A Scholar's travels with a Witcher

Doubt.

It's a small thing. A tiny thing.

Just a little thing that can cause so much pain.

I just want to talk about this for a little while.

I've been thinking about this a lot recently, both for the events back in Angraal and the events more recently at home.

It starts as a small thing, a small niggling thing that you start off thinking is just a random stray thought that can easily be dismissed or quashed. Just a small thing, a tiny little thing at the back of your brain.

But then that small thing turns into a seed. A tiny seed that despite your own best efforts, intentions and sometimes even your own best interests... You start to water this seed and it starts to grow.

Small things happen. Small little coincidences start to add up in your brain towards a huge conspiracy against you. Things that you would and should dismiss are brought up in front of your minds eye which are then blown up over night while you sleep so that when you wake up and go for breakfast or whatever, those thoughts are fully formed and even things that you took for granted as being absolutely sacrosanct become doubted. They become lies that you no longer trust.

Such a small thing is doubt. But the fruit that it bears can be huge and devastating and instead it turns into a wild animal crouched at the back of your skull that gnaws at your brain, baying for blood.

I stood on the edge of the village, no longer trusting myself to stay seated on the back of my horse. It was the early hours of the morning and the sun was rising to a bright, warm and beautiful day. It was a mockery of what we saw before us. The sickly sweet stench of death that had once been so alien to me wafted through the air, heavy and cloying. I found myself praying for rain in the hope that the water would wash that stench away. The stench and the filth and the flies that accompany such a massacre.

Nearby a soldier was crying and vomiting at the same time. He must have been about fourteen and no-one thought any the less of him for it. Even those people who were hardened to such carnage walked around with hollow eyes and sick, despairing faces. To my horror I realised that I was turning into one of those people that could look upon such scenes and harden my heart to the things that I saw.

The villagers had been torn apart.

But that sentence doesn't do the scene justice. They had literally been torn apart by claws.

Somewhere, a church bell was ringing. The capital of Angraal was in sight now so it probably came from that direction and I stared at the sky seeking some kind of refuge in the blue of it but still the scent came to me along with the sobbing and retching of that young soldier.

I will do it. I will describe some of the things that I saw.

I saw a child who had been shaken until it's spine had snapped. It was bent at an impossible angle and then slammed against the ground. Blood had exploded from his mouth and one of his legs was missing. From where I stood it looked as though it had been torn off at the hip.

Another sight resolved itself and my brain rationalised it, telling me the story of what must have happened. There was a family, the man had rushed against the attacker. He had some kind of Kitchen knife that was clearly not meant as a weapon and barely deserved the title of knife. He had been pulled apart with his entrails lying like sausages between the two halves. Long stringy lines of purple meat that were drying in the sun. With his dying breaths he had tried to reach out to his family. There was further evidence that his wound had been gnawed upon.

The mother was barely there. Recognisable only because what little remained of her torso had a breast that had pulled clear of the shirt that she wore.

Their son was behind her. He had found a rake but had simply been decapitated. Other than that there wasn't a mark on him.

There was more, much more and I found I couldn't take it in but that wasn't quite true. I could take it in. I could take it in quite easily. The thing was that I didn't want to. I didn't want to see this.

Kerrass was expressionless. His face and entire posture had turned to granite as soon as the stench started wafting towards us. He stood there, eyes scanning the scene, flicking from detail to detail analysing, noting and thinking. He was the Witcher now. All professional, stoic and calm. Ready to placate whoever needed to be placated but then the hunt would be on. A fight in the darkness. A flash of silver and a roar of pain. He was anticipating it now, looking forward to that hunt and the revenge that would give these people.

But again I found that was my imagination. Wanting to see those things in him. He was disgusted at the waste here, but that was it. He was powerless to do anything about it, the same as I was.

Lord Dorme sat on his horse. He was pale, large black rings showing under his eyes and his horse was restive under him. He wasn't wearing his full plate harness, just a shirt of chain covered his arming jacket suggesting that he had dressed quickly.

He noticed me looking at him and walked his horse over to us, blocking my view of the village below us which I found I was almost grateful for.

“This is what happens,” he said, his voice hoarse with whatever was going on in his mind. “This is what happens when you take her leash off. She did this. She broke free of me while I slept last night and this is what she did. Your friendly vampire. Your mascot and travelling companion. She is a beast and a monster. Never forget that.”

“A monster that you still intend to use.” Kerrass's words sounded even harsher, like fingernails scraping across slate. “This is in her nature. But you intend to use this against your enemies. Which of you does that make more monstrous?”

Dorme sneered.

“You see this carnage and yet you still try to shift the blame from her onto me. She did this, no-one else. She did it. To me she is a weapon that will kill one person. After that she can be destroyed like the filth that she is. I didn't do this. I did not trail a child's insides from tree to tree like bunting for a party.”

Kerrass turned away in disgust. “I would like to look around.” he grated out. “She may have left a clue as to a potential weakness. If I can narrow that down it will make destroying her that much easier.”

“No, there is no time. We will come back here afterwards and see to it.”

Kerrass shook his head and started to walk back to camp where our charge waited. And I led my horse after him.

I was disappointed, incredibly angry and I didn't notice how fast I was moving until I had overtaken Kerrass and he caught me by the arm before we got back to the camp.

“Don't,” he said simply.

“Don't what?” I snarled back.

“Don't do it,” I opened my mouth to say something but Kerrass over-rode me. He came in close, well inside the personal space bubble that he normally maintained around himself and was whispering fiercely. I assume so that other people couldn't hear what we were saying to each other but it seemed a little futile to be honest.

“You're stomping off to go and confront her about this aren't you?”

“And why the fuck shouldn't I?”

“Up until ten minutes ago, if I asked you who you would rather trust. Ariadne or Dorme. Which would would you have chosen?”

“Fuck off. You know the answer to that as well as I do.” I shrugged off his hand and tried to storm off but Kerrass was faster.

And stronger.

“Think Frederick. Just think. Look at the entire picture not just what you were shown but what you weren't shown. Did you inspect the bodies?”

“I...”

“No you fucking didn't. More to the point, neither did I. Were those bite and claw marks the signs of Necrophages, other prey animals or the leavings of a vampire. I don't know do you?”

“It seems pretty obvious....”

“No it doesn't. Think. You're being emotional and that kind of emotion can get you killed. You wanted to know what it's like to be a Witcher. This is what it's like. You are presented with a scene, told it was one thing, you prepare for that one thing and then run after it but what if it isn't that thing? Remember that Dorme wouldn't let me inspect the bodies because “there isn't enough time,” It takes me 5 minutes to check that. But he prevented us.”

“Who else is it going to be Kerrass? Who else could it be?”

“Answer your own damn question would you. Examine the situation. Be the scholar that you are.”

“That kid was ripped apart Kerrass.”

“I know but it's our job to separate ourselves from that. I'm the Witcher, you're the scholar. To comment objectively is your remit. To hunt objectively is mine.”

“Maybe that's a weakness.” I replied.

“Weaknesses are dangerous. Caution, patience and thinking time is not. Look at the entire picture. Look at what you were shown but also what you weren't shown and what you don't know. Could Ariadne even do that?”

“I don't know.”

“Neither do I. She's massively powerful but she's also been starving for centuries. How long does it take a vampire to recover from that. I don't know. She doesn't need to eat flesh or drink blood to survive. That is truth. If she was powerful enough to do that so that no-one could have survived, why hasn't she done that to the guards. Don't think for one second that their little swords or chain-mail would frighten a beast that could perform a massacre like that one.”

“But she needs this army to do her bidding. How will she re-take Angraal without it? She's ambitious Kerrass, you know that and I know it. What if she's changed her mind. What if she wants that throne and needs a last minute boost to her strength to be able to fight the hold that Dorme has over her.”

“All of those are perfectly reasonable questions but think about what happens if you confront her with them. Best case, worst case. The best case is that we lose what fragile bonds of trust that we've managed to build up between us. The worst case is that she loses her temper and kills a whole bunch of people. Those options are true whether she is innocent of that attack or not.”

“Who else could have done it? If she's innocent then provide me with another suspect Kerrass. Go on, I dare you.”

Kerrass remained calm. It was a remarkable feat.

“There are three possibilities that I see. The first is that you are quite right and that Ariadne lost her temper or was driven mad by blood or flesh lust and went on a rampage. Second, and I think this is far more likely to tell the truth is that Dorme, who is stupid but not a fool, has scouts out. This village saw those scouts and, or, is in the way of his military movements so it needs to be destroyed. Dorme then decides to make use of this slaughter to undermine our relationship with Ariadne. Teeth marks and claw marks are easy to fake at a distance. The third possibility is that someone else did it for their own reasons and Dorme is capitalising on it.”

“Say what you like but Dorme is still a human being. He wouldn't order that.”

“Wouldn't he? He ordered your poisoning remember. He actually did your poisoning.”

“He was shaken by what he saw there Kerrass. I could tell.”

“Yes, he actually saw what he had done and was sickened by it. As you say, he's human.”

“She's still a vampire Kerrass. She's a monster.”

“I'm a Witcher Frederick and some people call me monster too.” He drew me in really close then by grabbing the lapels. His eyes glowed and I was again left with the feeling that I could see fangs out of the corner of my eyes.

Then he dropped me and I had to stagger to catch my balance.

“Either way Frederick. You've asked me a few times about why I hate politics so much and why I try not to get involved. This is why. This situation right here. We're fucked. Absolutely fucked. If we're lucky we'll get a short march to the headsman rather than the slow march to the noose by way of the torture chamber.

“There are three ways this goes down. The first way is that Dorme's plot works and he manages to take the throne. He manages to keep hold of her Ladyship and proceeds to slaughter all his enemies in an effort to maintain his legitimacy. Which means that the two of us have to go. We've seen too much, we know how he did it and you're a famous person who likes to write these things up in a journal that is then published, so he can't possibly allow you to live and as for me? I make an awfully attractive scape-goat. Wandering Witcher, Wandering vagabond. Synonymous with Wandering criminal and murderer. Make up a charge, make with the chopping.

“The second way is that Dorme loses control over Her Ladyship. She turns feral and murders everyone or she actually manages to seize power. Again, her nearest threat are the two scum-fucks who let her go in the first place. One of which knows how to, and is trained how to kill her. The other will again wander off and publish his findings, making it clear to the world that what they are actually dealing with is an elder vampire.

“The third option is that the “King” of the realm is well aware of what's going on. He has people that worry about this kind of thing for him. They tell him, “ere. That Dorme chap is raising what looks like an army. He's also gone off to that secret valley where the Spider Queen lives. He hates you and might be planning a coup”. The King then summons the nearest mage to serve as his “court wizard”, as well as the army and whatever else is lying around and is planning an ambush for when we walk into the capital. Her Ladyship will probably survive, she'll just flap off somewhere knowing vampires but the minor Redanian nobleman son and the itinerant Witcher that released this terror onto the world will soon be caught if they weren't killed in the opening moments.”

He took a deep breath.

Then another.

“Then the follow up to all three happens. Someone nearby decides to get ambitious, raises their own army and comes in to mop up the survivors.”

He turned away from me.

“The plan is still the same. We're trapped here and now so we have to be patient and bide our time. Placate all sides and then, when it all kicks off, we fight or sneak our way to freedom. Stealing what we need as we go and try to flag down the nearest Imperial official which is when we tell our story. It's cowardly yes, but it means we survive and graveyards all over the world are filled with brave

men who didn't know the best time to cut their ties and run.”

He took another couple of deep breaths.

“That might make you despise me Fred but at the end of the day I'm just trying to keep us alive. I'm going to check that they've got our horses ready and to see if I can steal some provisions.”

He strode off. Quickly, so that he could control his own temper.

I found Ariadne in our little enclosure. She was sat on a stool reading one of the books that I had leant her. She was fascinated with the various aspects of modern human culture and demanded more and more information on the topic. The tent and the rest of our belongings had been packed away by various people and the army was in that bit between most of the people being ready and actually moving off that tends to last an hour or two.

She looked up and smiled. The illusion was no longer that of a travelling lady but now it was that of a Queen returning home and I would be lying if I said that the effect wasn't devastatingly beautiful. She was regal, impressive, corseted with a dress of dark purple velvet which defied all the laws of nature by being resolutely clean despite trailing in the mud. She was wearing a high-collared black cloak with red inlay and it was fur-lined. Hair was piled up on top of her head but not too over done which suggested that she was returning from somewhere. There was a silver circlet holding it in place with black gems studding it. She also wore a silver necklace with Large black and red stones mounted in clever ways that they caught the morning sun light. Her golden staff had reappeared from somewhere and was propped against her shoulder and, as if by accident, the rearing spider that stood on the top end of the staff was facing me.

She looked up and smile, perfectly white teeth set off by the dark red lips that were the exact shade of her dress. That couldn't be a coincidence.

“You're back. How did it go?”

I was breathing heavily.

“Is everything alright? What did Fuck-face want?” She had adopted our nick-name for Dorme over the last few days and always pronounced it in a special way that suggested extra letters in the words that never ceased to cause Kerrass and I some amusement.

“Did you do it?” I demanded harshly.

“Did I do what?”

“Don't play games with me highness?” I spat, “And don't hide behind your oh so pretty illusionary face, showing me the expressions and emotions that you want me to see. Did you do it?”

Very slowly and carefully a book mark was produced and placed within the book that she was reading.

“What has happened Frederick?” she asked calmly.

“Did you murder that village?”

She looked me in the eyes. All previous warnings about looking into the eyes of a vampire were driven out of my mind in that moment.

“What village Frederick?”

“You know what village,”

She gazed at me steadily and I tried to tell what she was thinking.

“I do not.” She said after a while.

“Did you tear that child in half?”

She stared at me for a long time before standing up.

“I'm not going to answer that.” If she had been human I would have thought she was hurt.

“Why not? Is that because it's true? You killed that village. You slaughtered them for their blood and their flesh. After everything we've talked about you did it didn't you?”

“So quick to believe what you've been shown. So quick to believe your old prejudices.” she sneered the words. “Humanity hasn't come that far after all.” she threw the book at me.

“So you did do it.”

“Look at yourself Frederick. You come here and accuse me of that. By yourself. Do you think for one moment that you are safe from me?”

“Does it matter? You are a killer and a tyrant. Those people were nothing to you. I am nothing to you. Neither me, Kerrass, Dorme or any of the rest of these people. We're just pawns in your games. A way of keeping score. Well these gaming pieces locked you up before and we can do it again.”

“Maybe,” she snarled and then I was dangling off the ground as she held me up by the throat. “But make no mistake about it Frederick. I would kill the ring-leaders first. I would kill the leaders first. I would kill you first.”

I make no excuses for the cliché, it was just the anger and pain talking. “Then do it now. Monster.” I choked it out through gritted teeth while pulling at the fingers that held my throat in a vice.

She dropped me.

“Humans,” she spat. “Still the same.”

Some soldiers found me gasping for breath a few minutes later.

It's a shame really as up until that point we had been getting on quite well.

No that isn't sarcasm.

After that first round of question and answer between herself and I, she became a non-stop chatter-box. She would wake us up with questions, question us while we ate, while we rode and when we stopped for the night. On one occasion of the four days that it had taken us to ride to the point where we found the village (as I say, this train of people marched far slower than any regular army or group of travellers.) Kerrass and I had to forcefully point out to her that we were tired and needed to sleep. She nodded and stayed perfectly still so that as soon as we woke up the following day, she hadn't moved and took up the conversation again in exactly the same place.

The topics for her questions were wide-ranging and varied often leaping off into vast tangents that would consume hours before she would return unerringly to the original point that we had been discussing. We talked about history, sciences, botany, etymology, religion and it's role, Philosophy, philology, something that she referred to as “social sciences”, (neither of us knew what that meant but she asked a few leading questions and soon had us talking on the subject.), gender roles, gender politics and so on. She had this habit of shutting down to consider a point. She would answer one of us with the words “interesting” or “fascinating” then she would sit still in that perfectly still way that betrayed the fact that she was no longer concentrating on her illusion, normally for just enough time for our brains to wander off and then she would be back, questioning us just as much as we had done previously.

It was fascinating to us as well. I haven't checked with Kerrass but the opportunity to sit down and talk with a creature such as this was overwhelming to me. In some ways her knowledge and method of thinking was vastly more advanced than my own causing me to challenge long held beliefs that no longer held up in the face of her calm and well reasoned questions. Kerrass' amusement when she asked me why there weren't any female Kings and I responded that that would make them Queens instead. She told me that we treat “Queens” as being lesser to “Kings” though in our thinking and our mode of speech. She pointed out that the lines of succession passed through the male line and it was only due to extreme circumstances that Queens ruled Kingdoms openly. Often doing quite well at it to citing my own examples of Queen Calanthe of Cintra and Queen Meve of Rivia.

Two of these topics are relevant to what happened later so I will do my best to jot down the essential parts of those topics.

The first was regarding the topic of what the people of Touissant refer to as “Noblisse Oblige” or

“The obligations of a noble”.

“So. Let me just see if I understand this correctly.” she said. “If you are a lord, you have a responsibility to look after the people under your care. The people that farm your fields and work on your land.”

“That sounds about right.” I said. I was a little concerned as a number of the nearby soldiers had very obviously tilted their heads to listen closely to the conversation.

“So that is the purpose of taxation? To give the money to the Lord so that the Lord can pay for whatever is needed for his particular patch of land.”

“Yes. The Lord also has to give a portion of that money to the crown and sometimes, depending on where you are, the church.”

“I see. But why the crown?”

“Because all land is owned by the crown. The Lord rules that Land by the Kings sufferance.”

“But what happens if the Lord and the King disagree?”

“Therein lies the problem as few lords are willing to give up this autonomy or resent the crowns decisions.” I waved at the surrounding men to illustrate my point.

“Interesting.” She said, freezing for a moment. “Leaving aside the idea of giving money to the church for a moment.” I tried to hide a sigh of relief. Later that day it would turn out that she hadn't forgotten and had noticed my discomfort. “But what does the crown do with it?”

“Generally they save that money for future disasters. They might grow and maintain an army with it. Use it for trade or do their best to better their Realms with it.”

“Or they spend it on their own luxuries.” Put in Kerrass. He had been mostly quiet on this subject and was enjoying my discomfort just as much as the surrounding soldiers clearly were. “Or pay back the bankers for the various debts that have been accrued.”

“Why would they give themselves gifts and luxuries at the expense of the common man?” she asked innocently. I swear that I could hear the surrounding soldiers, villagers and farmers to a man, turning to me with expectant ears. “Surely what that means is that the King should be the poorest man in the country as all of the money that is given to him is given by his subjects and that money should be spent back on those subjects.”

“There are two reasons.” I began, thinking hard. “The first is an explanation as to why they should do it and the second is why they probably do it.

“They should do it because the rulers are in competition with neighbouring realms and therefore with neighbouring rulers. A display of luxury is a display of strength and intimidation. If their counterpart detects any weakness then they might invade or pursue that weakness. Or if they see strength then they might look for expansion elsewhere against another realm meaning that the ruler has protected his people from a long and costly war. Costly in both money but also in lives and material.”

“I see, so part of that responsibility is to keep their people safe?”

“Yes.”

“So why do they really do it?”

“Greed,” I answered. “Greed and entitlement. These families and royal lines have been in power for generations and after a few generations they start to believe that they deserve those luxuries that they should be given them rather than having to earn them.”

“I see. How interesting.” It was the utter lack of sarcasm that she said this with that really got to me.

There was another long pause. You know how, when there's an intermittent noise that's just keeping you from dropping off to sleep. Where it'll stop for a while and you think “finally. It's stopped. Now I can just drop off to....” and then it starts again. It was like that.

“Frederick?”

“Yes?”

“You're a noble aren't you.”

“Only just.”

“But you are the son of a lord of men?”

“Yes I am.”

“Does he support this concept of 'a nobles obligations'?”

I considered. It was a tricky question as I had never really thought about it before.

“My father is a complicated man. He comes from Mercantile stock, therefore, to the other nobles he is a commoner. But to his villagers he is still the Lord. Yes he has carried out massive works to upgrade and better his lands and his populace. He was heavily involved in the logistics divisions of King Radovid's armies, although he didn't get much credit for that kind of thing because he has an eye for a good trade. So his people are better fed and better prepared for the future. The heirs of his heirs have the potential to be great people as a result, but he is bitter that he isn't that important. He does follow the tenets of “The Obligation,” but I get the impression that he does it because he can and because it winds up the other local lords who are not as good at it. He holds massive parties where other lords are invited to look at his great works and how it benefits the other people of his lands. It is one of the many reasons that they hate him for it.”

“I see.” It was another common little phrase that she uses on a regular basis. Two little words that carry a whole wealth of meaning. “Tell me Frederick. If you were given the power, would you fulfil this obligation?”

“I like to think so. But I am also self aware enough to realise that it is unlikely to come up and also, because I am a younger son and lack the training that my elder siblings have had in the area of governing, that I have been allowed the luxury of believing in things like chivalry and nobility. My journeys with Kerrass have gone a long way to show me some of the errors in my thinking in regards to both but also regarding the lives of the villagers. I am beginning to feel that there are many nobles that could do with spending a year or two working in the fields, herding the sheep and other such things where a luxury is an actual lump of meat in the stew.”

There were some more rumblings of agreement from the other soldiers.

This was a typical conversation but there was another one that sticks out in my mind.

“Tell me Frederick.” Another one of her little phrases that have made me develop a flinch reflex.

“What is your ideal woman?”

“What?”

“I mean physically. What would your ideal woman look like?”

Kerrass perked up from his fugue, his eyes glinting. “Yes Frederick tell us. What does your ideal woman look like?”

“Ummmm, I don't know what to say.” Yes I was buying time but what can you do in the face of a question like that. “I can honestly say that I have been attracted to many women of different shapes and sizes. I just like women, all women really. But that's not what's important. I find many women beautiful but I'm not really attracted to them until I get to know them better. By which time I can generally find something to be attracted to, regardless of the lady. But if you're asking me whether I'm a breast man or a leg man. I cannot answer that. I'm a 'woman' man. I like women.”

“Interesting.” she was peering at me intently. We were developing a kink in the marching order of the column as more people were beginning to clump up to listen to this particular topic of conversation. “And what qualities of a woman do you find attractive?”

“Intelligence,” I answered promptly. I had been ready for this one. “Not necessarily education but intelligence is important. Humour certainly... I don't know really. There are several things and not all of them are quantifiable.”

“I see. It's a formless quality. That unidentifiable spark that exists between two people that is both physical and mental.”

“And social.” I put in.

She nodded. “Fascinating,” she was about to go off into one of her little thought processes but Kerrass decided to stick his own thoughts into the mixture.

“Yeah. That's bullshit.” He leant over to Ariadne. “I'd call him on his bullshit if I were you. Yep.” He straightened. “Definitely Bullshit.”

A Sergeant who was marching nearby had to scream at the rank and file to be silent after the men started giggling uncontrollably.

“Kindly explain Kerrass.” I am certain. CERTAIN, that she managed to put a mocking sweetness into her tone which suggested that I was being ganged up on.

“Yes Kerrass.” I hissed without too much anger. “Do explain because as far as I know I spoke the truth,”

Kerrass smiled a little mocking smile at me before turning to address the vampire again.

“It's not his fault really and you shouldn't think too badly of him for the lie. As he says, he is speaking as honestly as he is able. Also to be fair to Freddie, he is better with the ladies than many would give him credit for and better than many of our gender and his class. For example, he never forces himself on a woman, he waits for outright consent and I understand that, despite the frustration it sometimes causes, he checks one final time before losing control of himself. He also ensures that his partners enjoy themselves as well which is rare. All of these things are to be commended. But his physical type, what he is most attracted to is just about the same as every one of the men within earshot that are paying such careful attention.”

“What is that?” she asked in the same way that she had earlier been asking about a particular kind of fungus.

“He wants the thing that he can't have. Height doesn't matter, tall or short doesn't even register. But what he really likes is slim build, unbound long hair regardless of colour, smooth skin, shapely face...”

“What kind of shape?” the vampire asked with some interest.

“It doesn't matter as long as it's shapely.” Kerrass responded promptly. “He also appreciated well turned legs.”

“What about breasts?” she wondered.

“Also doesn't matter so long as they are firm rather than saggy. But most of all he likes a particular posture. Upright, noble bearing, courteous but unafraid. Able to look him in the eye and to treat him as an equal.”

“Interesting observation,” There was just the hint of a smile around Ariadne's face. “What leads you to these conclusions?”

“Observation and much experience.”

“Will you be more specific?”

“Certainly. I should also say that it's not his fault. He was taught to behave this way, or rather he was taught the opposite point of view and he acts out of resistance to that attitude.”

“Do go on.”

“There is one area that the nobility have it worse off than everyone else and that is because they don't get to choose who they marry. This decision is made by their relevant parents or, in some cases, it is a decision made by the relevant monarch in the case of particularly important nobles.

“When they are choosing a wife for a son, the thing that they look for is not attractiveness or social or intellectual compatibility,” I had noticed that Kerrass could converse with academics with some ease when he put his mind to it. “The thing they are looking for most of all is proven fertility. Obviously this is something that is difficult to test, so instead they look at the figure of the woman and the perceived physical quality is wide hips with the argument that the wider the hips, the easier it would be for the baby to pop out. The girl is then trained to be able to please whichever man she is told to marry which includes things like, averted gaze, no sense of humour, demure subservient behaviour and so on so that the man of the house doesn't just chuck her out into the cold, or worse, ignore her completely.”

Ariadne was rapt. So was I for that matter.

“The other men of the continent are exactly the same. EXACTLY the same before they start acting all smug, and they all want the same sorts of things within an acceptable scientific margin for error. Men are always the same. The desire for the thing that they can't have and a small amount of forethought can easily explain everything that is involved in this.

“Peasants, by which I mean everyone who isn't a noble, are allowed to marry for love. But men are simple creatures and although, like Freddie, the good ones learn to be attracted to reasonable things like intelligence, humour, charm and wisdom they need to be attracted over in the first place. But then comes the thing that peasants also have that overwhelming instinct to do that thing that is humanities secret weapon. The thing that means they will be here long after the elves, dwarves, gnomes, halflings and begging the ladies pardon, the vampires have all died out.”

“Which is?”

“They fuck like bunnies. It's a natural instinct. When they landed on this continent they were isolated and alone in the middle of a landmass that hated them, full of creatures that wanted to eat them or worse. Their only defence against this is to aggressively procreate. They breed at a rate that would exhaust every single female of any other species. A human woman can be relied upon to spit out a child once every year or so until she finally tells her husband to go fuck himself and sleep in a different bed. The mortality rate is high but if you're producing at that speed then, with all respect to those people who have lost folks, the mortality rate is acceptable. Taken against the elven way where elves live for hundreds of years if unchecked but are only fertile for a relatively short space of time and tend to give up after one or two.

“The elves claim that the humans are aggressively invading their territory but they aren't. They just need the extra room for all the babies that they keep having.

“But back to the initial discussion. This rate of production is hard on the female and any man who says otherwise is either lying or is misinformed. I've seen babies heads. That cannot be pleasant. But in turn the hard life of a peasant ruins the people. Their women get bent over because they're either bent over the huge belly that their husband gave them, bent over the child that the lump produced, bent over the flowerbeds or other work that the family needs to survive, bent over the meal of turnips that they have been given to eat and then people wonder why old women are bent over all the time.

This process ages the ladies before their time. Peasant women are at their most attractive between the ages of fourteen to eighteen, especially on the underpopulated frontier. Richer villages or towns where luxuries, amenities and health-care mean that that margin becomes larger, extending further into their twenties or even thirties and the women can afford to be little girls for a bit longer. But the factors are still the same. Long hours outside mean that skin becomes weathered, rough and wrinkled. Hair becomes unwashed, cut short to avoid lice, covered, braided or tied up to keep out of the way. Muscled in strange areas with malnutrition eventually taking their tolls on innocent, beautiful young women.

“This is improving as “civilisation” is spreading, although I use the term loosely, and people understand the need to take a break once every so often, maybe bathe and take the potions that the local herb-people suggest before they get burned as witches and warlocks by the church.

“Noble women are the same. They are taught to behave in a certain way and rather than playing to their strengths they are taught to minimise their weaknesses. Hair is again covered or braided according to tradition. The poisons in the make-up mean that skin becomes blotchy and damaged. The list goes on and on.

“Their are two groups of women who do not adhere to these regards.

“The first is those pliers of the oldest trade. The prostitutes and whores. Their hair is long and unbound for a reason. They know that long unbound hair teaches men to think of wives in the bed-chamber but here they are being all young, pretty and available. A decent Madame or pimp will make sure that the girls are clean, well fed and healthy so they have those benefits as well. They also have the pride of women who band together and who know that “society” looks down on them having to sell their bodies to survive so there is an “us against them” vibe there which gives them courage.

“But the last group. The group of the ultimate unattainables... If you ask Freddie now, who the top ten renowned beauties are in the world. I would be willing to bet that of those top ten. Eight of them will be Sorceresses. Of those eight, six will belong to the Lodge of Sorceresses.

Sorceresses who can wear their hair long and full because who is going to tell them not to.

Sorceresses who are well aware that they wield more power in their little fingers than entire armies.

Sorceresses who have the ears of Kings and Emperors.

Sorceresses, who have access to the best alchemical ingredients and spells to accentuate already magically mutated beauty.”

Kerrass paused for breath.

“The fact that these same women have been, up until recently, vilified and hunted, only makes that attraction more acute as it convinces men that these women need rescuing. What chance does the average village girl or nobleman's daughter have against them?”

Kerrass sighed and took a drink from his canteen before continuing.

“The problem is lessening fortunately and women are benefiting from the spread of proper care. Life spans are getting longer and so on but the male still lusts after the thing that he cannot have. I am a Witcher. The number of times I have been hired by some randy lord to find them a young and nubile Dryad, Naiad, Russalka or even Vampire woman for those who want to live on the dangerous side. Forever young, forever beautiful and forever forbidden.”

He subsided on that last point.

“Is it only men that lust after these things?” Ariadne asked.

I opened my mouth to respond but Kerrass beat me to it.

“No. Women are just as susceptible. Early in our days of travelling together, Frederick noticed that I was propositioned by women frequently and often. He wondered why.”

He looked over at me with a sardonic smile.

“Yes, I have read your little essays and no I don't like them.”

He turned back to Ariadne.

“This is the answer. I am alien to them. I have different eyes, I am fit, well muscled and therefore easy on the ladies eye. They know that I am infertile, therefore they will not get pregnant by me, and that I am immune to disease meaning that they will not catch something that needs explaining away. They also know that I will move on, so a night of pleasure with the Witcher is a relatively risk free rebellion against societies strict rules.”

“And you Kerrass, what's your ideal woman?” The vampire asked.

Kerrass stared off into the passing fields for a moment.

“I want a woman who says that she loves me the morning after without having to be paid for the privilege.”

“Fascinating,” said Ariadne.