I say though, we needn't have worried.

The closer we got, the more that we could hear them chanting.

We crept slowly forward, now able to see roots and dips in the ground. We almost tripped over the sentry that had been left at our deployment area.

“Evenin' your Lordship” he said as he announced himself by spitting a wad of tobacco stained saliva onto the boot of a churchman.

“Evening Dan,” I managed. I'm told that he was an old soldier, one of the few old and established soldiers in Rickard's troop that he had rescued from languishing in the proper, formal army. He had been a poacher since he was old enough to use a slingshot against pigeons to feed his family and had been told to use those skills in the army. He travelled with a selection of bows ranging from the huge War-bow that was longer than he was down to a short, powerful recurved bow that he could use from horseback. He cradled them and cared for them as though they were his children and I've never seen a better shot.

“All in?” I asked him.

“All in, your boys know their business?”

I gestured and a Sergeant came forwards. I'm under no illusions about my own military prowess and I'm no soldier. The Sergeant knew what he was doing and asked a few questions and saw to the deployment of the men.

The chanting grew louder.

“How long?”

“Ten minutes before everyone should be in place.”

I nodded but couldn't help but count the seconds away while forcing myself not to listen to the chant.

I rested my forehead on the cool metal shaft of my spear and found I was banging my head against it in time with the cadence of the chant.

Dammit.

I looked around and realised that I wasn't the only one on edge. Hardened soldiers were uneasy, shifting their weight from one foot to the other, counting to themselves or making the sign of the flame against their breasts over and over and over.

I've had to wait before a fight before but this was something different. There was a weight to the air, as though we were being pressed down into the earth by invisible weights.

“That's it, we go.” Dan said having hear a sound that the rest of us had missed and despite being absolutely desperate for some kind of action, we hesitated.

Then someone screamed.

Screamed horribly. Like a pig being gutted.

Suddenly I could move, the air seemed to be filled with a golden glow and I could feel my legs moving. The chant had vanished to be replaced by Laurelen's voice speaking words that I could hear clearly but without understanding.

I charged into the clearing.

I didn't see much as I went in there as it was all happening so fast. All churches that I have ever been in, including some ruined shrines to Gods and Goddesses that have long been forgotten, there is a space for the worshippers and the holy bits are all at one end of the building. Often behind a rail or a screen as if to say that what's behind the screen is far too holy for anyone else to be seeing and touching. It's like another world beyond that place and in my more.... cynical moments I suspect that this is intentional as it creates a yearning, a physical desire to go there and see the forbidden treasures that our holy people get to touch and be involved with.

That was not the case here.

What we saw was a spiral. A spiral of men that eventually converged on a raised platform on which stood a post. The post was carved in a jagged pattern that both fascinated and repelled the eye and my bile was in my throat making me want to vomit. Chained to the post and to the platform was a girl. I later found out that she was fifteen and had been kidnapped from one of the smaller shrines to the holy flame. She had been one of those women who tends the fire to keep it lit so that it can provide a guiding light in the darkness, to keep evil things at bay and to provide a refuge for those who need the solace and sanctuary of that holy light.

Standing next to her was a man in a long white robe that was cut in imitation, or mockery of the cassocks of the Eternal fire with jagged spirals of all kinds of colours that put me in mind of unclean things. Vomit, pus, puke and bile were those colours. He was cowled and masked, the mask was painted so that it resembled a vast and gaping maw, a mouth of some unspeakable and hungry creature, the bottom of which was endless promising only cruelty and torment. He had his hands aloft with a horrible looking knife in one hand and a lamia flail in the other. Both were dripping in a black liquid. It was him that had screamed as Kerrass had leapt from the trees and put his shoulder into the man's midriff sending him tumbling aside.

The platform was guarded on the four corners, which I would later learn agreed with the four points of the compass, by large men. Similarly hooded and robed except there were no patterns on their robes and the robes themselves were black. Black although they made me think of the deep black that blood is when you have pierced the more dangerous of the internal organs. They had wicked looking Guisarmes that they seemed to wield with not inconsiderable skill.

I would later learn that there were sixty-eight men in that clearing. Sixty-eight men who were worshipping and performing the foulest acts that a man can imagine. There were only men there and I find that I am glad of that, I could not have imagined how I would have felt if there had been women there. I cannot imagine how I would have felt if I had known that women were capable of such cruelty and hate.

I guess I'm not that progressive after all.

The men were arranged in a spiral out from the centre. It was still early in their act of worship. They spiralled out, clothed in plain white cloaks under which they were completely naked. Each of them carried a single instrument of inflicting pain. Some men carried whips, others flails and paddles. I would later learn that had their act of worship been allowed to continue then those instruments would have been swapped for instruments of the owners choice although now they would contain edges. Razor blades, knives and the like. Later the instruments of torture would have taken sexual form.

I walked away before we were told what form they took as I don't think I would have been able to contain myself.

All these things, all these details I would find out later. Small things.

I didn't see it at first but there was a large box wagon in the far edge of the clearing like the ones that are used to transport prisoners to their trials or to their prisons.

I also didn't smell the meat that was roasting for the feasting that was also planned for later.

I am glad.

All these things that I had to find out later.

Because at first there was work to be done.

Kerrass had started the attack by going for the “High Priest”. Being a Witcher he could identify which of the people was channelling the power that was being generated by the narcotics and alcohol that they had all taken. Specialised herbs that had come from Zerrikania that had cost their consumers a fortune. In knocking him aside the magical aura that was dominating the place ebbed.

The soldiers knew their business as they strode into the clearing, their faces were grim.

A Worshipper rushed at me, his flail hauled back over his shoulder. I reversed my spear and drove the but of it into the man's nose that exploded in blood.

He fell and I ran on, aiming for the platform.

Another Worshipper ran at my side, the soldier next to me held out his shield and the man ran into it full pelt. He bounced off, slipping on something unspeakable and fell to the ground.

I ignored him.

Kerrass had knocked the... priest, for want of a better word, from his feet. The hood and mask had come off and he rose up and I saw his face for the first time.

He saw me then and grinned as I recognised him although I didn't know who it was at first.

The fight was all but over by then. The Worshippers were in a kind of ecstasy and had easily been dealt with by the trained soldiers and by now they were being rounded up by the bleak eyed church soldiers. The only real fight was happening around Kerrass. After barging the “priest” off his platform he had been rushed by the black clad “guards” and was still in the process of defending himself although I could see that one of them was down but I was looking at the priests far too familiar face.

“I know you,” I heard myself say.

He laughed at me, his voice was cruel. “Perhaps you recognise your better. Edmund spoke often about his brothers and how...” he spat and drew a sword from under his robes, “weak they were.”

His face was so familiar but I didn't know him. So familiar that I felt sure I should know him.

He reminded me of...

Mother.

“Well,” I said as I gestured the other soldiers back. “I didn't know that Uncle Kalayn had a son. Hello Cousin.”

He saluted me with his sword before leaping at me.

He looked.... He looked like a classical noble. There's no other way of putting it. He had a high forehead with a receding widows peak that was accented by being pulled back into a severed pony tail. His facial structure was pronounced with prominent cheekbones and a large nose and chin. His eyes were pale with obscenely long eyelashes and he moved with a kind of predatory grace that put me in mind of a hunting falcon or a cat stalking a mouse.

He was a good swordsman, I will give him that much. But he suffered from the same problem that a lot men from his level of stock suffer from which is that he had only really practised his fencing on the training field.

He lunged at me and I sidestepped him. He lunged again and I moved away. His smile lessened a little and I allowed myself to grin at him.

I was already planning his death.

“Take him alive Frederick.” Someone called. I think it was Kerrass.

“Yes,” said my cousin. “Take me alive Frederick.” he mocked. “Take me alive, don't kill me. You'll never be able to kill me.” He laughed and did a little dance.

I wanted to kill him so badly that I could taste it.

“You know I'll survive if you don't kill me. There won't be a trial, father will send some money and it'll all be alright. Something that you will never understand. You with your peasant father.”

He laughed again at my silence. He was drawing patterns with his sword point in the air, moving from one side to the other. Seeing that I wasn't going to be baited he pulled his robe off and wrapped it round his fore-arm.

“We always laughed you know? Your brother and I. Edmund was wasted with such a father. Wasted. Edmund could have risen high if he had had the fortune to have a better father. A man of real breeding. Of proper noble blood.”

I ignored him.

The stereotype is that you should always watch a man's eyes when you fight him. However this has been the case for so long that everyone knows it. Including the man who's eyes that you are watching. Therefore you can train yourself to lie with your eyes when you attack someone. The one thing that you can't disguise though is your hips. Your hips and your breathing.

“If you kill me, you'll hang. Someone like you. A minor son of an ill bred bastard. The nobility hate you you know. You and all your mongrel kin. I understand your sister is even a two bit whore. Whoring herself out to the magic users in an effort to make your families position better.”

I ignored him. I suspected that he was goading me.

“What? Can't find your tongue. I had heard that you were a scholar of some kind. That's the right place for someone like you and I suppose that I must applaud your efforts to better yourself in a field where they rely on knowledge rather than breeding to get ahead. At least, that's what should happen.”

He was presenting with his feet. Interesting.

“Have you even known a woman yet? They don't open their legs for just anyone you know? They like breeding. You look too much like your ill-bred mongrel of a father to be attractive to a woman. All the money in the world couldn't make you attractive to a whore.”

I gave up and laughed.

“This from the man who has to invent phony, idiotic religions to get women and even then, the only people that you seem to attract is other men. What does it say about your so called “breeding” that you have to attract women by stalking and then kidnapping them instead?”

I apologise for the homophobia but I was trying to make him angry. I was astonished that my feeble jests seemed to hit home with remarkable accuracy.

“The great worm is no phony. He is far more powerful than your petty little flame.”

I laughed at him. There was nothing left.

He leapt to engage me. I side stepped, ducked and dodged. Truthfully I was too astonished as to how easily I had made him angry.

“Tell me,” I said, and again I apologise for the homophobia but I was trying to play on his biases. “Have you not considered trying it out with your other “worshippers”. Some of them would almost certainly wriggle properly.”

People laughed. I could definitely make out Kerrass' and Sir Rickard's voice.

My cousin roared and charged me. I knocked his attack aside before dropping my spear and in almost the same movement that I had once used against Sir Robart, I stepped inside his reach and head-butted him in the face. He howled and flailed at me with his sword but I was too close to him for it to hurt or to even mark my clothing. I grabbed his sword arm with my left hand and punched him twice. Once in the arm making him drop his sword and once in the face, making his already broken nose even worse.

He fell, howling.

I kicked him in the guts and he curled up in a ball.

I wasn't satisfied though.

I stood on one of his ankles and stooped to lift the other. Hauling off I kicked him as hard as I could in the testicles.

He screamed as I walked away.

“Tie him up,” I said to a waiting soldier who was wincing in sympathy. “I want to talk to him.”

We had a lot of prisoners. A LOT of prisoners.

Most were gibbering wretches, their pupils huge with a combination of fiss-tech and religious fervour as well as self righteous smugness that comes from thinking you have too much money, too much influence and far too noble a name to do anything wrong. As they came down from their fervour there were several cries of “Take your filthy hands off me,” and “don't you know who I am,” thus proving that no cliché can ever be unused in whatever circumstances.

They had that look.

If you don't know what that look is then you have never been the least favourite pupil in the class or the least favourite child. The “look” is that look that the teachers pet has when they survey the other members of the class, or the apple of daddy's eye gets. They get the “look” when they've been caught doing something that they know they shouldn't be doing but at the same time they know that they aren't going to get in much trouble for it.

The church soldiers responded in kind. Each man had been carrying manacles and the prisoners were chained up and shoved into order relatively quickly and we were all in the process of congratulating ourselves on a job well done.

I had been promised that I would be allowed to interrogate the “High Priest” at my leisure so I was just walking around letting people do their jobs. It is the height of rudeness and poor leadership to try and tell people how to do their jobs when they know it better than you do.

The alter was still standing, Kerrass and the newly arrived Laurelen were staring at it carefully in the way that people do when they're eyeing a dangerous animal. The poor girl who was tied to the post was still there but it had been explained that she was safe and that they were checking for bad magical vibes.

There was still the matter of the wagon though at the edge of the clearing.

Sir Rickard was there with one of his men. A man referred to by the others as “fingers” who had been offered the choice of joining the ranks or going to the scaffold. He was peering at the lock.

Sir Rickard nodded to me as we approached.

“Is it safe?” I asked.

“Kerrass tells us that there isn't anything magical there so that means that there is only the possibility of practical traps.”

“Ok.”

Fingers produced a set of lock-picks and started working on the large padlock that barred the door.

“Are those legal?” I wondered aloud over the lessening hubbub of people being chivvied into order.

“I won't tell anyone if you don't.”

The lock sprang open fairly quickly and the door was thrown open.

It seemed like I wasn't done with horror for the night.

“Sweet suffering Lebioda,” I heard myself breathe.

I turned away from the sight and looked at the prisoners that we had taken. One or two of them managed to have the good grace to look ashamed.

One of the church soldiers saw what was inside, drew a knife and gutted his nearest prisoner, spilling the man's guts onto the floor before hurling the knife down and howling into the night sky.

Someone vomited.

“I ummm,” I managed, forcing myself to turn round to face the horror that the wagon contained.

Rickard knew what I meant though. He gargled and spat to moisten his throat. “I'll make sure that Shani gets here quickly.”

The rest of the clearing had gone silent. Deathly silent.

The Wagon contained children.

Fucking children that had been mutilated beyond recognition. Children who had obviously been tortured, beaten and abused in the worst ways possible. So bad that as a result I can't bring myself to describe them.

No you know what... Fuck it.

In the weeks and months since this event, numerous noble families have complained at the treatment of the prisoners that we took that night. Noble families that have gone back centuries have been up in arms calling for the heads of the soldiers and churchmen that were responsible for the trials and grotesque punishments that took place afterwards. Even as they were taken to the stake to be burned, some of these men were protesting that it was their right to do those things. That those children were their subjects and so they had the “noble right to do whatever they wanted to them”.

I've heard still others that have said that men had been trained for war. Had been bred for war and that they needed and outlet for all that pent up violence and that this was a result and should excuse them.

If those people are reading this then I say “Fuck you”.

One of those children had been skinned.

Another had had her nose, eyes, teeth and ears removed. She still had her tongue though because, and I quote from transcripts of interrogations, “She sucked my dick better,”

When we started to release them from their bonds so that Shani could look at them. One of the older children, maybe thirteen years old managed to lay her hands on a soldiers dagger and killed two of the bound children before we managed to restrain her. She was still saying that it was a kindness and that she was just trying to take care of them before Laurelen managed to spell her to sleep.

That was the level of horror that we saw.

One young boy who with an angelic face had been flogged to the point where the lashes had damaged his spine. He will spend the rest of his days in one of my fathers orphanages where he is not expected to live another year.

Another young lad of four had been beaten so bad that all we could do for him was take away his pain. One of his internal organs had burst and was slowly dying of the poison that had gotten into his blood stream.

The wagon reeked of Piss, excrement, terror and a terrible rage that only children in their simplicity, are capable of.

One of the more lucid children asked a newly arrived Mark why the soldiers hadn't come sooner. Mark looked up at the rest of us in appeal for an answer but none of us had one and he wept as that child was taken off to be examined by Shani's caring hands.

The church is guilty of many sins in it's time. The liberal persecution of magic users or anyone who might be a magic user, followed by the persecution of non-humans was awful and un-called for. It has since been shown that many of those efforts were down to political efforts by some members of the church hierarchy to supersede the advantages that the mages had in royal circles.

But the trials of those men that we took that night?

They deserved every piece of that.

Children.

They were torturing, abusing and sacrificing children to slake their own thirsts and to appease a dark God that they didn't even understand.

Anyone who claims that there are any circumstances where that is alright. Where that level of EVIL is justified can come and see me.

I will be waiting, at dawn and with my spear ready for you.

In the end I didn't manage to see my cousin until the early hours of the morning. When the day had started I had looked forward to this entire thing being over. I had looked forward to meeting the mastermind behind my families pain and looking him in the eye but I had to force myself to enter the room where he was chained to a table.

I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to look at him. To acknowledge that the two of us were related by blood made me feel sick. In the end I managed to work myself up to it in the same way that you go to get a sore tooth removed because it's better if it's done quickly.

He was wearing fairly ordinary clothing when we walked in. A shirt that looked as though the best that could be said for it was that it was clean and a pair of trousers made from some rough cloth that had clearly once been something else.

“At last,” he said when Kerrass and I walked in, “Finally, we can get this whole thing sorted out.”

He held his manacled hands out to us.

We sat down carefully. There was a guard in the room. Not because anyone thought that my cousin might escape but at Kerrass' request in case I decided to murder my cousin there and then.

It was not a mistake to request that.

We had been directed to stay on the other side of the table and I deliberately moved the chair a little further away from the table.

Realising that we weren't going to unlock his bonds Cousin Raynard lowered his hands back into his lap.

“So you're one of those bleeding heart, commoner lovers are you. You're angry because of what was happening are you?”

I took a deep breath as I tried to reach for the calm that I need when I'm interviewing people that I don't like.

“It shames me to admit.” I spoke carefully. Slowly so as to make sure that I was biting off each syllable correctly. “That we would never have stopped you if you had just left Father and Edmund alone.”

“Hey I had nothing to do with that. Edmund killed your father,”

“What about the Stable-master and his wife?”

“I didn't know anything about that, besides they're not important. Edmund must have just panicked.”

He lounged back in his seat, stretching out his legs as far as the chains would allow him to.

“So you're not going to let me go then?” He asked as though it wasn't really that important. “Ah well. Someone will turn up eventually.”

I had to swallow my next words and took a moment to calm down again.

Kerrass took things up.

“Why don't you tell us about your little cult and what Edmund has to do with it?”

“Why don't I?” Anger dripped into his words for a moment. “Because I refuse to speak with such as you.”

Kerrass smiled an equally venomous grin. “But you will won't you? You want to. You and your kind always want to tell your stories.” Kerrass doesn't often remind me of the cat that his Witcher school takes it's name from but he did now in the way that he was smiling. Seeming so utterly relaxed but at the same time, so confident in his ability to murder.

“You want to tell us because you want us to know how... clever you are. How superior you are.”

“Don't you cast your spells on me.”

“I'm not casting spells. What you sense now is the truth of my words.”

Kerrass and Raynard stared at each other. Neither moving.

Raynard looked away first, into my eyes.

“I will talk to you though, cousin. I will admit that I'm surprised. Edmund said that you were weak. That you had no steel in you. He said that if you were surrounded by naked women that you wouldn't know what to do with them except wet your trousers.”

“Better soiling myself than soiling them.” I said. “Tell us what happened.”

“Are you sure you want to know the depths that your brother sank to? Are you sure you want to know how he killed your father. I had nothing to do with it. I am innocent of those things.”

“Come on,” I said. “Edmund wasn't that clever and we both know that.”

Cousin Raynard laughed. “You are right you know. He wasn't that clever. Your father was though. He figured it all out. Well, not all of it but enough to be dangerous.”

“When did it begin?” I prompted.

“Of all things it was actually Edmund that found me. He'd just had a fight with his latest paramour, whatever or whoever that was and he came to see me in Novigrad. Your brother was a hedonist. He saw things and he wanted them, money was no object as your father was obsessed that both he and his family had everything that your father had never had. Edmund was the first born and so... I might argue that your father learned his lesson with those children that came afterwards looking at what he made of you... But for Edmund, nothing was ever enough. Women and wine weren't enough so he moved on to fiss-tech. From there, fiss-tech wasn't enough so he moved on to Women and wine while being on fiss-tech. But that wasn't enough. So then he needed the taboo, he needed to know that he was doing things that society as a whole wouldn't approve of.

“All the rest of us had to do was to suggest something to him in an almost joking kind of way and he would want it. He would need it and then we would provide it for him.”

Raynard laughed.

“I remember the time we suggested bestiality to him and you could visibly see the disgust along with the interest warring on his face.”

Never have I wanted to punch someone in the face as much as I wanted to punch him then. Even Sir Robart was not as loathsome as this man was and it physically sickens me to think that I am related to Cousin Raynard.

“Where did the Sacrilege start? The Heresy and the magic?”

Raynard started to look furtive and nervous. His eyes started looking around the place and he licked his lips several times.

“I'm not sure I should answer that.”

“Oh come on,” I said. “We saw you doing it? What's the worst that could happen? They burn you at the stake a little bit more than they were going to previously?”

Raynard tried to wave a hand dismissively and frowned at the manacles as though he had forgotten that they were there.

“They won't burn me.” He said. “It's not entirely unlikely that we won't get to finish this interview before someone comes to set me free. I'm the future Count Kalayn.”

Kerrass snickered.

“When did it start. The worship of your dark God?” I asked.

“When did your brother start? Or when did the worship itself start?”

“Either,” I said rather stupidly. “Both.”

I'm a historian. I should have asked better questions. So that I could note them down as a way to ward off future stupidity. I know this now. But then I was tired, aching and massively, achingly sad.

“Crom Cruarch. The crooked man of the mound.”

Say what you like about Cousin Raynard but he knew how to draw in his audience. He lowered his voice and started speaking quietly so that we had to strain to hear him, leaning forward to catch his words.

“No-one knows when his worship started. No-one knows the first time that offerings were made to him. We gave the offerings to the golden idol on the hill and he responded with his gaze. His terrible, wondrous, terrifying gaze. Ancient he is, and terrible.

“He rewards us who worship him, unlike your holy flame. Flame can be put out, can be doused and extinguished. It is a small, fluttering, guttural thing but the lord Crom Cruarch. He is strong.

“The more we offer him. The more he rewards us. The more we give him. The more he gives us back. We give him our pleasure, he gives us more. We give him youth and vitality, he returns more to us.”

“That's lovely,” Kerrass said. His harsh words cutting across Cousin Raynard's smooth and melodious tones like a hammer breaking glass. “So you sacrifice others and throw them into his gaping maw and he shits out a drug high is that it?”

Raynard grinned.

Kerrass has a repertoire of smiles, many of them horrible and nasty but never have any of his smiles made me feel sick. Raynard's did.

“Oh, so much more.” he said. “And he takes the sacrifice of others as well.”

“When did Edmund start with this...cult.”

Raynard tried his negligent waving thing again.

“He was always heading towards the crooked man. Always, although he might deny it. It was in his blood one might say and as soon as he heard about it he wanted to try it out. More pleasure? That was a gift to Edmund. More of a feeling of defying societies normality? More of a feeling of rebellion against your fathers conservative leanings? The very idea gave him excitement. He started with that, maybe eight years ago? A handful of years after he left home.”

I nodded. I felt sick. I didn't want to know any more. I wanted to go home and be violently sick. I wanted to puke until I couldn't puke any more. Then I wanted a bath followed by getting drunk until I could no longer remember anything that had happened.

Kerrass had warned me of this back when I first hired him, but I hadn't listened and now I had to see it through.

“What happened about Father?” I heard myself say. I couldn't bring myself to look across the table at my cousin any further.

“Your father got wise. He recognised the pattern that we were using without realising that we were doing him a favour, removing undesirables from his lands but he spotted it and somehow managed to put two and two together and get the nineteen result that meant that he found out that Edmund was involved. I almost regret his death so that we could find out how he figured that one out. But he summoned Edmund and told him, in no uncertain terms that these activities would stop.

“Edmund panicked. He was already living in a heightened state with the drugs and the heightened state that Crom Cruarch provides and this made it worse, his lusts and desires grew at the thought of deprivation but so did his paranoia and fear. Vast spectres of being disinherited, cut off and thrown out onto the streets began to rear their ugly heads and a life without money just seemed like too much of a hardship to him. Like so many things, he brought the problems to those of us who are in the priest hood of the man on the mound. We were drunk and somehow he got the idea to murder his father.”

“Somehow?” I snarled. “You told him to didn't you.”

I was not asking a question.

“No, we were drunk. We were higher than the clouds and dancing in the air streams with the dragons. He got the idea and then we talked about how to do it.”

“You're lying. You made him do it.” It sounded childish and I got angrier because I could hear my own petulance.

“No, no I didn't,” Raynard was smiling at me. “He thought so though. He really did think so. The first thing I knew of it was that he had bought the poison and that he was telling me that he would be going home for a while to sort things out. I didn't believe he could be that stupid. Your father would never disown him as he would know that your family would never survive the scandal but your brother had it in his head by that point. It might have even blown over if Edmund had had the good sense to simply deny everything and come back to warn us all that someone was putting it all together so that we would have to move our base of operations to... I don't know... Vizima maybe. But your brother went off on a cocked mission to kill your father. Successfully it would seem as well.”

“I don't believe you,”

“That's your prerogative. I would challenge you to a duel for failing to believe my word but frankly you are so far beneath me that I wouldn't accept.”

“Fuck you,” I said but I didn't have the strength or energy to put any real venom behind it.

I sighed and stared at the ceiling. There was my answer. Edmund killed my father. My eldest brother was a patricide. His motives and reasoning were those of simple, paranoid fear, guilt and greed.

How...disappointing.

“Still,” he went on. “The money's the thing though isn't it.”

“I don't follow.”

“Well, obviously they're not going to kill me now and I stand to inherit from your brother.”

“Yeah, I still don't get it.”

“Your brother left me everything. The castle the lands, the money. Everything. I'd be getting your family to move out if I were you.”

I just stared at him, feeling stupid.

“I don't know what you're getting at.”

“Your lands.” Raynard said, practically licking his lips. “Your Father died which means that Edmund stood to inherit. Edmund dies and we made sure that I stand to inherit from him. It's all tied up and legal, you can check if you like.”

He sat back and tried to cross his arms before the manacles stopped his efforts.

I shook my head in disbelief.

“That's just not going to happen.”

“Come on, I'll survive this. I'm going to be a count before too much longer. Then they won't dare try me in court and I'll walk away. I'll probably even be able to get you hung for assaulting me.”

I gaped at him.

“Well you're just too stupid to live. You killed Edmund before Dad had died. That means that Dad's will has precedence...”

“You wanna bet. By the time I've finished throwing money around at court, you'll be lucky to have the clothes on your back. Not that sister of yours though. I'll keep her. Fine looking woman that. Besides, I didn't kill anyone. Not anyone worth noticing anyway.”

“You killed those peasants?”

“So?”

Hate is an interesting thing. I went for him but fortunately Kerrass was there to hold me back.

“You're forgetting something else.” the Witcher said calmly, his hand felt like an iron vice clutching my bicep. “This isn't a civil court. It's a church one, and their rules about prisoners are a lot less dainty than the civil or royal courts. And the nearest church authority is Arch-Bishop Coulthard. You will survive to tell everything you know about your little cult to your little god. Then you will be tried for heresy, found guilty and executed.”

Kerrass' deadpan tone made the sentence sound all the more awful. “Arch-Bishop Coulthard is unlikely to forgive you killing his brother.”

“But I didn't kill him.”

“Of course you did,” I said having sat back down. “He was going to tell everything. He was going to pass on all the details and his mouth would run off.”

“Why would I kill him. We had won. He was going to be “Baron” Coulthard with all the money power and prestige that went with it. We could tell him what to do with it and he isn't clever enough to do otherwise. Why would I kill him?”

His eyes narrowed at me.

“You killed him. This is a stitch up, a frame job by your pet mutant monster.

“I always thought one of you killed him. I always thought it was a bit dodgy and he always spoke about how much you all hated him and were jealous of him. You killed him didn't you?”

“Don't be daft.”

“No, you did didn't you. You killed him. It wasn't me so who else could it have been.”

He was getting angry now, the fear of his position finally getting through or his drugs high wearing off.

“You killed him. You murdered him for the money and now you're going to take it from me too by having me burned as a heretic you fucking murderer. Who's next? The rest of your family. Admit it you fucking piece of filth.”

Kerrass caught my eye and jerked his head towards the door.

“Who killed your brother Freddie? Who killed him?”

We left but his words still echoed down the corridor after us as he screamed the question.

“WHO KILLED HIM? WHO KILLED EDMUND?”