A Scholar's travels with a Witcher

So as I write this I am back in that place that I still, even though I've tried really hard, think of as my father's castle. I have been given an office of my own which is kind enough, it has a desk and a couple of comfortable chairs so that I can sit with visitors if they come. I have a couple of shelving spaces to store anything that I want but it still feels a little empty to me. What it does do though is give me a nice quiet place for me to sit with some paper and set my thoughts down.

It is winter now and outside the snow is falling carrying it's normal feeling of peace as the snow deadens the sound for miles around while also making it all but impossible for large scale armies to march through the white wildernesses that greet them. I'm told that the autumn harvests have been bountiful enough this year to feed everyone that they need to feed over the winter and into spring so that with a little bit of luck, the famine that always greets the end of a significant war will be drawing to a close. It only took four years this time rather than the three years it took after the second Nilfgaardian conflict.

It has been pointed out to me that a possible reason for this is that this time, the Northern Realms lost their battles and as such it might have taken longer.

There is even talk among some of the brasher northern lords that I have met that now would be a good time to start thinking of some kind of Rebellion. That now would be a good time to try and “Throw of the yolk of southern Oppression.” Personally I remain sceptical of that especially as there doesn't seem to be that much oppression as far as I can see. Having now had the chance to read up a bit about King Radovid the Stern I am not entirely sure that his rule would have been any the less...oppressive. Even now some chroniclers are trying to have him re-labeled from “the stern” to “the mad” and I am not sure that they are incorrect to do so but that isn't my province. If there is one thing that I am learning in my self-appointed role of scholar to the Witchers, then it is that there is nothing that I hate more than someone else muscling in on my area of expertise and as such I am trying not to be rude in return.

Certainly, under Nilfgaardian rule, the other borders are returning to their original states, client Kings and Queens are swearing their oaths of fealty at the feet of the Imperial throne. People are getting paid and commerce is recovering. Like many I believe that this should be a time of peace. A time for recovery and reflection. The world has changed, it has moved on and as such we need to accept that this is the new normality. That this is the new status quo.

One of the events that mark this new status is still to come. We have received notice that we are invited as a family to witness the coronation of the new Empress of Nilfgaard in the spring. Of course I'm going. I'm a scholar and a historian and the opportunity to witness actual history in the making is impossible to turn down. Especially as I strongly suspect that if anyone can unite the fractious kingdoms of the North and the South then it will be this young woman. Especially as it will give me the opportunity to see Francesca who I haven't seen since she left for the south. We are told that she has become a firm friend of the Empress to be and is therefore predicted to become a person of note in the future.

Good for her. If there's any member of my family that deserves the rise to greatness then it is her.

The coronation is going to take place in Toussaint as that, most fairy tale of places, is still a Nilfgaardian protectorate but is so separated from the rest of the world that it's as neutral as anywhere can be. I was once told that the reason that Toussaint can afford to be the way it is is because no-one would dare interrupt the flow of Toussaint wine. We are still several weeks from having to even begin preparing though. One of the benefits of having a Sorceress involved in the family is that we can now just teleport to a local area with all of our goods and belongings.

Kerrass never approved of travelling by portal but I must admit to looking enjoying it a little.

Ah well.

But anyway.

I had wanted to start talking about the adventure that Kerrass and I had after we had dealt with my families problems. Those events are still sore in my memory and as such I am ready, if not eager, to move on. Certainly, all of the important information has now been published, but the magazine editor who publishes these works, as well as my sister, inform me in no uncertain terms that if I leave things there then I can expect to be lynched next time I go to Oxenfurt.

“It's called a Denouement,” my sister yelled at me as she read the last article. “Where's the ending?” she cried at me. “You can't just leave it there, people will go mad not knowing what happened to us all after that and I'm not spending the next several months answering letters about whether or not we're all ok and do I need somewhere to live and how's mother and all of those kinds of things. So damn well write them down.”

I'm paraphrasing you understand. She was actually using a lot of language that I was mortified to learn that my big sister knew but there you go. There's no accounting for class or sub-standard educations.

Please don't take offence at that dear reader. That comment was meant for my sister and I am currently chuckling at the thought of the noises that she is currently making as she reads this.

Not a great deal happened after my mothers “trial”. That day was spent in preparation for the following one. I had already bathed that day and my stomach was still roiling from the after effects of the last few days discoveries. I got the castle barber to shave me and give me a proper hair-cut. It's all very well shaving myself, and I can, but I never get quite as close a shave as I should with my own razor as I always end up tilting my head at so strange an angle that I can't see properly and miss bits. For tomorrow I needed to look my best so I had a professional do it.

Kerrass would approve.

I also had a meeting with our Chamberlain. The truth about our Chamberlain is that he's a man of 60 trapped inside the body of a much younger man. He's a traditionalist and as such he dislikes anything being out of place. He demands that everything be done properly and according to proper etiquette and style. He believes that people should know their place and their place is to be wherever he tells them to be. He rules the keep's servants with an iron fist and nothing escapes his notice. I've caught him walking around with white gloves in the early hours of the morning inspecting underneath and behind various bits of furniture in corners of the castle that no-one else ever goes, to see if they had been cleaned properly. He has a piece of wood that he carries around with him like a field marshal carries a military baton. On it are a series of notches that he himself has carved that dictate measurements regarding the proper distance of plates and cutlery from the table edge and the positioning of candlesticks.

I called him up and told him what I required for the evening meal.

It was one of the few times that I have ever seen him smile. He told me that he would see to all details.

That evening's meal was as informal as it ever is in our household.

I should talk about this.

There is a modern method for seating people at a dining table which is that people are seated opposite their partners, spouses or guests. For example, mother would sit opposite father, I would sit opposite Kerrass or Ariadne should she visit and so on. Father didn't like this as it can often mean that people end up sat with complete strangers and as a result, on those occasions where formality is less of an issue, he makes sure that we all sat next to our partners and friends so that we have someone to talk to.

But I had decided to take certain steps.

That evening as we all went down to dinner there was an extra place set for dinner. After the family and Kerrass had taken our places I caught the Chamberlain's eye and he nodded. He gave a hand gesture to one of the other servants who vanished into a side door and two minutes later I was rewarded by Laurelen arriving in the room. She looked a little bewildered and bemused. The others were clearly as surprised as she was although I could tell that all of the other servants were already aware of what was happening.

I rose and approached Laurelen as formally as I could manage and bowed deeply.

“Madam,” I said, projecting properly so that everyone in the room could hear me. “Would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you to your place at the table?” I held out my hand.

I saw her eyes widen a little in surprise. I hadn't expected much else all things considering. She is a trained Sorceress after all. She gently placed her hand atop mine and I walked her over to the extra place which had been set next to Emma. I held the chair for her and pushed it back in when she was seated.

I then walked back round the table to take my own seat as the servers started bringing in the food giving no-one any time to protest before the food was served.

The plan hinged on my behaving, and the servants behaving as though nothing was out of the ordinary and as such I made no eye contact with any of the other members of my family and just ate my food calmly and quietly.

There wasn't really any conversation anyway although later I was able to pump Kerrass for information and I'm told that Emma's expression was priceless.

As was Mark's.

Apparently Sam watched it happen for a moment before shrugging and then eating his food.

Mother didn't react.

The crisis point was past. Laurelen was one of the family now.

Flame help her.

I had also left instructions that said that Laurelen and Emma would be sharing a bedroom from now on and that if anyone objected then they could come and see me.

The chamberlain told me in no uncertain terms that I might have to get in line.

I was pleased to see how much the household approved of Emma and her romantic choice. I had been concerned but it would seem that the servants, at least, were on my side.

There were two comments that rose up from my little stunt. The first was from Mark as we had withdrawn to a different room to chat and while the rest of the evening away. He just looked at me and muttered “Well played,” as he was still managing to ignore the two women who were sat on the couch enthusiastically chatting to Kerrass about something or other while holding hands.

The second was from Emma who wordlessly gave me the fiercest hug that I have ever received as she past me on the way to bed.

I remember little else about that evening.

The following day, the day of the internment, mostly passed in a blur. I was up early to get to use the bathhouse unhindered. Guests started to arrive almost immediately to pay their respects with barely hidden contempt. Father's debtors where there of course, vainly hoping that the debt might be forgiven in the wake of his death. A possibility that was unlikely. Also in attendance were a lot of merchants who had built up, if not friendships, working relationships with father. You could tell who they were due to the smugness which they exuded as they walked around, rubbing shoulders with their “betters”. Emma was in her element here, talking to people, shaking hands and accepting condolences. It did not go unnoticed that she knew everyone's name as well as how they were related to each other and to father and was able to do that oh so special little trick which was to make everyone there think that they were the most important person that she had to speak to today.

Unfortunately there was one other group in attendance. That was the group that had relatives in the cells in Oxenfurt. More and more I found that I was having to field questions about what was happening as well as criticism about what had happened and what was going to happen. My previous plan of telling everyone that the matter was still under investigation by the church and by the sheriff kind of backfired as the Sheriff had chosen to attend. He was one of the few people who seemed genuinely upset about my Fathers death after all the aid that Father had given the Redanian military during the war. But rather than pay his respects in the way he wanted to he had to deal with all of those angry relatives. I do not envy him.

Mark was in a similar position. He was also let down by the fact that he was the presumptive heir to Father's position and fortune so he was having to deal with people who wanted to press on him the details of agreements that had been made under the strictest of confidences with Father before he died (mostly false), angry relatives of those people arrested as well as his own feelings regarding the death of his father and brother.

Kerrass though, did me proud. He was the master of the menacing stare, the sly comment and the cutting barb. He was playing the “Witcher friend” card for all it was worth in my support. He made sure that I was never without a drink of some kind and I don't think I was imagining the fact that the levels of water and wine changed according to whatever he thought I needed at the time. He had this trick that whenever someone was talking to me who I didn't like or didn't want to talk to, he would just stare at them and start smiling. The thing was that he wasn't staring into their face, what he was staring at was their throats. Then he would occasionally lick his lips. The effect must have been extremely off-putting because no sooner had he started doing this than the person that I was talking to would give up and go elsewhere.

Eventually though, the critical moment occurred and six members of Father's guard each sealed the coffins properly and carried them up on their shoulders. With fathers coffin leading we followed them out of the keep, down the steps and through the many courtyards. Where the condolence and grief had been carefully measured and acted out in the main halls with the “nobility” the surround townsfolk, farmers and villagers had gone all out. All of them appeared and stood, heads bared and lowered as the coffins were carried down and through the throngs.

Looking back, I kind of wish that I had been able to look up and notice the reaction of my fellow noble at the display but the truth is that I was too busy maintaining what my brother would call “proper decorum”. The funeral procession wound it's way down, snaking through the crowds. I've spoken to several people who have complimented me on my displays that day but the truth was that I had locked up. I suppose I felt numb to it all. The disassociation that I had felt through the more horrific parts of the investigation into my brothers death was still there. I hadn't come back into my own body yet. I remember little of what I said or did that day but apparently, what I did was very good and especially “decorous” so there you go.

The family crypt was built in a small hill, maybe ten minutes walk away from the outside castle gate. You get there by walking through a small copse of trees which is where you will find a small stone archway with a metal gate. Normally that gate is locked but today it was open and guarded by two men in their full “Coulthard house livery.” You go through the gate and walk down a flight of stairs where you come to a large room with niches in the walls. What happens is that the body gets slid into the niche head first and the hole is then plugged by a stone, on which is carved the name of the person who lays there as well as a small picture that is supposed to represent the person. A small picture to sum up the persons character.

The only occupants of the vault (so far) where Grandfather and Grandmother. They had been placed there when we moved here from our old castle. There are plenty of other spaces though which had always left me feeling maudlin. I always thought that it was tempting fate a little bit to have so many spaces for the dead as though you are inviting death to fill them up for us.

My own niche has already been picked out. Third column from the left, second from the bottom. It had been the first time I had visited since leaving on my adventures with Kerrass and for the first time I wondered what would happen should I not make it back to the castle. What would happen if there wasn't a body and I ended up residing in the belly of some great beast. Do they just seal it up and hope for the best? I also wondered what my little carving on the stone would be. Grandfathers was a kind of artful piece about a man, working with a farm implement of some kind but looking up into the distance. It was meant to signify hope for a better future as well as representing his ambition and rise to prominence. I always thought that he would have hated it.

I suspect that mine will show a man sat at a desk writing.

I will be alright with that.

The other thing that I should say is that when you imagine crypts you imagine somewhere dark, dank and foreboding. While it is true that there is no natural light down there, this is in fact rather far from the truth given that our family crypt is almost brand new. The head stones are carved from a local quarry which has produced a rather lighter stone which can be polished into a smooth, white surface by the dwarves that work there. The floor is well swept and properly clean and there are plenty of wall brackets for torches. In the middle of the room there are a series of benches with cushioned seats meant for people to come and pay their respects. Father was not all that religious, or at least, he never talked about it but I do know that he viewed the crypt as being more for the living than the dead. A place for the living to come and gain comfort or inspiration from the presence of their ancestors. As such he insisted that the crypt be open and you can view it at any time if you go to the castle and ask for the key from the Commander of the Watch.

The coffins were carried down into the crypt where the torches had already been lit. Waiting for us down there was a small silver tray with five cups on it and a crystal decanter with red port in it.

The five of us, Mother, Mark, Emma, Sam and myself descended into the firelight while our fellow mourners waited for us at the entrance. The guards slid the coffins into the holes that were prepared for them and lifted the sealing stones into place. At first, I had wanted to do that as I had heard that some people carry their parent's or friends coffins and then seal them inside their tombs but apparently most guards dislike this as there is a possibility that the bearers get upset and drop the coffin or seal the tomb improperly which can lead to the body being subject to possession or getting up and wandering about if it's buried in a place with a bit more background magic than normal.

When they had done their work the guards left, I had bent to have a look at the pictures that had been carved into the headstones with astonishing artistry. Father had been depicted on horseback with one of his beloved falcons on his wrist and a hunting dog playing around his horses feet. All of them looked as though they had just caught the scent of some kind of prey. As though the carver had just managed to catch them in the pose before they shot out of view, chasing after whatever had caught their attention.

My brothers picture depicted a stranger to me. The figure was sat in a chair, leaning back with his legs outstretched. He was smiling happily and toasting the unseen artist with a mug of ale. The figure looked like my brother but was so utterly unlike him that it was startling. After a while I decided that this person was who Edmund should have been rather than who he had become. If he had made some different choices or if he had been born after Mark or Emma.

My hard won numbness and distance shook as I felt a lump rise in my throat.

Mark was pouring some of the red liquid into the five waiting cups.

One of the traditions about going hunting, for those of you who have never known it or have never been near a hunting pack as that form of hunting is going out of fashion, is that the hunters are brought a small cup of an alcoholic drink to fortify them. I always thought it a little silly in truth as it seemed the height of stupidity to hand out strong alcohol to people who were hunting game with weapons but there you go. This is called a stirrup cup and it was five of these vessels that we would drink port from as it was Father's favourite drink. I took my cup, still looking at the carvings and sipped the liquid which I always found surprisingly sweet. It's as though my mouth goes into shock as it was expecting something almost sour like a good red wine and then the sweetness hits it and it's too busy being shocked to react quickly.

We stood there, awkwardly looking at each other.

“Well,” said Mark after a long time. “I've officiated many of these as priest but never as a mourner.”

“Does it feel different?” Emma asked, she had sat next to Mother who was staring into space.

“Yes and no.” He said, “There's a certain amount of distance from everything. I absolutely expect to go into shock later and just fall asleep for a few... you know... years.”

“It's been a hell of a week,” said Sam. He'd been looking at the graves, same as I had.

“Hasn't it though?” Emma said with a weary smile.

We all managed some awkward tittering before silence fell.

“How long do we have to stay down here?” Sam asked. “No that I'm eager to leave but... Oh dammit that came out wrong, I'm just wondering if there's some kind of etiquette to this entire thing.”

“Not really,” Emma spoke up. “This is our time and if we want to leave quickly saying that we wanted to celebrate life rather than death then we can. Likewise, if we decide that we want to stay down here until tomorrow then we can do that too.”

“I don't think we need to, or even should, stay down here too long.” Mark suggested. “People want to talk to us and Dad would be furious if he thought we were passing up the opportunity to make contacts and network amongst the other nobles.”

Sam laughed genuinely and even Mother managed to smile. “He would at that.”

“Well then,” said Emma standing and helping Mother to her feet. “Mark, do you want to do the honours?”

“No,” Mark answered, “but I will.” He raised his cup. “To Father. For the running head start in life that he gave us.”

“For the tasks still ahead of us.” Emma added

“And for the things that he did for us,” Sam's toast.

We drank. I bent to inspect the picture on Edmund's stone again. I wanted to feel something, anything, but it was warring with the desire to stay... stoic.

“So I suppose there's someone else we need to talk about,” Sam said. He was right. We had toasted father the way we were supposed which meant that we could leave but none of us had moved. “Does anyone want to say anything?”

There was a long pause.

“I do,” I said. I think that I was as astonished at hearing my voice as everyone else was. I held my cup out for more port and Mark refilled it.

“I didn't know Edmund very well. Now that I have found out more, I find that I am glad. People have said that he was sick somehow, that he had an illness of the brain. I can't answer for that. But I wonder what I would have done in his place. If I had gone through what he did.”

“You would never have done what he did,” Emma said.

“Wouldn't I? I wonder. Anyway. If he was sick in some way that we can't fathom yet, then we should all count ourselves lucky that it didn't happen to us. If it was his circumstances that made him that way, whether intentional or not, imagined or not. Then we should count ourselves lucky that it was him that had to go through those things and not us. If it was a combination of both things, sickness and circumstance. Then we are all doubly lucky.”

I stopped and looked again at the picture of the brother that I had nearly had.

“I suppose what I'm saying is. It's only by the grace of the Holy Flame that it's not me lying there.”

Mark nodded. “I'll drink to that.”

“So will I,” Sam added.

Emma nodded and Mother had already raised her own cup in a silent toast.

“I'm sorry Edmund,” I said as I raised my cup.

We left and went back to the party.

I've been to a couple of wake's now. Mostly due to the fact that I've been so involved with the monster slaying business that we tend to get invited to them, either as part of the “investigation” part of the monster hunt, or because we get invited after the dead party has been avenged. Kerrass accuses me of “gentrifying” him as he claims that he's been invited to many more parties after his association with me than he ever was before but I think that is more down to the fact that I've been trained from a young age to talk to nobility and express proper condolences and as a result they always feel guilty for not inviting him.

I must say that he doesn't complain too much. He always seems to “get lucky” at these things as his air of danger attracts young and impressionable nobility to him like moths to a flame. There is something to be said about the life affirmation of it that acts like an aphrodisiac.

I find wake's fascinating. It's a morbid subject I will admit but there might be something to the suggestion that you can tell a lot about a culture by the way they mourn the dead.

Relatively recently I had the opportunity to attend a wake for a Nilfgaardian coastal lord. He was a naval officer charged with policing his particular patch of coastline against pirates. To no-one's surprise, the vast majority of those pirates were Skelligan.

His keep was situated over the top of small bay and harbour that was used for his fleet and a sizeable merchant and fishing docks. A large sea monster of some description that has, thus far, escaped classification had started to attack passing ships. The Lord had led his knights out to fight the beast and had been pulled into the water.

In his armour.

Kerrass had been hired to destroy the beast. He had failed to kill it but had succeeded in chopping large chunks of it off, setting fire to, and poisoning those wounds so there was every possibility that it would die out at sea after being driven off. To be fair to the Lords widow she still paid a considerable chunk of the fee and invited us to the wake. Everyone was astonished when several large Skelligan longships turned up at dock. Paid the docking fees and marched up to the castle to, politely, ask if they could help honour their fallen enemy.

It was an education to watch. The normally stoic and withdrawn Nilfgaardians who were stood around muttering to each other along with wailing and gnashing of teeth combined with the boisterous and cheerful Skelligan pirates who had brought their own beer as apparently they didn't care to toast the man with wine.

At one point I found myself sitting next to a group of Nilfgaardian noblemen who were arguing over who should talk to the Skelligans to get them to quieten down and pay proper respect. I was forced to step in and point out that what the Skelligans were doing was paying proper respect. Indeed, in their culture, what they were doing was considered a high honour.

The Skelligans left as peacefully as they came, nursing huge hangovers as well as several bruises and broken noses that had been inflicted during some good natured tussling with the Nilfgaardian landsknechts that lived at the castle. They had also promised the widow of the castle that they would refrain from attacking her fallen husbands stretch of coastline for a year and a day out of respect and had gifted her with a large and obviously expensive, well crafted golden torque.

But now, in my father's castle, I was one of the people that was close to the fallen. I hadn't met them then but I suspect that I might have enjoyed the Skelligan version of a wake a bit more. My head swam with eating not enough food and drinking a little bit too much wine despite constant effort to moderate myself.

My mother, Emma and Mark retired early and so I took the position of host upon myself. I made sure that I was there to personally thank every guest as they were leaving and to console everyone who was upset whether they were crying genuine tears or not.

Eventually the “party” wound down somewhere around midnight. Those guests who were spending the night went to their beds while Sam and I took one of the last couple of bottles of my fathers wine that had been opened but unfinished to a quieter sitting room and sat together, staring at a fireplace.

Despite my drunkenness I still felt relatively sober though, my mind still racing in the way that it often does after a fight. Sam had started to snooze so I helped him up to his room and went to my own bed to stare at the ceiling for a bit.

I couldn't sleep.

In the end I gave up, changed clothes and went back downstairs. Commandeering a couple of the remaining bottles of wine I went off to the barracks and handed those bottles off to the Sergeant at arms so that the men could have proper vintage with which to celebrate my fathers passing. The gesture was cheered, much to my amusement as father would have been absolutely mortified at the gesture. Not that he would have thought it wrong but at the rate with which the men drank the wine.

“Proper wine should be savoured,” he would say in horror watching one of those men grab a bottle by the neck and lifting it to his mouth.

I grinned at the thought and left as quietly as I could.

It was still the height of summer and I was quite warm as I picked a patch of the wall to sit and watch the sunrise with one of those bottles as my company.

I must have dozed because I woke up stiff and hungry.

Barnabus, the family lawyer hadn't stayed long the previous day as he had to return to Oxenfurt to collect Father's will and to receive final authority to enact it's contents. He was expected in the new day to read the will and so that we could all find out what would happen.

I was confident that my lot wouldn't change very much although I suspected that my student days would now be behind me. I thought that I could rely on a small sum that could be used or invested as I saw fit and a share of the family business that could provide a small income. It kind of all depended on what would happen to the rest of the business though as to what I would do with it. I had no idea what Mark, a churchman through and through, would do with so large a merchant enterprise as he rejected physical wealth but I had no idea what else could happen. I thought I would reinvest my sum into the family business and continue my travelling for a while before the spectre of marriage, to a vampire or not, became a little more real.

Kerrass eventually found me. In a mirror of an earlier scene he had woken up the kitchens and brought me a huge bacon sandwhich along with a hot drink of some description.

“Good morning.” he said grinning that special smile that told me that he got laid last night.

“Is it?” I asked.

“Not bad if you go for that kind of thing. You didn't sleep last night.”

“Are you going to tell me that it's some kind of special Witcher thing that you can do to tell you such things.”

Kerrass had his own drink and took a long gulp.

“Nah, I have spies.”

“Really? It took you that long to infiltrate my fathers castle?”

He just grinned at me.

“Serious question though,” he said after snagging a piece of bacon from between the two slices of bread. “How long are you planning on staying? It's just I thought I might go for a ride and see if I can find some work in the local area if we're going to be here more than a couple of days.”

“So keen to get going?”

“My aren't we touchy today. Should have found yourself a nice warm woman to keep you company. Anyway, I get that you might want to stay for a bit but time's a wasting and although your family has been more than generous. I'm beginning to get itchy feet. Also there's the matter of that favour you owe me.”

“So quickly given and already your chasing me for that?”

Kerrass looked at me for a long time.

“You know what? If you're going to be this miserable then I'm going back to see if I can find that woman I was talking about.”

I sighed.

“I'm sorry.”

“I know. Grief makes people say odd things. Just get it out of your system before we head off though right?”

“I will. I've had some thoughts in that direction anyway.”

“Will I be needed for them?”

“You might want to be.”

“Oh good.”

Barnabus, our lawyer had gone back to Oxenfurt overnight and returned about mid-morning where we gathered in the same room where the four children had passed judgement on our own mother. This fact was certainly not lost on me. Nor was it lost on me that Mother went to exactly the same place that she had stood previously.

Barnabus looked tired and old. He had been drinking heavily the previous evening in a corner with some of the older people that Father had worked with over the years. He had a leather satchel with him from which he pulled several envelopes, a scroll and a large piece of paper. There was some movement as we all found seats, drinks were poured and the older man wiped his face a couple of times.

“I've been thinking about this for a while.” He said after a long pause where he just stared into space. “I've decided to retire as your family lawyer and indeed I'm going to pass the firm on to my partners.”

We all exchanged glances but mother gestured for us to stay silent.

“I see.” she said after another long moment of silence. “I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we will be sorry to...”

“It's just,” he interrupted. I don't think he was being rude. I think that it was because he genuinely hadn't heard her. “I'm getting old. Some days I feel in fine form and a credit to my profession. But in other ways I can feel myself slowing down. I had enormous affection for your father and over the years I came to admire the man. This small slice of heaven that he had managed to carve out of the countryside where his people had as much importance as the nobles that came to visit him became dear to me and I hope that you will accept it when I petition to be allowed to become one of your feudal subjects and build a home for my retirement on your lands.”

Mark looked left and right at the rest of us as he rubbed at his temple. “I think I speak for everyone when I say that we would be honoured.”

The old man nodded and shook his head as if to shake free of something.

“Enough of that. I will of course make some other recommendations if the old firm don't meet your requirements.

“First of all, you should all know that there has been much debate on the subject of your fathers will. In the matter of inheritance of title and lands, normally it would just be the King that would decide the matter and in a family where there is a male heir then normally that would just be a simple affirmation from the King's private secretary but in this case we have neither King, nor private Secretary. The matter was referred to the High Sheriff who, in turn referred it to Nilfgaard. Fortunately, as we had some warning as to what was to come, we have had time to receive an answer which was a long and flowery one. When you boil it all down though it basically says that the Emperor and Empress-to-be have discussed the matter and decided that they don't care enough to replace the family in that position providing that the family don't rock the boat and foment rebellion. We have also been in discussion with the church hierarchy for reasons that will become clear.

“I do however have another sad piece of news. My lady?” He spoke to mother directly.

Mother looked up expectantly.

“It is my duty to inform you of the death of your brother and nephew. Your Nephew was executed at the hands of church soldiers by being burned at the stake for heresy. Your brother, it seems, had made it to Oxenfurt just in time to witness the execution and hurled himself on the flames where he died.”

Mother bowed her head for a moment before looking back up. Something fierce glittered in her eyes.

“I see,” She said carefully.

“Further to that I have a message for the new Lord Kalayn. Lord Samuel?”

“Eh? What?” Sam was startled. This was indeed unexpected.

“Your uncle's will was simple enough. He left everything to any surviving male heir that was specifically not a member of the church hierarchy. The genealogies have been checked and that means that those lands and titles belong to you. I'm afraid it isn't much but there is a little income and I'm told that the land is quite scenic.”

Sam snorted.

“Well, somewhere to retire I suppose.”

“Indeed, Lord Kalayn.” Mother smiled. “I'm pleased. Those lands and people's have been abused for too long. You'll look after them won't you?”

“I will do my best.” Sam was clearly thinking furiously.

“If I might make a suggestion.” I spoke up. “Kerrass would be furious with me if I didn't at least suggest that you take a priest or three with you when you go there. Years of heresy can have an effect on the land. Also some church soldiers, maybe a Sorceress, or a Witcher.”

“I'm sure some priests can be arranged.” agreed Mark. “It's a good thought Sam.”

Sam nodded.

“Would Kerrass oblige?”

“He might. I owe him a favour and we need to sort that out first which may take time. Talk to him though. He's a craftsman so the promise of fair pay might influence him.”

“I'll talk to him.”

“Good.” Said Barnabus with a smile. “In which case, please allow me to congratulate you. Lord Samuel Kalayn.” He got up and bowed solemnly as he handed over a scroll.

“Heh. I like the sound of that.”

“I'm not calling you milord.” I said, smiling myself.

“You'll have to.” Sam said grinning from ear to ear. “I have the feudal rights there and could have you executed.”

“You'd have to catch him first.”

Family squabbling, good for whatever ails you.

We calmed down after a moment to hear the rest of what Barnabus had to say.

“First of all. Your father wrote to all of you. Letters to be read. In those days when we had begun to hope for the best but it became clear that he was sinking, he called me over and had me draft these letters.”

He passed them all out.

“I am instructed to inform you that those letters are to be read after you have heard about your inheritances. The contents are private and you are admonished to read them first before discussing their contents with anyone else. These are his instructions.”

We all nodded. I thought of a teaching seminar or when tutors would come out to the castle to lecture us all on a specific point of history. Deduct ten years or so from everyone's age and that would be about right. Sitting here at father's instructions listening to someone inform us about things.

I hid a smile behind my hand.

“The will itself is divided into sections. The vast majority of them are not relevant to you and pertain to other people within his sphere's of influence. Some of which will be discussed with relevant parties afterwards, however there are a couple of things that I am instructed to read aloud to you here. The sections regarding Edmund have been removed.”

He lifted a piece of paper and held it away from his face as he tried to focus on it. I desperately wanted to offer to read it for him.

“First of all to my wife.” said Barnabus in a manner that was so like my Father that I had to hide a smile again. Then I felt guilty and cruel at the jibe. I wondered if Father had learnt that manner of Barnabus or if it had been the other way round.

“First of all to my wife. I would like it known by all that hear this declaration that I love my wife dearly. She has had a hard life and I have been too poor a husband for her. Over the years I have so desperately wanted to take her in my arms and protect her from all the cruelties that the world might throw at her but at the same time I have been unable to do so. She deserved better from this world and better from me. I do have further things to say but those things will be said in private. Publicly however, she has often stated that she wishes to take holy orders and in my selfishness I have refused her permission as I wanted to keep my wife around me. I would always pretend that I wanted my children to have a mother and the castle to have it's lady but the truth is that I simply couldn't bare to be parted from her. I would like to take this opportunity to beg for her forgiveness.”

My mother's gaze fell. She was holding her own letter in her lap and was staring at it as though it was something both precious and deadly. There was a look on her face that was too raw and primal for a son to see.

I looked away.

“I have left a sum of money to the temple that she chooses to attend and I wish her the best for her retirement and spiritual fulfilment.” Barnabus finished and set aside that particular bit of paper.

There was some passing around of tissues, some coughing and avoidance of each others gaze.

Barnabus was watching us and I had an insight.

He was dreading this next bit.

I carefully did not lean forwards expectantly as our lawyer picked up another piece of paper.

“It is my wish that both Frederick and Samuel should continue in the manner to which they have become accustomed. Further to this they will continue to receive an income that will fall in line with rates of inflation blah blah blah, and they will also have no less than a 5% stake in the family mercantile endeavours that can be cashed in the event of them settling down. Another 5% each will be released on the event of their marriage.”

Sam and I exchanged glances. Neither of us had expected anything different, indeed it was quite generous for a knight who expected his money to come in from patrons and military hierarchy as well as a wandering scholar.

“The title of Baron von Coulthard will descend down the male line.” Barnabus looked up. “At the time of writing this was meant to be Edmund however since his death that would be you. I have discussed matters with the church offices and as such they have no objection to you using the title “Cardinal Mark, Baron von Coulthard and as such that will be added to your heraldry. At the moment they want to put a mitre on top of the coat of arms.”

Mark nodded but that was only part of the news that we were all waiting for. The lawyer looked back at the paper.

“As it is customary for churchmen not to marry and produce heirs. That title will then pass down to the next male of my direct male line. Which means Samuel, then any male issue of Samuel followed by Frederick, followed by any male issue of Frederick,”

There was more nodding. I saw the lawyer lick his lips. This was it.

“It is my wish that my lands, deeds, funds, endeavours and patents should be kept by my eldest daughter Emma in trust of the birth of my Grandson.”

“What?” I don't know who said that. It might even have been me.

“It is my requirement that my lands not fall into the hands of a wastrel or the church. I wish for the families lands to be kept for the future of the von Coulthards and not for the furtherment of the churches agenda nor the paying off of debts. There is no better person to keep these lands in trust than Emma. My daughter of whom I am unspeakably proud and she has my eternal trust. She is charged with further matters that will be discussed in private...”

Mark shot to his feet. His eyes were goggled and the blood drained out of his face. His hands were clenching at his sides.

“Mark?” Mother said carefully.

Emma said nothing. She looked as though she had been struck in the face with a hammer. Her eyes were shining with un-shed tears.

“But...” Mark stammered.

“Putting it more simply.” Barnabus stayed seated although he put the paper away. “Mark is now Baron von Coulthard. However, everything else... Goes to Emma to hold until either Sam or Frederick produce offspring.”

“So confident was he that Emma wouldn't produce children...” I heard myself growl.

“But I....”

“Mark,” Sam stood up slowly and reached out for Mark's shoulder. “He didn't trust either of us either. The wealth passes over us to our children and...”

Mark shrugged him off violently. A thought visibly struck him.

“He left it all to...”

He realised that he was holding the letter that had been meant for him. He'd crumpled it in his fist. Feverishly he unfolded it, tore off the end and strode over to the fireplace where he read it. Sam, mother and I had stood as he moved.

Emma looked as though she had been pinned to her chair.

Mark straightened the letter and read it again.

Then again.

He angled it in the light. If possible, he got paler and rubbed at his temple as he examined the envelope, looking for more paper.

Then in a frenzy, he tore the paper up and hurled it into the fire. He was still staring into space.

At the time there was too much emotion in the room. Looking back I should have realised what was happening. Mark was terrified.

Carefully mother approached him.

“Mark?” she said.

“Of all people,” he said quietly in what sounded like amazement. “Of all people it's me that he spurns. Me. My mother's a heretic, my sisters a whore to a Witch and my brothers...”

I snarled and lunged at Mark. I like to think that I don't anger easily but he shouldn't have said that.

Sam stopped me. His soldiers instincts held me back.

But mother did it for me. Her slap echoed in the room.

“How dare you?” she whispered into the silence. “After everything this family has been through. You can call me what you like but don't you ever talk about your sister like that again.” Her voice was steel.

Nothing happened.

The only silence was the roaring of the fire.

Mark abruptly stalked from the room.

I shook Sam off and went over to Emma who was still sat, unmoving. I knelt in front of her.

“Emma?”

“He said he was proud of me,” She burst into tears.

Sam left the room. I don't know where he went but I was later told that he went off to find Mark to have a

blazing row with him.

Looking back I think that some professor of some kind could make a fascinating study about our family dynamics during those few days. We had all come together for the illness, funeral and then, no soon was our father in the ground than we shattered again.

I spent some time consoling Emma who had fallen apart. After a while though it became clear that I was not who was needed and I sent for Laurelen. Something that I should have done much earlier really but in the heat of the moment it simply didn't occur to me.

I left, sneaking into the kitchen for a chunk of bread and some cheese as well as a skin of wine before going off wandering. I set out with no particular destination in mind, just the rough and unformed determination to put one foot in front of the other until I came to a place where I wanted to stop. The cook put the food into a bag for me and I slung it over my shoulder as I walked.

I felt numb really. I've spoken before about feeling as though the entire world felt too noisy, as though the sounds of footfalls and voices were echoing harshly into the very centre of my skull where they were becoming focused into a point that was growing into a headache for the ages. Dimly I was aware of the unfairness of that. I hadn't been drinking, I was tired but not that tired. It felt like a hangover. I had been running around, non-stop for a while now, ever since I first thought that Father was dying.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, the scholar and writer in me was making notes and I was dimly aware that he had decided that I had gone into a delayed shock. I wanted to run, climb things, Fight something, rage, shout and scream. I wanted to pound a person with my fists until their cheekbones shattered and their teeth splintered. It didn't seem to matter who it was either as the picture in my minds eye changed from Kerrass, to Mark, to Father, to Sir Robart, to Cousin Kalayn, to Edmund and on and on. Several times it was even my own face that I was trying to destroy.

My legs twitched oddly.

Since receiving that first message I had travelled solidly for several days. I had jumped straight into a murder investigation that had gone too far into places that I didn't know that I would come back from. I had discovered that my own brother was a rapist, heretic and murderer and that those...tastes seemed to run in the family.

Sitting here now it seems ludicrous to think but right then and there I was afraid that I might have developed those tastes myself.

Did I want to murder and rape women?

I didn't of course and I never would but for a while there I was terrified that I might. A lot like a friend of mine whose parents are drug addicts and has to stay away from the stuff because he knows that he might succumb himself.

Right now though, I wanted to be outside. I wanted to hear the leaves in the trees and the blowing of wind through grass.

I wandered down through the castle courtyards and out through the gates with still no idea where I was going.

The guards greeted me at the gates and I made a couple of silly jokes. I don't remember what I said but they seemed to be better for it.

I wanted to leave. Jump on my horse and ride off. Life was a lot simpler on the road as well.

Something to be said about the Witcher way of life. You know who your enemies are. Everything is a routine. It's implicit in a Witchers code to be neutral in matters of state and politics. Don't get involved, ride on by, do not look back.

At first I had thought that this made them uncaring but instead I had begun to believe that it wasn't that they were uncaring. It was more that they had the potential to be too caring. The other possibility is that Witchers are uniquely suited to tip the scales of politics one way or another. They are trained and built to the peaks of physical and mental prowess. If they decided to get involved in a cause or ideal then they could truly change the world. So if they don't just walk on by, then things would spin out of control with a speed that was potentially terrifying. Suddenly Witchers would become the concern of massively powerful heads of state and then Witchers are no longer monster slayers, they become soldiers, spies and assassins.

Two Witchers are famous for this. Obviously there is the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, adopted father of the Empress-to-be in Nilfgaard. The other is the Kingslayer who slew two heads of state so that his brothers and history could be preserved.

Two men, forced out of their neutrality by circumstance and love of those closest to them and look at the differences that both men made in the world.

That fabled neutrality suddenly seemed like an immense luxury that I could no longer afford.

I walked in amongst the trees and realised where I was going.

I remembered the thing that mother had said about killing Edmund. That she didn't remember deciding to kill him but rather had just realised that that was what she was going to do.

I had not decided to come to our family's crypt. Instead I had just come here.

There were two guards on the gate. A number of people had wanted to pay their own respects and it had been felt prudent that the tombs needed to be protected in case some of the people wanted to pay their respects by taking a steaming turd at the foot of the grave stones.

I nodded to the guards and entered, slowly descending the steps.

It was dark down there and quiet. There were still lit torches on the walls. Mark had given orders that they should be kept burning for a week to honour the fallen and to keep evil spirits away. Kerrass had kindly suggested that the application of certain oils would work just as well. I had seen that the guards in question had applied both methods.

Just to be sure.

Fathers grave had been decorated with various wreathes of flowers. A couple of roses, a few daisy chains and such. Several bottles had been left as well as notes had been tacked on. I had seen several graves before and had always wondered what these things were about.

Someone had left a small straw doll version of my father in amongst the flowers. For some reason I found this incredibly funny. I never remember Father being interested in dolls or wanting to play with small children. Even Frannie had only ever played with her older brothers and sister.

I suddenly felt a little foolish and guilty for making light of a touching gesture. I carefully put the doll back where I had found it.

Edmunds grave had nothing on it. Almost suspiciously so.

In fact it looked as though the stone had been scrubbed clean.

Someone had taken the opportunity to make a gesture that we had all been afraid of.

I sat down with my back to the wall and stretched out my legs into the centre of the room and let out a long sigh and shut my eyes.

It was peaceful here. A very similar kind of feeling to what it was like inside the family chapel. I felt monstrously tired but at the same time my mind was working over time. I had once seen a gnomish device in the university when I was still trying to decide what I wanted to study. I wandered into an engineering class which mostly seemed to be about trying to catch up to what the gnomes and dwarves have already been doing for hundreds of years.

On the lecturers desk was a device that seemed to be made out of clockwork and springs. The lecturer used a key to wind the contraption up and then let the key go at which time the machine started to move, the cogs and springs moving together in perfect harmony. But then it became clear that the machine was increasing the speed of it's operation. The movements got faster and faster until eventually the machine shook itself apart, but still there were parts of the machine that were still trying to move. The demonstration was clearly set up as the lecturer took the mishap in his stride and started putting the machine back together so I strongly suspected that the machine had been deliberately built to shake itself apart for the purposes of that demonstration.

But that day, I felt like that little machine. It always struck me as being very sad. The little machine that had been built to fail. Built to break and tear itself apart and yet still fought to exist without knowing how to fight or how to keep going.

As I sat there I tried to doze or even better to catch some sleep but my mind was still going over things. Over and over, trying to see if there was something that I had missed, something that I might want to pursue, some kind of... Explanation as to why, otherwise, perfectly normal people would do such despicable things to their fellow human beings.

The answer that they did them because they could was not satisfactory to me.

I ate a little and stared at one of the fires as I remembered why I had come here.

Taking out my fathers letter from where I had scrunched it up and thrust it into my pocket, I carefully unfolded it and smoothed it out over my knee with my hands.

I took a long drink of the wine and began to read it.

It took me several attempts to focus on the words to the point where I felt that I was taking them in.

Frederick.

I come to you last, not because you are least in my thoughts but because I find that you are the person least in need of my advice or instruction. I do not say these things as an admonishment or as a scourge but to simply state that you have changed my mind.

Your elder brothers and sisters have become major people now. Edmund has become a great man in his circle, no matter how much I might despise those people or disapprove of his life choices.

Mark is heading for the highest office that he will be able to attain in the church and I am very proud and pleased for him. He has worked hard at it although I cannot help but wonder if he might have climbed higher if I had been less successful at imparting a decent set of morals to him.

Your sister Emma is probably the best of those three. I sometimes think of my children as being divided into two halves representing the two periods of my life where your mother and I loved each other without hesitation or holding anything back. Emma is the best of those three and I will explain why in a moment. She will need your support Frederick. Not with money but with your love and your integrity. She will struggle in the field that she must now walk and it shames me that I will not be there to help her through her future endeavours.

Sammuel is a good lad and he hides his arrogance well. It is a familiar arrogance to me as it is the arrogance of a man who can defend himself. Who can fight. Who looks at others in a way that says that he is measuring them up as threats. To Samuel he looks at the world in terms of those people that he could fight and win, and those people against whom he would lose.

Francesca will do well no matter what she does and as such she is the one child of mine for whom I did exactly the right thing.

For you though...

You do not know it but I have just spent some time staring out the window.

I am dying as I write this. I know it, deep down in the pit of my stomach. I look out the window and I can see the extent of my lands and the beauty that I have helped create and I still don't know what to say to my youngest son.

Of all of my children, you represent my biggest failure.

But you do so in the best possible way.

When we last parted there were harsh words spoken between us. I ridiculed you and attempted to lessen you as a way to force you into my way of thinking. I wanted you to be a minor courtier and lordling. I envisioned you as a pawn to be moved around the chess-board of dynastic squabbling that the nobility seems to have become. I thought I could find you a wife that would make you happy and some form of realm to manage that would provide you with the right kind of intellectual stimulus to contain your energy. I had failed but rather than seeing that as my own failure as a parent, I saw that as your failure as my son.

In the time since I last saw you I have realised that what I was trying to do was to force you into a role for which you were unsuited.

Barnabus has just put it best. I was trying to force a square peg (you) into a round hole and was angry at the peg for being unable to fit.

I then got angrier as that peg wandered round looking for the hole into which it did fit.

You don't know this but I started reading your “Witcher journals” shortly after they started to be published. At first I had refused to do so as any indication that you might be succeeding went against my established order of the world but eventually your sister forced me to read them.

The first thing that caught my eye was the remorse you felt that you couldn't do more for the people that you had saved.

Then I read about you seeing evil behind the mask of beauty.

Then I read about how far you were willing to go for the well-being of others.

I read every journal avidly and I realised that I was becoming proud of my son. Everything that I had tried to impart to others, every duty and responsibility that I have tried to take on and pass down to my children...

You had gone out into the world and found the same things and taken them to heart, independent of me. Without my guidance.

In your travels with your Witcher companion you have seen the world to the point where you now know more about the real world than the rest of my children combined. You have seen the potential for evil and the potential for good in mankind.

And then you seek to educate others in what this means by way of having your journals published. You may have started out with different goals in mind but I rather think that if you put your mind to it, you would already have your doctorate and be lecturing at the university, but instead you are still out, travelling the roads despite Emma's efforts to find you. Instead you have continued your travels, continued your good works and continued educating yourself in what it means to be human.

I am immeasurably proud of you and it is a great pleasure to me to see the man that you have become. The fact that you did so despite my interference is not lost on me.

I had intended to tell you these things when I saw you next but it seems that I drove you away far too efficiently and that I was incorrect when I assumed that I had time.

I am sorry for that.

I do have a couple of requests however.

First of all, it was Edmund who was responsible for my injury. I trust that you will make him remember this fact.

Secondly, I would ask you to thank your Witcher for me. For keeping you safe, for being your guide into the wider world and for standing next to you in times of strife.

That's it.

On a personal level I would also tell you that I have left instruction with Emma that when you decide to get married that the company will foot the bill. I have read some of the correspondence between Emma and this Countess Angral and I suspect that she will suit you well.

The fact that she is a vampire also seems to suit you well and is the source of much private amusement on my part and I was looking forward to seeing the meeting between her and Mark.

But I encourage you to follow your heart on the matter.

Once again, please allow me to apologise for trying to interfere in your life and to say that I am so proud of the man you have become despite your father.

With all my love.

Dad.

I would like to say that there were tears. That would be the poetic thing to say. That I sat there in the darkness of my fathers tomb and wept for the fallen.

But I didn't.

Instead I read the letter several times before carefully folding it and placing it back in my pouch. The terrible rage that I had first felt when Father had died was back and I gulped down some air in an effort to calm myself.

I was restless again,

I finished the food and wine, climbed to my feet and left the crypt without looking back.

There is not that much left to say really.

Mark left that day in a huff. He gathered all his soldiers together and just marched off without saying a word to any of us. After his earlier behaviour I was rather glad that I didn't have to talk to him really but at the same time I had thought it odd. I'm hoping to see him when we all gather for the coronation as my temper has cooled considerably since then. But at the time, I was glad that he had gone. There was a feeling as though a dark cloud had lifted from the castle, I don't know when it arrived or what had caused it but there was definitely a feeling of doom. It was the kind of thing where you only notice it when it's gone. I may have been imagining things but I doubt it.

Mother left a few days after that. She waited until the rest of our guests had left to go on their merry little ways. She didn't want to cause a fuss and left quietly in the company of two nuns who had volunteered to escort her to Ellander. It had been a long time since I had seen her as happy as that. I don't know how long it will be before I see her again but I intend to visit her and she has already written to say that she will be permitted leave to visit in the event of family events such as marriage. She hugged me warmly when she left. I asked her to forgive me for everything that I had done. She looked shocked before admonishing me not to feel guilty.

“Of all my children, you have the most well defined sense of right and wrong,” she said. “Never apologise for doing the right thing. Your morals serve you well. Stick to them. You did me proud.”

She smiled and waved as she left.

I still did not weep as I watcher her depart even though I wanted to and felt as though I should. I started to get a persistent headache and jaw-ache that nothing could lift. I refused to drink more than socially although I desperately wanted to get drunk, but I saw that as a bottomless hole that I would never climb out of.

Sam waited to leave at my request as I had something to do and I wanted him present. It is required for a gentleman to have two seconds when he is issuing a challenge to a duel. Sam and Kerrass rode into Oxenfurt the day after mothers departure. They were dressed in our house colours and loudly declared that they were seeking Sir Robart de Radford on my behalf. They strode into the watch office demanding his presence before taking a tour of the city, loudly shouting for Sir Robart and that he, or someone that knew of his whereabouts should come out and make themselves known. Several people came forward but none could direct them to Sir Robart's location.

Instead, they had begun to gather something of an audience about themselves which they led into the town square. Sam stood on the stage with a glowering Witcher standing next to him, where he produced a scroll that I had prepared earlier. I won't go into detail but the long story short, the scroll declared Sir Robart to be a pox-filled sack of shit as well as a cowardly, yellow-bellied streak of piss that would rather have sex with animals than find a willing human being to copulate with.

I demanded that he meet me on the field of honour just outside Oxenfurt with the melee weapons of his choosing where we would fight, on foot until one of us was dead. I told him to meet me at dawn in a weeks time. I also said, loudly, that I had sent similar messages to Novigrad that wasn't that far away where the same message would be read out by every town cryer and that my message should be carried to Sir Robart by all who might call him friend. If he failed to show up, or contact me with an alternate place and time before that day then he agreed with me regarding all of the rather colourful things that I called him.

Needless to say, the man never showed up. I was there from the evening before until the morning after. I had visions of him turning up just after I had given up and left and claiming that I had fled the field. I needn't have worried. I haven't heard from him either but if he, or anyone he knows reads this then they should know that his sexual organs have a horrible, scaly disease that he has contracted by trying to have sex with fish. My spear awaits his response.

The men that we had captured with the strike against the cult gave the church some useful information about rooting out that particular heresy. The families of those men were incensed that they were even being held, let alone interrogated and were demanding their release. They had enough political clout to make things uncomfortable for the church in Oxenfurt and there were such things said as “We didn't have a problem when they were interrogating the mages or the non-humans but now they have come for us.” or words to that effect.

The men had already been sentenced to death by being burned at the stake in line with the laws on heresy but such was the political pressure being brought to bear on the matter that I'm told that those sentences were nearly reversed. It is my belief that this might have caused a riot at best, or an uprising at worst. It might have gone badly and those men might have even been released but a group of what we are supposed to call “religious zealots” amongst both the church, the watch and the townsfolk, broke the heretics out of prison and took them out of Oxenfurt to a clearing where they had built a huge bonfire. The men were tied to stakes and then burned alive according to the original sentencing. You can still find a burned patch of ground outside Oxenfurt which is where those men died and to date, no-one has been caught, nor has anyone claimed responsibility for those deaths.

Sam left the day after this little party. Kerrass told him that he had business in the south that would probably see him too occupied to come and look at the castle Kalayn before spring but if his services were still required after that then he would be more than happy to take the contract.

Kerrass and I stayed on for another day to support Emma while she took over the Lordship. There were occasional visitors who demanded to see the “Lord of the castle” and wouldn't accept that Emma was the legal Lord. I would then make myself known before very publicly deferring to Emma in every way. But I was feeling restless and so Kerrass and I made our farewells and rode out of the gates.

I owed Kerrass a favour and so our plan was to take the road up to Novigrad where we would take ship to a Nilfgaardian port that I had never heard of. Kerrass was acting all mysterious regarding the favour that he required of me but at the same time I wasn't very talkative myself.

I was... preoccupied with myself. I still had not managed to feel anything regarding either my fathers death or the massive changes that had taken place in my family. As we left I took one long look back at the castle, from a distance it looked as though nothing had changed and I felt as though this said something about the world. I had a thought about that and wanted to write it down but I couldn't summon the energy and the words turned to poison in my mind.

Instead I turned my horses head back to the road where Kerrass was waiting for me.

She met us on the second night. Because, of course she came at night.

The first night, Kerrass had taken care of the camp work and just left me to it. I spent the evening staring into the fire and I'm told that I was unresponsive to comments beyond monosyllabic grunting.

The second night was going much the same way as the first. We were camped just off the road in a small group of trees. We were not short of money and could easily have stayed in one of the local taverns but I didn't want to spend the evening dealing with questions from the locals about recent events. Kerrass was sympathetic so we camped. He went into the nearby village for some food which he heated over the fire. He had tried to engage me in conversation but had failed before returning to maintaining his weapons in silence.

I was sat on a tree stump staring at the fire again, occasionally giving in to my male tendency to play with fire.

Kerrass looked up sharply and frowned, slowly drawing a sword. He climbed to his feet and scanned the tree line before relaxing.

“Hello camp?” shouted a woman's voice.

“Come on in,” Kerrass said and Ariadne stepped into the circle of firelight. She spent a bit of time pulling bits of twig and leaf from her cream dress and what looked like a travelling cloak.

“Is that for me?” she asked looking at the sword.

“You did teleport in without warning,” Kerrass commented drily while putting the sword away.

“Yes, and then it took me a while to find a twig dry enough so that I could break it and announce my presence. I thought that just teleporting into your camp would end... badly.” She grinned at Kerrass who grinned back.

“More than likely,” he commented. “You're looking well,”

“Thank you,” she said, she was examining a nearby log for a clean patch to sit. “I'm still getting used to current fashions. I'm still weak as vampires go but my physical form is now all but back to normal.”

“I'm glad.”

There was a long silence, I had barely lifted my head.

“Well, it's been a while,” Kerrass began, “So I'm gonna...go off to... do some training. Yes, training. Too much castle life. I hope you'll forgive me,” he bowed formally to her.

He later admitted that he winked at her with his back to me.

He left.

“So I'm sorry that I wasn't there to help you with your father's funeral.” She began. “But it was only after it happened that anyone thought to give me the news. I'd been out dealing with matters in my lands and so had missed all the gossip. I'm so sorry, I would have come to help you and your sister but I was too late. I'm so sorry about that.”

“It's ok,” I managed.

“I'm trying to get used to not using magic as much. I'm told that your society is not as...understanding about magical creatures and so habitual magic use is sometimes dangerous. As a result I'm trying to live a normal life with using as little of it as possible. It means that I'm recovering quicker but at the same time it does make life so boring. Long periods of waiting although the carriage ride was very instructional. The world has changed so much.”

“Carriage ride?”

“Yes, I thought that your sister could do with some friendly company. You are not the only member of your family that I am... fascinated with.”

She smoothed her dress across her knees and arranged the folds of her skirts.

“She's worried about you you know?”

“Is she?”

“Oh yes. It was her that told me where to find you. I'm going to stay on with her for a bit as some support as she's still having some problems with, less desirable types. Also it means I can get to know her.... I'm not sure what the term is, lover? Laurelen?”

I nodded.

“Fascinating woman. She's getting used to the fact that she's been “outed” is the word that she uses. I like her. She was only moderately terrified of me when I introduced myself.”

“Rather than “absolutely terrified”?”

“Indeed. The people of Angraal are getting used to me but as soon as other folks find out about me they get all.... shivery and start to avoid my gaze.”

“Funny that.”

Ariadne grinned.

“I thought so, but Laurelen is a good woman. Good head on her shoulders. I can see why Emma likes her.”

“They do seem well suited.”

I could feel my brain fighting against her efforts to pull it out of the slump it was in.

“Yes.” I managed.

“Such a shame that your church doesn't allow women to marry each other. It seems eminently sensible to me. But anyway, we've got a pattern where I keep Laurelen company while Emma's off discussing business or matters of state.”

“What do you talk about?”

“Magic, mostly. She let me use her lab.”

The way she said it was as though Laurelen had allowed Ariadne access to her underwear.

I nodded and went back to staring into the fire.

“So how are you?” She prompted.

I shrugged.

“I'm so sorry about your father Frederick. I would have liked to have met him.”

I nodded again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“What's to say?”

“Anything.” She answered. “Everything. Nothing. Everything in between.”

I looked up at her properly for the first time. There's no hiding it. She looked beautiful but a little unearthly in the firelight. She had taken her hood down and had pulled her hair over her shoulder in a braid. She was sat, her knees together and her hands clasped easily in her lap.

Slowly, very slowly at first, I started to talk. Ariadne has that talent of listening that good interviewers have. I've talked about this before. You create an aura of silence around you so that your interviewee just feels the urge to fill that silence. She sat still, not fidgeting or moving except to follow my movements when I eventually gave in to the nervous energy and started to walk around the clearing.

I told her all of it. From the moment I got the message about father to the point where I had left the castle. I talked to her about my feelings, the events, my suspicions and conclusions. Everything that I have told you, my readers, and more.

It took a long time and she just sat there and listened.

Eventually I just petered out due to exhaustion.

“Well?” I demanded of her. “What do you think?”

“I do have one question?” she said staring at me. “How am I doing?”

“What?”

“It's been a long time since I've had to console a grieving human and I am out of practice. So how am I doing?”

I stared at her in astonishment.

I barked out a laugh. It was an involuntary thing, a simple sound but it was like the moment that a dam bursts. Or the first stone that starts an avalanche.

I fell backwards as the flood of everything that I had held back since my fathers death came rushing forwards. All of those fears, griefs and frustrations. My rage and sadness all rushed onwards in a tide that swept me away.

I howled in my grief, scrunching my hands into fists and covering my eyes as the tears that I had held back for what felt like ages came rushing out.

I wept as a child does at the loss of innocence.

Gentle and hesitant hands helped me into a sitting position and Ariadne cradled me as I wept into her shoulder for everything that I had lost.