A Scholar's travels with a Witcher

Frederick's note: Kerrass went outside for a bit after that. I've never seen him in tears or even close to outright being overwhelmed with any kind of emotion other than Fury but I think that was as close as I'd ever seen him. I sat there for a while, Sarah brought over a couple of tankards that she set down without comment and avoiding eye contact. I know that she heard what we had been talking about. Kerrass had made no particular effort to lower his voice and the village's feelings towards him mean that what had happened must be general knowledge. But what do you say to that?

“Sorry” just doesn't seem to cut it really.

Kerrass came back in, his hair was wet and I guessed that he'd gone to the well or horse trough to dunk his head in the water.

I spent the time tidying up the notes. Shorthand is an interesting technique but can sometimes be prone to ink splatter, especially if your subject is a fast talker, which Kerrass is not, but by the same token, it's better to be safe than sorry and I wanted to check it while the narrative was still fresh in my mind.

Kerrass sat opposite me and nursed his drink, waiting for me to finish. I selected a new piece of paper, dipped my pen and gave him a nod.

“That's it Freddie. That's the entire story.”

I laughed at him.

But he wasn't joking.

“No, no it isn't.” I said after staring at him in astonishment for a moment or two. “No, you can't leave it there. What did you do? What happened? You can't tell me that you just left it there I wouldn't believe you.”

Kerrass raised an eyebrow in answer.

“What do you think I did?”

“I think you burned the place down. I think you sought vengeance and painted the countryside red with blood but that's not the point. I know you. There are plenty of people out there who do not. People who maintain that Witchers are unfeeling monsters. This...” I pointed at the paper in front of me, “is what we use as evidence to point out that you are not. That you are as alive and as...fuck it, as human as the rest of us.”

“I've met elves that would take that as an insult.”

“And they're more human than most. What's the line from that elven poet “Prick us do we not bleed?” I know he meant to say that as an excuse for everything the non-humans were doing at the time but all he did was point out how similar we all are.”

“I always took that line to mean the opposite.”

“It means both at the same time and from all perspectives. That's the beauty of the work. But we're getting off topic. This is history. Whether you, I, or the people here like you for those events. They happened. We need to learn from those events. We need to remember them. All of them. Even the things that we don't like or would rather forget because otherwise we won't learn from the mistakes that our fathers made and our children won't learn from the mistakes that we make.”

“I'm a Witcher. I can't have children.”

“That's beside the point and you know that.”

“Yes I know....”

Kerrass sighed and I knew that I had won this argument. I'll hand over to him here.

What happened next?

Nothing happened. Nothing at all. I went back to the room where we had all made camp and I went to sleep. I honestly wish that it was more complicated than that.

We stayed in that castle for maybe three days before the Prince decided that he'd had enough. Before he decided that he had gathered enough of his “fruits of love” and we turned for home. I don't remember much of that return journey though. I don't remember saying anything or doing anything. Either while we rode or while we were still camping there.

I didn't go back into that hall again so I didn't see anything else that happened. It all seemed a little gauche, a little distasteful to me. I know that the guards had enough self-control after that first flurry of activity to take it in shifts so that there was always at least one of them that was with the prince whenever he left his “bride”. Erick hardly left though. I seem to remember someone telling me that he didn't even leave to relieve himself and I just shook my head.

Even the so called “priest” got in on the action after much cajoling and pressure from the other men.

I stayed out of it and no-one tried to pressure me. I don't know why.

But we left after several days. We came out of the valley with relative ease and it was a rather subdued party that returned to Castle Bertrand. Erick wanted to go back and nearly came to blows with one of the guards before the Prince coldly informed him what would happen.

“Did you see those villagers as we rode back through?” he asked.

“What about them?” Erick sneered. Something had shifted in his character to make him more loathsome. He sweated almost constantly and his eyes had become blood-shot and furtive. Like a fiss-tech addict when they've gone without a fix for a few days.

“Did you not see it? It was in their eyes Erick. Always in the eyes.”

“Fuck their eyes. I'm going back.”

“Then you will die. They hated us Erick and their hate was so strong it was like we were being beaten with sticks as we rode back through.”

“Fuck 'em. They won't do anything. They're cowed, the lot of them or they would have done something there and then.”

“Maybe they are cowed but you mark my words. You go back and you die. I would hate to lose a talented tracker and huntsman.”

We rode in silence for a little way. Erick rode with a deepening scowl.

“Did you see that corpse?” The Prince asked after, I don't know, maybe a mile. “The one that had been tied to a vine?”

“I did,” said one of the guards I think it was Gottfried but I could've been wrong.

“It had been tied on Eric. Tied on with one of the thorns through the chest. Who do you think did that? Those villagers have been living and working there for forty years. They won't harm us when we ride together because they know how tenuous their hold is and attacking a royal party will cripple them. But a lone man. A lone hunter? They know those tracks better than you do and you will simply go down there and not come out again.”

“It would be worth it.” Muttered Erick.

“Only if you got to the castle first Erick but I don't think you would get that far. Tell you what. I do intend to go back. We know what to look out for now so there won't be that much difficulty in getting back to the castle. We'll go back and you can come with me. How does that sound?”

Erick nodded his agreement and started to relax.

We made it back to Castle Bertrand without further incident. I took my pay which was handed over with a firm reminder that I should remember my promise regarding discretion and I went on my way.

(Frederick's note: Kerrass stared into space sometime after that. I didn't know what to say to get him started again so I kind of just left him to it. When he spoke again it was like a statue just suddenly starts moving again)

I didn't think about this entire situation then for... I don't know, I think it was about a year. A whole year before I finally had my first psychotic break.

That's what they're called you know.

The Feline school of Witchers has actually spent quite a long time studying the subject of mental...illnesses.

We had to you see so that we could spot those brothers who were having troubles and take them aside and either put them out of their misery or help them gain the tools that they would need in order to be able to survive out there in the real world. New Witchers are watched like Hawk's or indeed...heh... like cats looking at a mouse for any sign of mental...issue. I know that at least one medical journal was published by a Cat Witcher writing under an assumed name on the various problems, or things that can go wrong with a persons brain.

In many cases there are supposed to be warning signs that things might be wrong. The patient might start complaining about voices in their head or that normal background noise is like the crashing of thunder from inside their brain or like being stabbed in the eyes with knifes of liquid fire.

Yes I know that makes no sense and that is kind of the point.

Some people react violently to even minor stimuli or react passively to things that would get anyone else into a fit of temper.

Or they might sit there. To outside observers they are otherwise perfectly healthy but they feel as though their world is coming to an end and that it all weighs heavily on them and them alone.

This is not funny under any circumstances and the pain that these people have is very real and anyone that thinks differently can answer to me for it.

My problem was with temper and occasional bouts of the deepest, hollowest depression that I cannot even describe to you.

I had thought that I had escaped the curse of my school. I am not a particularly religious man as it seems wrong to me that we should give thanks to an unseen Godhead in return for our shitty lives. If our lives were easier and full of ease, pleasure and plenty then I could see the cause for it but I remember that one of the few times that I have prayed is after one of the times, during my novitiate, when it was my responsibility to help look after the “Lost souls of the Cat school.”

I saw those poor men in their cells, staring out of the darkness at me with those eyes, so similar to my own but lacking in any kind of real intelligence as they howled for my blood. Or the man who was highly educated and read every book that was brought to him. Indeed he taught many classes at the school on the subject of alchemy but he used to beg for the taste of human flesh and if he thought that he was in with a chance of a “tasty morsel” then he would become the most unhinged gibbering madman that you would ever wish to avoid.

But worse were those men who would plead with us, plead for us to end their miserable lives. They would beg for anything, poison, a blade, a rope, anything so that they could put themselves out of their own misery.

I remember one day after one young novice had been careless when feeding the Alchemy tutor and had still been alive as he saw his own liver being eaten raw. I had helped clean up and restrain the teacher who was weeping in sorrow at what his own brain had forced him to do while at the same time trying to get at my leg so that he could take a bite out of me. I remember calmly putting away the mop and bucket after cleaning them with some scouring sand before leaving the cave and going to the stone circle that is nearby. I fell to my knees and thanked every power that I could think of, including some that I possibly made up out of the hallucinations that go with the mutations. I thanked all of them that I was not so afflicted as my brothers.

For my brothers they were.

But it seems that some mischievous God was listening to my prayers.

I've wondered often if I there were any warning signs for what was to come. The only one that I can think of was that I started to get sloppy. I started being just a tad too hasty, just a little bit too rushed with my preparations. One or two monsters that should have been relatively easy pickings, got closer and closer to ending me. I knew it was happening too and berated myself constantly for the sloppiness. But still it crept on, little mistakes. An oil not being as potent. A dodge just being a bit too slow.

After the Bertrand contract I started to work my way north. I didn't have any particular goal in mind but I was roughly intending to work my way overland, through what is now the empire and back to the Northern realms for the winter. As it turns out this was a bit of an ambitious goal and I ended up spending the winter in the company of an agreeable Lord who had hired me to rid his vineyards of Arachnomorphs. It was a large job, he knew it, I knew it and it needed doing or his following year harvest would have been even worse. He couldn't really afford my proper rates for the job so instead I told him that I would do the job in return for food and lodgings for the winter months while all the passes were closed. He agreed readily enough and I got to work.

Come spring I was back to meandering slowly north again. I was taking my time. I wasn't looking forward to having to explain some of my new scars to my teachers back at feline keep and I found that I was enjoying the life at that point. If you had asked me at the time, I would have told you that I was happy with my lot.

I was somewhere south of Cintra when the bandit's attacked.

There were six of them all told. Not that many for a bandit group but still more than average. They must have been either particularly stupid or particularly desperate to try and mug me as they were all on foot and I was obviously armed. Most bandits in that part of the world were fairly reasonable people as a whole who were only markedly different from your average tax collector in that they were able to negotiate their fee with the people that they were mugging. As I've said before though, attacking an obviously armed man is a risky prospect for a group of bandits as it is almost certain to result in injury or death for at least one of their number and they're more likely to wait for a fat merchants wagon or pedlar who is more susceptible to “We'll just throw a lit torch into your wagon and you can watch your livelihood burn. Or you can pay us.”

Regardless, experienced bandits never take everything from a traveller as otherwise people will just walk around them or hire guards to protect them. It's just good business sense to encourage people to just pay up without conflict. Things should only get bloody during wartime when supplies and commerce are scarce or when the bandits in question are particularly desperate.

I don't know what was the case here because the first think that happened... The first time I realised that something was wrong was when my horse was shot out from under me.

Two arrows in the side. Thunk, thunk. The poor thing reared and I kicked free.

I remember rolling back to my feet and running back to the horse who had fallen and was trying to get up. A voice said “Ah well. Horse meat as well tonight lads.”

There was laughter.

“Give us yer money.” Said the voice again from somewhere behind me.

Have you ever lost your temper? I mean really lost it?

It was as though the world shrunk although I stayed remained the same size. The surrounding area seemed to press down on me, pushing down on my skull to the point where I thought that my head was going to explode. My breath started to hiss between my teeth and there were noises with it as I looked down at my horse that was whickering in distress.

I remember turning.

I don't remember anything else.

People talk about their vision going red when this kind of thing happens. I can't answer for that. This was the first time it had happened to me so I spent a long time afterwards trying to get to the bottom of that gap in my memory. I remember flashes. A man with a spear lunging at me. Another man who's blood was spraying from his neck in such a way that it actually made a kind of whistling noise.

I remember laughing.

I woke up, I don't know how much later but it wasn't that long. I was kneeling in a drainage ditch amongst the nearby fields. Up to my waist in water. My sword was still in my hand and I was covered in blood. Nearby was the horribly mangled corpse of what had once been a man. It was spread eagled, massively broken with it's limbs every which way. Parts of it were smouldering and as I say, it had been mutilated to the point where it was barely recognisable as a man.

There was a stench in the air of burnt crops, burnt meat and human waste.

A man was calling to me from a short distance off.

“Sir?” He had the attitude of someone who was prepared to run at any moment and he was holding a pitchfork as though he was ready to use it to defend himself.

“Sir?”

I was breathing hard and fast and my head was pounding. I tried to regulate my breathing in the way that we had been taught since the moment I joined the Witcher school.

It was the first time in years that this simple exercise did not come easy.

“Sir? We saw what happened. I sent my boy Johann off to fetch the guard Sir.”

It was not lost on me that the man had sent his son out of harms way.

“Sir? Are you alright?”

I laughed. Not the most politic thing that I've ever done but it sobered me up quickly as even in my shocked state I could hear the edge of hysteria that had crept into my voice.

I tried to stand to find that my joints had kind of seized up.

“Sir, do you need help?”

I managed to turn my head to look at him. He must have seen something there that began to overcome his perfectly justified fear of me. Holding eye contact with me he carefully turned the pitchfork over and pushed it into the ground. Slowly, so slowly he edged closer to me, licking his lips nervously he climbed into the water. All the while he was talking as one would talk to a frightened animal in an effort to calm it. Soft words that mean nothing but at the same time are so reassuring to the animal that is hearing them.

“Right, can I get you to let go of the sword?”

I just looked at him helplessly.

He was an ageing man. Still hale and hearty given his years of working in the field. He was tough as well, like old boot leather. Beard and hair were long and more grey now than the black that I guessed they had once been. As I looked at him he must have seen something else.

“Yes, I had a friend like that once.” He went on, “Fought in the war that time the Old Flower's lot decided to invade.”

(Frederick's note: I have no idea what war this refers to. I take the reference of “Old Flower” to be someone's heraldry and guess that it was some kind of border skirmish between neighbouring nobles. The term “war” has taken on new meaning since the three great Nilfgaardian wars and as such what this old man might have considered a “war” would be laughable by any modern standard.”

“He came back, hung his shield and sword above the hearth and refused to talk about it.”

The old man gently took my hand and helped me un-prise my hand from the hilt. I had been trying to do the same thing for what had felt like hours. He had to physically peel the fingers apart to get at it. I couldn't decide whether or not to resist, protest or help him. In the end though I decided to take him at his word and let him help me. In all truth he could have quietly drawn a knife and slit my throat in a leisurely sort of fashion and I would have been too weak to stop him.

He got my sword off me and cleaned it in the water.

“I know that you're supposed to clean your sword though. I remember that. The same way that you clean your butchering knife after you've killed a pig. Otherwise it gets damaged. I could do a better job for you back at the house but for now I'll just get as much as I can off and dry it on my shirt which is little more than a rag anyway. Not that you should tell my wife that I said that you understand. Then, I'll just put that in the scabbard on your back here. There we go. Now lets get you up out of the water before you catch cold or something worse.”

He pulled my arm over his broad, farmers shoulders and levered me to my feet.

“There we go. So that friend of mine that I was talking about. Fought in the war you know. Brought his weapons back and hung them up. Just like he promised his wife.”

He pushed me out of the ditch before scrambling up himself and getting me back to my feet.

“Then he was set on when walking through one of the more risky bits of town. They found him throttling one of the worst cutthroats in the local slums. Died of his wounds though but they say he was screaming his own battle-cry as he went. Later, he asked those men that came to his aid what had happened. Sad really.”

As it turned out it was about ten minutes walk away from the road and where my horse lay. Someone had put it out of it's misery. It took us twenty minutes to get there. There was another cart nearby manned by a couple of boys who looked enough like my rescuer to be his sons. They were busy butchering my horse and wrapping it up in cloth to be carted away. There were also a trio of guardsmen there. No real heraldry and cheap bits of armour that had been put together roughly. They looked like old retired soldiers. The youngest boy was gesturing excitedly to the leader of the guardsmen as to what they had seen.

As soon as we trudged into sight, one of the guardsmen ran over and helped the farmer get me to the wagon where I was sat on the end. With a rough professionalism the guard checked me for injuries while the leading guardsman listened to the farmers story. He approached after the Farmer was done.

“So, Witcher?”

I just stared at his chest.

“Old Whil here tells me that you killed those bandits single handed. Says it was a sight to see.”

I said nothing, still staring at his chest. The guard tugged on his moustache which was long and drooping and sighed, turning to the farmer who was nodding nearby.

“They attacked him first?”

“Yessir. Minding 'is own business he was.”

“Less of the sir Whil. We've known each other long enough.”

“No sir. Not while my lads are watching.”

The guardsmen sighed. “You can teach your lads respect for the law on your own time Whil,”

“Yessir,”

“Well Witcher. You're not to know this but in killing those men you've done the locals round here a service. There is a reward in it for you when you're well enough to claim it. Come into town and ask for Dirick Granger at the chapel and they'll tell you where I am. We're not big enough for us to have a proper watch house.”

“I need to get back.” I said, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Where too Witcher?”

I didn't answer him because I didn't really know myself but explaining that seemed a little like too much effort.

The guard sighed and turned back tot he farmer.

“You alright to take care of him?”

Whil nodded.

“I've seen this before. Get him stuff to eat including some of your wife's honey-cakes if you can and then let him rest until he comes back to himself. Might take as long as a day, you still ok with that?”

“Yeah. I was friends with Gareth too.”

I never found out who “Gareth” was.

“If he's not back in his own head in a day, let us know and I'll send Father Durstan to talk to him and see if we can get him into the cloister to recover.”

“I will.”

“And I'll have one of those horse steaks as well.”

Whil grinned and nodded.

My gear ended up in the wagon nest to me along with the wrapped parcels of horseflesh. Whil put one of my

blankets over me and I just went to sleep.

I remember being almost carried into a bed in the farmer's house. I slept for a few hours, woke and ate that relatively poor family almost out of house and home but I finally woke up and came back to myself in the early hours of the morning. I remember walking out into the early morning air, taking a deep breath and for the first time I regretted being a Witcher. There have been moments since then, possibly moments even more profound than that first one but for the first time I found that I envied that poor little farmer with his wife, his sons and daughters. He knew what he had to do in the morning and what he would get up to the following day. He knew that no matter what else might come the following day, be that war, famine or pestilence that sooner or later. His job would be to make the ground give it's harvest. He wouldn't have to worry about the moral implications of his actions or worry about foreign nobles and their pursuits or what we were going to do about it.

I found my sword, cleaned it thoroughly and spent some time working some of the kinks out of my muscles. My body felt stiff and ungainly, strange pops were coming from my joints that left me feeling un-prepared and I needed to work. I know now that what had happened was that my muscles had all clenched up in that moment to the exclusion of all other things. They had fed off themselves in a way during that brief flurry of activity as they had over-exerted themselves during that exertion. It's the same brief exertion of superhuman strength that means that a mother can lift a beam aside to free a trapped child.

I needed to think and I worked the sword forms for a long time into the morning. Losing myself to the familiar rhythm of the movements. It wasn't the forms themselves that needed the work, it was my mind. I found that I needed to think and think hard at that.

What to do?

I remembered that in that moment, as the bandits attacked I had been brooding on the plight of the Sleeping Beauty. I had been turning those events over and over in my mind, thinking about what I could have done and what I should have done. As I put my mind to it then I realised that I had been thinking about these problems for some time and it had been that that had been distracting me from my overall activities. It was clear that I had to do something but I didn't have the first idea what to do.

What I wanted to do was clear. I wanted to take everyone that was responsible for the horrid things that had been done to her and torture them horribly so that their screams could carry through to whatever realm that she existed in now and she would be able to follow those screams back to the waking world where she would see what I had done for her and forgive me for my own crimes before kissing my worries away. That was what I wanted to do but I was not so naïve to think that she would actually appreciate that and I could easily recognise if for the day-dream that it was. It was just that to see her is to love her and there was a small part of me that hoped that she would love me back.

The other thing was that as a Witcher, my course was clear. Climb aboard my horse and ride on to the next task, the next hunt and put all thoughts about that sleeping girl behind me. I had been trying to do that for a year and it hadn't worked. It was clear to me now that if I tried to follow that course of action then sooner or later I would make one mistake too many and it would cost me my life leaving me with five, maybe six years on the path to show for all of that. I was not enamoured of this plan.

In the end I decided that Justice needed to be served. Some might call it vengeance and I saw that I was also guilty. If I delivered justice or vengeance on those other men then surely the first person I should kill would be myself. For my crime was to allow the crime to take place without doing anything.

I needed guidance.

I remembered the guards offer of a reward, collected my belongings and walked into town. The town was grateful for my disposal of the bandits and my reward came in the shape of a new horse as well as some money. From that money I took what I estimated to be funds for a ship to carry me quickly back south and supplies for the road. I still had some funds left from the previous hunt so I wasn't that concerned for money. You have to understand that the monster hunting game wasn't like it was now. Now you have to go looking for the monsters. You have to find them and then see if there's anyone who wants to pay you for getting rid of the monster. Then you could be confident that you ride for a day and find a contract on the road.

I took the purse that I was given and spent a good long time looking at it. A third of it went on the travelling expenses. I took the rest and split it in two. One of those thirds went into the donation box for the local church who did good work looking after the sick and cared for the cripples from the regular skirmishes that happened. I rode back to the farm and gave the rest of the reward back to a clearly astonished farmer's wife. I remember that she asked why as they had clearly written off the expense and they weren't that concerned as her sons were still smoking up the horse meat that they had taken from my horse.

I told her that I didn't deserve it and rode away before she could ask too many questions or she could call for her husband. I didn't want gratitude. I wanted.... I wanted to be condemned. Fortunately I knew exactly where I had to go for that. I rode north to the Yaruga and caught a barge to the river mouth where I caught a ship bound south. I hired on as a guard for a merchant's caravan as it provided me with camouflage enough that I could travel incognito. I didn't want anyone to know that I had come back south. For a long time I rode with my sword strapped to my horse rather than to my back so that people had to come up close to tell that I was a Witcher. I kept my medallion under my shirt.

It was raining when I came back here. I remember that distinctly because a lot of people were still indoors. The guards back then, as they still are really are there to catch travellers who have wandered off by mistake and get caught in the magical effect. At the time they were still using men for this job rather than needing all the men at the wall of thorns and as such they tended to be large men and easily spotted. I dodged them with ease. I found the cottage that I was after. Checked to make sure that there was only one occupant and knocked on the door.

“Come in,”

I waited and knocked again.

“The latch is off. Come on in.” The voice said again.

I sighed and knocked a third time.

A sigh of feminine exasperation came through the door and it opened.

“Hello Rose.” I said quietly.

My former companion's hand came up to her mouth in shock as she stared at me.

“I didn't want to just barge in.” I went on quietly. “I thought that things might get out of hand if I came in unannounced and...”

She slapped me. Hard.

I'd seen it coming of course but she deserved that one and I deserved much worse.

“How dare you?” she whispered. “How dare you come back here after everything that you did. You and that...that... excuse for a prince.”

I held my hand up to halt the flow of words.

“I know Rose I know and you aren't saying anything that I haven't thought myself. I am guilty and I deserve your hatred. I won't stay long but I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Why? No you can't come in. You can damn well stay out there in the cold. It's not as if you can catch a chill. Oh hang it all. Give me your cloak and warm yourself up.”

I liked Rose. She was a large woman with a big smile and a big heart. She hurt, laughed, loved and hated with equal passion. I don't understand your (Frederick: my) obsession with slim women. I like women with a bit of Oomph to them and Rose certainly fit all of those requirement. I think of her whenever I come back here and I miss her still, doing my best to lay some flowers near her grave.

For all that she wanted me gone as quickly as possible, Rose spent plenty of time looking after me. She hung my cloak to dry, put my boots next to the fire and stood over me impatiently until I'd changed into dry clothing. She also put her own cloak on to stable my horse without letting me do it and cooked us something to eat before finally asking me why I had come back.

“I had two reasons Rose. They're simple reasons really. You've already dealt with one of them.”

“You could have told a girl that you came back to see her Kerrass.”

“I came to your house Rose before anyone else's.”

“Because you thought that I wouldn't kill you.”

“No. Because of all people. You were the one who I cared about.”

She took that in silence.

“What were your reasons Kerrass?”

“You all knew didn't you?”

Her mouth hung open in astonishment.

“Of course we knew. How could we not? We're her people Kerrass, of course we knew. Leaving aside the horrible dreams and the actions of our men folk. Goddess Kerrass (they still paid lip-service to the Southern version of Melitele down there in those days before the deification of the Nilfgaardian Empire started to take over.) Did you think we would not know?”

I stayed quiet. Her eyes were blazing then with a fury and a remembrance of pain. I wasn't at all certain that she wouldn't try to kill me then and I wouldn't have stopped her.

“The Dragon roared. That was the first sign that something was wrong. The Dragon roared, sending a huge spout of flame up into the sky. It started skimming the treetops setting fire to the trees and the thorns as it circled up higher and higher before it plummeted down to earth. Then there was a wave of anger. This torrent of red rage that swept through our women folk. I don't know how to describe it but I was so angry. So angry that I couldn't speak or think. I took up a knife and went out into the village looking for blood. I was one of the lucky ones though as I didn't find anyone. One of the few.

“All of us went out into the streets. There have never been that many of us Kerrass and we suffered that night. Twelve men died. There were sixty eight of us then, in total. Twelve men died. Two men at their own hands. Three of them were boys no older than fourteen. We hunted them in groups as they fled. At first they tried to restrain us but it was no good. Our hate and the violence was so much that it even overcame the strength of a woman's love for her husband.

“We cut their balls off and left them to bleed to death Kerrass.”

I nodded. What do you say to a revelation like that. This idyllic little village converted to a place of horror. I could well imagine the women of the village rushing through town like a tide with screams of horrible anger. The fear of the men as they fled before the women that they loved. Or died screaming at their hands.

“I was one of the lucky ones Kerrass. Of course we knew. How could we not?”

I nodded when I realised that she wasn't going to say any more and finished my stew.

“I will leave in the morning.” I said after I had finished and cleared away the remains of the meal. Rose had sat staring at the fire after she had finished speaking and I hadn't wanted to disturb her from whatever train of thought that she was having. “I'll sleep in the stable or if you prefer I can go out into the woods and make a camp-site. The rain doesn't bother me too much.”

“Do you need any supplies?”

“No. I'm well stocked.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to do what I should have done at the time. I'm going to kill them Rose. I think I stand a bit more of a chance of actually surviving now though as I can take them at the time of my choosing. Will you do something for me?”

Rose nodded.

“I'm not a Witcher in this. I would also be kidding myself if I tried to tell myself that I was doing this for her. I'm doing this because it needs doing and because I want to do it. I need to do it. Will you keep my silver sword, medallion and potion equipment for me?”

“I will. What should I do with it if you don't come back?”

“Bury it. Give it a year though. This might take some time but if I don't come back pour the potion's into your cess-pit and bury the sword and medallion carefully. Someone will find it someday. Those things tend not to stay lost.”

She nodded again. “You haven't said sorry.”

“No,” I said quietly.

“Why not?” I don't know if she was curious, angry or hurt then.

“I don't owe you an apology. On the day that she wakes up then I will be there if I'm still alive. If I'm not there then as soon as I hear about it I will turn my horse and go to her as fast as I can. I will tell her what happened and I will apologise to her. Then, if she wants my life in payment, she has only to ask for it and I shall fall on my sword then.”

“But what of the harm you did to us?”

I was surprised at the anger I felt then.

“You knew Rose. What was it you said? “Of course we knew” you said. “How could we not?” Yet you did nothing. She is your Queen. Your Goddess it might be said and yet you took no steps to protect her from us. I didn't know what was going to happen but you knew of the possibility. In fact, having seen the effect that she had on those men. At least one of whom was a happy family man. I would be stunned if this hasn't happened before. Why is she not guarded? Why is she not hidden? We found her after half a days searching. Ok the spell moves with her and you don't want to harm others. Are there not caves? Hollows? Hidden secret places? We found her because she was in the castle. You even gave us a map to that castle. All you had to do was carry her casket into one of the outer buildings and we would never have found her. You did not warn us about the affect that she can have on the male mind, or the female mind for that matter.

“Then after the event took place. After those men came and... used her for I did not and I swear that I will kill anyone who suggests that I would. After you knew what had happened. Why were we not met with a hail of arrows? You have excuses certainly. Not wanting to anger neighbouring Kingdoms. Fair enough. But fill the Prince full of arrows, steal and bury his treasure and then dump him or bury him some way off and claim ignorance.

“But you did nothing. Absolutely nothing against the world's most predictable crime. You do not deserve my apology.”

“Get out.” She hissed.

I nodded, collected my cloak and walked back into the rain.

I didn't sleep well that night but I was by no means alone. In the morning Rose came out to me in the same clothes as the evening before with some eggs, bacon and some toast that she had made and insisted that I eat. Then she took my sword, medallion and potion box as I climbed back aboard my horse.

“Kerrass?”

I turned back to look at her.

“Kill them quickly Kerrass. She would not want them to suffer in her name. She is better than we are.”

I nodded and rode back down the hill.

I had made my mind up and I was going to kill the people responsible. The first time I took a step off the path and now I was an assassin. But I didn't want to be an assassin. I preferred to think of myself as an executioner so as I rode carefully off towards Duke Bertrand's lands, carefully so I could avoid attention, I had to decide just how I was going to do it and in what order. It would be easy enough to sneak into places and just slit their throats while they slept. Or poison their food or similar. The other problem was that I didn't want to just kill anyone. I could poison the well at castle Bertrand but that would probably kill lots of other people who were....circumstantial to the crime. I needed to kill those men that came with me. If someone went out of their way to stand between me and my target then they were fair game. I spent a couple of days, living off the land as I considered my methods and how I was going to set about this.

There was also the problem that I was as guilty as they were. I had condemned Rose in the village with harsh words and I had meant every single one of them. But if I was tarring everyone with the same brush then I deserved punishment as well. At one point I tried to defend myself with the argument that I was attempting to make it right but I decided that I was deluding myself. The Princess had been blessed, or cursed, with “goodness” and as such she would not condone these actions. I was doing this for my own benefit. To make me feel better about what had happened.

In the end I decided that there had to be some kind of trial. It was a sham of course, I was not that self-delusional but I thought that....The local area had a tradition of trial by combat. It's based on a simple matter. Two men enter an arena with a choice of weapons. The survivor or the surviving champion has the right of the matter as the Gods have been seen to choose who was right. It's a lot less prevalent now as increasingly the crime is brought before the feudal lord who pronounces judgement. The newer method is still open to corruption and I heard of more than one person taking the trial by combat because they knew that a death in an arena was often cleaner than starvation, crucifixion, impalement, hanging or any of the other inventive ways that a man can be executed.

So I would challenge each man to a duel. If the target agreed to a one on one fight then I would fight them fair. No signs, no potions. Just my sword against their weapons.

If they cheated, fled or if they turned up with friends and an effort to mistreat the affair. Then anything was game.

I wanted the Prince to be last. As the instigator of the entire thing I wanted him to suffer a little. It made sense that he would know what was happening and I thought that the knowledge that I was coming for him would be an extra punishment. Regardless of whether or not I failed.

I also took to praying. Not to Melitele or the sun god of the south. Not even to one of the Northern gods of my childhood. Instead I started talking to her. I tried to explain my actions and to set them out in detail with explanations, reasons and so on. Sometimes I pleaded for forgiveness, sometimes I spoke about the future, the past and what I hoped for.

Mostly though I just begged for forgiveness.

My first target was going to be Erick. There were several reasons for this. The fact that his home was outside of the castle so I wouldn't need to infiltrate the castle. There was also the fact that he wasn't military so he wouldn't have the excuse of “I was just following orders”. But most of all, I just wanted to. I remembered his large face, pale and sweaty as he asked whether he could have a turn with the princess. He didn't just rape the Princess, he raped her in the most unspeakable ways, the most degrading ways. He commented that he wanted to destroy, to degrade something beautiful.

I wanted him dead.

But I didn't want to rush in. Even though I felt such rage I reasoned that if I went in, murdered him because it was murder whether it was a duel or not, then everyone would know that some stranger with yellow eyes had come in and asked questions about where he lived and then, any future plans would be made more difficult.

I scouted first. I found my targets, other than one but I will get to him in a moment.

But the first target was Erick the hunter. He was not hard to find.

In the year or so since we had descended into the Valley of Thorns, Erick had taken to drink. He hadn't mentioned it during our journey but he had actually been a married man with two young children. When he came back, his wife commented that he had seemed changed in some way. As though he was dissatisfied in all the little things. Whereas before he had enjoyed the simple life that he and his family had built up for themselves with him acting as huntsman to the Duke. They liked the fact that they had the prestige that they did but weren't forced to live “up at the castle” with “All the airs and graces” that come with living in that atmosphere. He had not been a great husband and had been more than a little bit of an absent father. Often going away for long distances on the Duke's business, scaring up game or guiding one of the Duke's many hunts. But he always came back with some kind of gift for the children as well as a kind word or two.

That changed when he came back from our mission. He had taken to drink and had started to find fault with everything that his wife did. She told me about several instances where he would explode into violent rages at the slightest provocation and about how the children had started to hide from him. She asked him what was wrong several times and he claimed that there was nothing wrong but it was clear that he was no longer satisfied with what he had.

He started to ask her to...do things in their marital bed. One time it went to far and that was the first time he hit her. It was not the last, nor were her children immune from his attentions

I won't repeat a lot of the things that I found out about Erick over the course of those few days. None of it was pleasant. I remember feeling guilty for having liked the man during our journey out there. I felt awful at the fact that I had smiled at his jokes and wondered if that made me a bad person.

In the end, his wife took the children and ran back to her mothers house. Not because she was afraid for herself but because she was afraid for her children. The eldest of which was eleven and had long blonde hair. She had caught her husband looking at their daughter in a way that made her uncomfortable so she packed a few belongings and fled as soon as he fell into a drunken stupor. Her father was a retired veteran of the Duke's guard and in the way of parents, had suspected that something was wrong for some time. When Erick finally appeared, drunk and abusive the father heard him out and chased him out of the village, reporting the crime to the Duke's court. The ruling was that she couldn't divorce her husband but as Erick's drunkenness had caused some other problems it was decreed that she, and her children could stay with her parents until such a time as Erick proved that he was capable of taking care of his family.

He had not, soon losing his job with the Duke due to drunken behaviour.

So yes I found him. He was still living in his original family cottage out on the outskirts of town. It was about ten minutes walk from the town that lived, worked and supplied both the Duke's castle and those people that came to visit the Duke. There is a path that goes from the back of the mill, down through some trees. It skirts a long the bank of the stream for a short way and then fords the stream to a clearing. It's actually a nice place all things considered. Near the house was a large tree from which hung a swing. It was easy to imagine that there had once been a happy family living here.

Off to one side there was a large stone lined hole that was clearly used as a fire pit for cooking of food and providing warmth while working outside. There were several seats there with empty bottles and cups that showed signs of having been there for years. Racks for the curing of hides, piles of tusks and antlers, some of which showed signs of being worked to turn into tools and ornaments. Inside the home had a nice large hearth, toasting and cooking tools nearby, stew pot and large kettle hanging from iron fixtures that had been long set in the ground.

But it was decaying as well. Showing signs of neglect and misuse. One of the corners of the house had a stench that was overpowering from where Erick had been relieving himself the night. The hearth was long cold and I don't think it had been lit for some times. What supplies there were were old, rotting and not in nearly enough quantity for the season.

There was a hole in the roof and one of the ropes in the swing was frayed and coming apart to the point that I didn't think it would support a child's weight and certainly didn't want to test it myself.

I found the entire situation incredibly depressing.

I carved my message into the wall with a knife and drove a hatchet in after it so that the message couldn't be missed. I knew that Erick could read so I had no doubt that it would be found.

“I am outside. I will be waiting and watching. Come out and face me when you are ready.”

I had thought about that message for some time, getting the words just right and in the right order.

He had left earlier that day and was in the town drowning his sorrows. I had watched from a distance, pretending to look at some goods in one of the market stall as he relieved himself in an alley and threw his arm around an acquaintance before steering the poor man into the tavern in an obvious effort to get the man to buy him a drink.

He was in his “cheerful drunk” state which meant that he would be the life and soul of the party for a couple of hours. Then he would start to get morose and aggressive before the innkeeper threw him out. Then his pattern was that he would stagger over to the house where his wife now lived and shout at the building for a while until some guards were called and he would be seen off. The only question then would be whether he would make it home or collapse asleep under a bush.

I waited until he was well surrounded by “friends” before I left. It had been some time since I had seen him and although it was true that his circumstances had become pitiable in the extreme. Whenever I saw him, all I could see was his fat, pale and sweating face as he asked if he could have a turn with the Princess before licking his lips.

The easiest way to hide myself in a crowd is to not wear my sword on my back. In such times, especially in towns where fighting distances are so small, I often carry a large knife to defend myself. I left then, retrieved my sword from my hiding place, scratched my message and settled down to wait where I could see the cottage door as well as the air opening in the back. I was not convinced that he would stand and fight and thought that it would depend on how much he had to drink. I definitely wanted to fight the man and if he fought, I absolutely intended to honour my promise and kill him quickly but if he ran... then I could do what I wanted.

In the end he came home fairly early for him. He was singing some kind of ballad that was remarkably on key about lost love. A large bottle swung from one hand which I took to mean that someone had bribed him to leave with a bottle.

It took an astonishing amount of time for him to walk across the clearing to his home. Several times I thought he was going to stop and be sick but he managed to swallow down whatever was wrong with him and manage to struggle on. He opened the door and staggered through. From my hiding point I thought I could hear the crash as he fell headlong into his stinking bed.

I settled down to wait.

Waiting is an art form really. It's a skill that must be practices if you get it right. One of Freddie's (Oops, still no reaction) earliest adventures talked about his waiting in a forest for the proper timing of setting off some bombs to destroy a nekker nest. He is right in that many ways it is the worst part of the whole experience of hunting monsters. That and the aftermath where the potions start to leave your body, leaving the excess adrenaline, endorphins and hormones behind which express themselves in shivers shudders and spasms of varying sizes. You must wait, still and quiet. Minimising your noise and disturbance of the surrounding area. Even breathing while you do this is dangerous for some monsters can feel the differences in the movement of air through the fine hairs that some of them have covering their bodies.

But.

You must also remain limber. You cannot allow anything to distract you from what you are doing next. The next thing that happens. The monster could wake up and start moving and your limbs and body must be ready to move at a moments notice without cramps.

There are several tricks. One is to clench and relax each muscle in turn in order to keep them relaxed and supple. This also helps pass the time.

Another is the use of Witcher potions, but again, I had deliberately denied myself that luxury. So there I was. Already plotting this man's death.

I forced myself to wait. Something that I had been so good at over the, now, five or so years that I had been on the road but that time it was a struggle, the blood-lust scrabbling at my throat and sanity.

He came out in the early hours of the morning.

“You want me?” He bellowed. “Come out where I can see you, you pox-bellied son of a whore.” He was carrying a long knife or short sword, broad bladed and nasty looking. In the other hand he carried a similar lengthed axe, small headed and vicious. He clashed the two together.

“Come out. You tired of me being a drag on the “family name””. He laughed.

I stepped out into view.

“Witcher?” He looked surprised and then laughed again. He almost didn't look like the same man. His eyes were blood shot and wild. Hair unkempt and now that I could see him up close his skin looked sallow and unpleasant. I found myself thinking that I was lucky to have caught him as in my estimation he was on the verge of drinking himself to death.

“Who did you think it was going to be?” I said as I drew my sword, tossing the scabbard out of the way under the tree's.

“Honestly? Anyone but you. Probably my father in law. What did I do to offend you?”

“You know what you did.”

He peered at me for a long moment.

“By the Goddess' perfect tits. You're as bad as the Prince and that Gottfried fellow. You actually fell for her didn't you?”

I didn't respond but took up a fighting stance.

“Dripping Cunt of the Goddess. She was just a thing Witcher. An object, a...a toy for our pleasure and our eyes to feast on. Life-like as all hell and by the Goddess I promise you it felt real enough but no-one could have slept through what we did to her.”

“I bet you're a real hit with the ladies Erick. Is that how you proposed marriage to your wife. Did you call her an object? A toy for your pleasure?”

Erick roared and I realised I had misjudged him. He was mad now. Not angry although that might have been part of it but he had taken complete leave of his senses.

I had also forgotten how fast he was.

He charged me.

A wise fighter once said that the best swordsman in the world isn't afraid of the second best swordsman. Rather he is afraid of the worst swordsman as they can and will try anything to win, including the thing that you would never think of. I nearly lost my life that day. Not because I was a worse fighter than he was but because I nearly over thought what was happening. He ran straight towards me and I saw no sign of defence. No sign of a move or a thought. I spent so much time looking for a play, a feint or some other kind of ploy that he was nearly on me before I thought about what I had to do.

I stuck out my sword and Erick fairly ran on to it.

As it was he nearly had me because the other thing that he hadn't lost was his incredible strength. He ran onto the sword, impaling himself on it and even then he nearly made it up the entire length of the sword and was in range of taking my head of with his axe before I realised what was happening and let go of my sword hilt, pushing him off balance. He tumbled and fell onto his side.

I stood there looking down at him. It hadn't been my victory but I felt absurdly pleased as I realised how close I was to death.

“Well that's that.” he wheezed. “Heh.” He struggled to sit up for a moment. “Goddess that hurts.”

“That's what happens when you run onto someone else's sword.” I said after looking at him for a long moment. After some consideration I pushed over one of the tree stumps that had been used for a seat around the fire pit. I was careful to stay out of arms reach of him though.

“I suppose there's some truth to that.”

“Was that your idea of a noble suicide?” I asked as he levered himself up to a sitting position.

“Nah,” he said. “Pull this thing out Witcher?” he gestured at the sword that was still stuck in his belly.

I pulled the sword out. It took a lot of effort as I hadn't had time to twist properly as he ran onto it so the suction was tremendous. The blood that came out of him was black and foul.

He groaned as I did it.

“No, it wasn't suicide,” he said after a moment to get his breath back. “That would have meant that I had given some thought to the whole thing but I would be lying if I said that I wasn't...”

“Relieved?”

“Yes that's it. Relieved that it was all over.”

“What happened Erick. You were a good man once. Your family loved you.”

“I've thought about that I really have. But once I'd seen her. Really seen what true beauty looked like. The rest of the world just looked so...so dull.” He stared into space for a long moment until I thought he was dead but he wasn't done yet. “I started to look for her you know? I tried with other women, with my wife, with the drink and thank God that my wife took our children away before they disappointed me or even worse...”

“They're safe now.” I was struggling with this. I felt sympathy for this man now and it left my vengeance feeling empty.

“Help a man out Witcher. I've got a pipe somewhere.” He tried patting his pockets as though he was looking for something.

“No,” I said. “Your other hand is still holding a knife. You mean to get me close enough and then stab me with it.”

“True, one last service to my Prince.”

“Did he go back?”

“I think so. Bastard wouldn't take me though. I'd fallen out of favour by that point of course.”

“Of course.”

No longer looking so weak, his hands found a pipe and clamped it between his teeth.

“Are you going to kill the Prince?” he asked

“Yes.” I said.

“Good. Bastard ruined me. I thought I had it figured out you know. Loving wife, beautiful children, good job and then he took me to see her. Goddess but she was beautiful. Wasn't she beautiful Witcher?”

“She was Erick. She was at that.”

“I thought Witchers didn't feel emotions.”

“As it turns out, I do rage pretty well.”

He laughed and choked a large amount of blood out of his mouth.

“Goddess but that hurts.”

“Do you want me to end it for you?”

“In a minute. I've wanted it to end for a while now but now that the end is coming, I find I want to hang on.”

“That's a stomach wound Erick. If I leave it you're going to die ugly.”

“I know, I know. I saw a guy once, gored by a boar. Sat there for an hour until he puked up so much blood that we thought he might have bled to death. He was pleading with us to end it but the Duke wouldn't let us.”

“Did the Duke know what was going to happen?”

“I don't know. Wouldn't surprise me either way. Miserable old sod.”

“Why did you do it Erick? Why did you want to degrade her and do those things to her?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes,”

“Honestly, I don't know. It was like I couldn't help myself you know? No, of course you don't. I saw her and she was so beautiful that she didn't seem as though she was real. She was so beautiful that she was distant. Knowledgable. Unreachable so it seemed impossible to me and I had to reach out to her. To make her real. To bring her down to our level. I don't know what I'm saying. You want to know why? I wand to know why you didn't. How you could walk away when she was there and so unreal. So...beautiful, so bright.”

He shook his head and a huge spasm of pain gripped him.

“A light Witcher?” He waved his pipe.

I snapped my fingers. A simple Igni sign and his tobacco flared into life.

He groaned again “Damn but I always loved that trick.”

Another groan. Sweat stood out on his face.

“Witcher?” He moaned.

I picked up my sword and cut his throat with one strike and severed his spine, fair decapitating him with the second.

I left him there and carved the word “rapist” into the ground in front of him. I briefly considered burning the cottage to let people know that something had happened but in the end I decided that his wife and children might have belongings of their own in there that they might want to recover.

I walked away without looking back.