Chapter 147: You will pollute the air with your appearance! (2)

He was becoming an agreeable shade of pink now, time to move in for the kill. Again that flare of pity and I forced myself to squash it.

“A man so repulsive, of appearance, prowess and intelligence that his own father is forced to pay a dowry for him, rather than expecting one in return.”

There was no doubt about it. The room was cackling quietly now. He was about to explode in apoplectic rage when I changed my tone back to that of genial, calm and courteous courtier.

“But of course, all of these things are jests and I hope that I have not offered insult or offence, either to you, sir, or to this house by offering my own personal little attempts at humour.” I bowed.

There was a little more laughter and a few comments of “Well done, well done. Good show,”

My opponent looked around in shock at the people watching before storming from the room in a cloud of black rage. I bowed to Lord Cavill in exactly the same way that Fighters at a wrestling tournament bow towards the judge and waited for him to nod before I continued my approach.

I felt dirty. The gambit that I had used was an old one, there is no denying that and it has been used all over the continent many many times, both in reality but also in fiction and I was more than a little astonished that it worked. But then again, the set up to the situation was equally as old and the player so obviously out of his depth that I felt secure in my counter. I already had the excuse of “just jesting” and they couldn't argue against that because to do so they would have needed to point out that the person who had had a go at me would also have been at fault.

The correct counter to my gambit depends on where you are. In Skellige you would just offer insult upon insult to each other, even resulting in blows if necessary as the drawing of weapons in the mead-halls are forbidden on pain of a painful death. Then the hosting party will break in and the two insult throwers will embrace, often in genuine eternal friendship.

In most courts, experienced players of the game will realise that they have been thrown to the wolves and will withdraw gracefully with some form of public apology and a pretence of ignorance at the visitor's status, an excuse of fatigue or excessive alcohol as well as a lack of understanding regarding the Lord's instructions.

Thus telling both the Lord and the visitor who it was that was responsible. Then there is often a more private assignation for a more extensive and heartfelt apology at a later date in order to sore up the lost face and esteem. This is done, even if you intend to destroy your former opponent at a later date. It's just the cost of doing business.

This man had simply stormed off. Possibly in thwarted rage. I guessed that he had been promised violence and the opportunity to punish an upstart little courtier and he had been thwarted, not just by me but by the man who he owed fealty to.

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He was the very image of a man who was playing to rules that he didn't understand, so, he shouldn't have been playing.

I felt sick and wondered if I could persuade Lord Cavill's servants to run me a bath in order to get the skuzzy feeling off my skin.

But, a courtier's battle is never done. Time for my next opponent.

I turned and walked towards Lord Cavill, bowing again.

“I take it that the honoured gentleman has duties elsewhere Lord Cavill.”

Lord Cavill raised his eyebrows. “I certainly hope so Lord Frederick. I hope that he has found some kind of duty that takes him far away so that he can think about what he has done and how he can do better next time.”

He gestured and a chair was brought so that we could sit close to each other.

“Having said that, Lord Frederick, I do hope that you will not think too harshly of my son. We...”

“Your son?” I sputtered in shock.

“Yes. You are surprised?”

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I looked into the eyes of the man I was sat next to. “May I speak frankly sir?”

His eyes glittered oddly.

“Please do.”

“Then I hope that you won't find this too insulting but, I am a trained courtier since a fairly young age and although I do not use these skills often.... I have seen that happen in several courts over the years....” an exaggeration. I have seen it happen twice. Once was in a provincial Nilfgaardian court when a knight took it upon himself to challenge a Skelligan visitor and the other time was when someone pulled the same trick when I was accompanying father on a business trip. The Skelligan broke the Nilfgaardian's nose, cheekbones and several ribs before he was pulled away by his own chieftain. Father accepted being the butt of everyone's joke and then spent a not small fortune on ruining the life and fortune of the man that insulted him. “... and such a thing never ends well for the person in your son's position.”

Lord Cavill stroked his chin in thought. “True, but my son needs to learn some humility and also to know when he is beaten.”

“May I say that it is a harsh lesson and one that he might struggle to learn given his advanced age. I was taught such things when I was younger than ten and your son....”

“Is in his late teens. I am aware of the problem but my son needs to learn quickly as there are several lacks in his education.” He sighed and wiped his hands across his eyes and I wondered if the fatigue that I saw there was a pretense or genuine. “We have suffered something of a disaster you see. My heir died recently.”

My response was instant and well trained.

“I am so sorry Lord Cavill, I was completely unaware of the circumstances and were things less urgent then I would excuse myself to leave you with your grief.”

He waved his hand in dismissal.

“My house has not been lucky with my sons. The young man that you just schooled was my fourth son, his mother long dead unfortunately. The elder sons were lost to the War with Nilfgaard and a disagreement with King Radovid at court which meant that he was sent to Temeria when the plague was ravaging the countryside. Now my third son is dead on the road with only a couple of my guardsmen returning to bring me the news in the last couple of days and so... all my hopes for the continuation of my line rest on the remaining son. The son who was allowed to study chivalry and weapons. Not that he took all of the lessons to heart of course. Specifically the one's about honesty and humility”

“Would my Lord take it amiss if I said that this was a common fault amongst those men who follow, or claim to follow the code of chivalry?”

He smiled a little.

“He would not. Indeed I took some heart from your recent works on the subject Lord Frederick. Yes, I know who you are and I know your recent activities in Toussaint. Might I say that your actions did you credit on the road regarding the holy sect that existed in Lyira and Rivia?”

I felt myself stiffen and admonished myself to pay better attention. I had caught myself beginning to relax and I needed to be on top of my game.

“Thank you.” I stuttered a little. “You are one of the few that feels that way.”

“Yes, well. People have a knee-jerk reaction to offending the church in any way and it is making the holy men of the continent over confident in their affairs. Someone needs to remind them that they are still subject to royal and feudal law as well as the laws of common decency.”

“Not a fan of religion then my Lord?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. I was fascinated by his eyebrows. Large bushy things that seemed to move independently of the rest of his face. By far the most expressive part of him.

“I think that the world would be a much better place if they all followed their own rules.” He said. “The reason that the nobility can buy our way into favour with the churches is so that we can have time to get on with our other duties whereas those others that cannot afford such considerations must worship and work to achieve the passage into an agreeable afterlife. I didn't make those rules, the church did. If I get to an afterlife and it turns out that the priests lied to me then I shall be angry indeed.”

He sniffed hugely in an eloquent expression of disdain and an adequate demonstration of the fact that he was coming down with a cold.

“So yes. There are a good number of problems in the world that could be solved if the various religions of our lands confined their attentions to the care of our immortal souls and leave the rest of us to get on with the important jobs of running the rest of the world. Things like your Bishop Sansum happen when those religious people decide that they know better about the rest of the world than the rightful rulers of it.”

I was fighting to not like the man. He was charming and his way of speaking drew you along with him.

“Still,” he said suddenly jerking himself out of his thoughtful gaze into nowhere. “You didn't come here to talk to me about my spirituality. You told everyone that you have come here to discuss a possible threat to my people and my lands. If so then it's best that we begin talking about although I warn you that if you were just lying in an effort to get in here and gossip then things may go badly for you.” He smiled as he said this to take the sting out of the words but I felt the threat all the same.

“Have no fear Lord Cavill. The threat is genuine and I have brought my Witcher comrade who can tell you some more about this.”

“The inestimable Witcher Kerrass I presume,” Lord Cavill held out his hand to be shaken which Kerrass dutifully took. “Of the Cat Witcher school no less. Tell me, how are your psychosis faring?”

“Tolerably Lord Cavill.” Kerrass showed his teeth. “I have not felt the overwhelming urge to murder anyone since earlier this morning.”

“Good good. Please forgive my lack of humour. As you may have overheard, things are not entirely well with my household at the moment.”

“You are forgiven.”

I managed to avoid looking at Kerrass although in comparison to my many acts of exertion, including asking Ariadne to marry me and standing and fighting a dragon.....avoiding looking at Kerrass given the grating tone of voice that he used as he said that, ranks right up there.

Lord Cavill looked up at Kerrass for a long moment before turning back to me.

“Do you mind if I call over one of my advisors Lord Frederick? If this is something that involves the two of you then I think it only prudent that we get his opinion?”

“Of course.”

Lord Cavill looked over into the corner of the room and beckoned. I looked and a man disentangled himself from where he had been leaning against the wall and watching the room.

My first thought was that he looked like a priest.

The second thought was that I started to admonish myself for not noticing the man earlier. One of the tricks of being a courtier is to spot the dangerous men in the room when you first enter it. They are the “wall-flowers” that are standing, leaning up against the walls and surveying the room. Just watching and listening.

As an exercise while I was being educated in this kind of thing I was told to just stand up against the wall and to say and do nothing and to find out what I could see and hear. It was educational. Not one person came and introduced themselves to me and I heard so much gossip then that I was entertaining Emma on the various topics for months afterwards.

They might not be important people in and of themselves but they are the people that are called over, as had just happened with lord Cavill and are asked for their report. They are, quite literally, like spies that are set against the rest of the court and report to their masters.

He walked through the crowd and I watched how people, almost without paying attention, seemed to just melt out of his way. As though people just felt a shiver down their spines and as such just edged sideways until they were no longer going to be an obstacle for this man.

He wasn't tall, or particularly imposing. Short, well groomed grey hair sat atop a pale face. He didn't look particularly old, I think I would place him in his forties although I am well aware that when it comes to magic users, an attempt to guess at a person's age is largely futile.

I, for instance, am engaged to be married to a nine-hundred year old woman.

I occasionally tease her for being a cradle snatcher.

But I digress.

He had a lined face and I saw frown lines as well as smile marks in the corner of his eyes. He also had a long, almost hooked nose as well as the high cheek-bones of one of the noble-houses although I couldn't tell you which one to look at him. He wore a black robe that looked, as I say, like the cassock of a priest with the accompanying cowl that, fortunately, he had the hood down.

I saw that his fingers were stained with ink.

I shivered when he approached.

“May I introduce you to Phineas Torlane. My friendly local mage.”

I rose to my feet and bowed before offering my hand to be shaken. The mage smiled and I will admit that the smile seemed genuine and charming. Where I had expected a cold and clammy handshake, his grip was warm, dry and firm.

“Lord Frederick, it is an honour to meet you.” He told me. Another surprise as his voice seemed to be a little higher in pitch than I had been expecting. “Might I trouble you for your autograph when our business is concluded? I will admit to being a bit of a fan, as well as rather in awe of your bravery.”

“Certainly. My bravery?”

“Of course. Marrying an elder vampire. And one with such a history as well. I have followed your work with interest since it's inception and did some side-reading on the topic of the Spider-Queen of Angraal.”

I noticed that he pronounced the name of the place correctly. Actually surprisingly rare.

“A brave man indeed.” He finished.

“Phineas came to us seeking refuge during the Witch Hunts” Lord Cavill told us. “I had already fallen into disfavour with Radovid regarding his dependence on the eternal fire and as such Phineas had seen my lands as a potential refuge. Not incorrectly as it happens. Pull up a chair Phineas.”

As we shuffled around I managed to sneak a quick look at Kerrass.

Kerrass was fiddling with his medallion. And staring at a point directly above the mage's head.

“Now,” Lord Cavill leant forward before abruptly leaning back. “Sorry, sorry, I'm forgetting my manners, have you eaten, had anything to drink?”

“I'm fine thank you.” I answered quickly. The mage was staring at my chest, just below my collarbone.

“Very well. Then shall we take it from there. What brings you to my castle?”

“Well. Are you aware that my brother Samuel von Coulthard is now Lord Kalayn and has taken over stewardship of Castle Kalayn?”

The mage didn't twitch but Lord Cavill shifted a little in his seat. Suspicious? Too early to say.

“We were aware.” Cavill answered. “I had intended to offer an invitation for him to come and stay after he had had time to settle in a bit. I am well aware that he must have a lot of work to do to set that particular corner of the country to rights.”

“Indeed and it's part of that action that brings me to your door.”

“Oh?”

I glanced sidelong at the Mage who had barely moved since sitting down. It was oddly offputting which may have been the point after all. I shifted in my own seat and resolved to put all my efforts into concentrating on Lord Cavill. Kerrass would have his eye on the other man.

“Indeed.” I told him. “You told me that you have read my travel journals?”

“Oh yes.”

“Then you will know about the cult that Uncle Kalayn was involved with?”

“Yes, dreadful business.”

“And you will also know about the disappearance of my sister, Lady Francesca von Coulthard.”

“Yes. My condolences.”

I felt my body move in discomfort despite my determination to give nothing away. “You will forgive me my lord if I do not accept your condolences until it is certain that there is absolutely no hope left.”

“Of course, of course. My sympathies then?”

I bowed from the waist. “Those I will take with my gratitude.” I cleared my throat. The universal signal of a man who wants to move on from the current topic of conversation and start to discuss something else. “Kerrass and I were always going to travel to Kalayn lands to help him with the investigation into the cult as well as to help him with any supernatural side effects to the cult's activities that might have sprung up in the mean time.”

“Were there any?” The mage moved suddenly and started to speak.

There is a particular kind of street performer that likes to stand perfectly still in an outlandish costume. You can walk up to them, shout, wave, jump up and down until they feel that it is appropriately amusing and they reach down and tickle you or knock your hat off or something. They were extremely trendy in Oxenfurt when I was younger and I have never jumped so high as when I was jabbed in the ribs by one of these people. My mood was not lifted by the fact that Emma and Sam, who were with me at the time, found the whole thing absolutely hilarious.

You know those people? Living statues they call them. This was exactly like that. Fortunately Kerrass was there to protect me from my own startlement.

“Oh yes.” He said. “Spectres and Wraiths of many kinds. Ghosts, poltergeists, disembodied souls, weeping corpses as well as good old fashioned hauntings by unhappy dead people before they choose which particular kind of angry spirit that they become. As it was, we were cutting it fine before the situation became worse, but it is not unusual when dealing with places of that kind. The human sacrifices are never happy at being sacrificed and get angry at the slightest provocation.” He sniffed, a mimic of the way that Lord Cavill had sniffed earlier. The word is derisively. He sniffed derisively. “Can't think why.”

Lord Cavil smirked but the mage returned to his impression of a carving.

I then gave a fairly short account of what had happened since then, our actions to protect ourselves (although leaving out specifics of how we protected ourselves. I'm not that stupid. Fairly stupid but not that stupid.) I told them that we had hurt the enemy but that we had not completely destroyed the enemy and that now, we were hunting for them to do our best to ensure that they would not grow again somewhere else or terrorize any more people.

Lord Cavill listened carefully. His eyes had taken on a strange kind of, unfocused look as he stared into space, not paying attention enough to take anything else on. When I had finished he continued like this for a little while before there was a large inrush of breath and he seemed to stretch as though he had just woken up from a nap.

“Fascinating,” he said. Something about the way he said it made my heart sink. He was already dismissing out concerns. “Fascinating situation.”

He furrowed his brow for a moment before shaking his head. “Phineas, do you have anything to add?”

The mage did his trick again, of suddenly coming to life despite all other evidence saying that he was just some kind of Golem or automaton. “No, I don't think so. A fascinating case though, certainly some magical curiosity about the spells or the alchemy mixture that must have been used to compel these men to attack and terrorize their own homes. Also those effects that the garrison suffered. Fascinating stuff.”

He literally stroked his chin when he said this.

“Fascinating.” The mage said again. I don't know whether he was echoing Lord Cavill or whether it was the other way round when it came to the use of this particular piece of language. It could have been pure coincidence of course but I don't think so. The intonation and tone that was being used was a little to close to each other to be entirely coincidental.

But I doubt it.

“But unfortunately for me, my area of expertise is not in the direction of alchemical effects or perception altering. If your brother is interested I can contact a couple of my former colleagues in Kovir and see if I can find an expert for him?”

“He may be interested but if you cannot help me then my intention is to head further North and inquire as to whether or not anyone else might be able to give me any information.”

“I see. Well, I shall write to your brother and see if our services might be useful to him.”

“What is your area of expertise?” Kerrass asked.

He said so sharply. This would not be the first time that Kerrass' lack of courtly training has been so highlighted in my mind. His sudden suspicion was pronounced and, not for the first time, I had to force myself to not glance in his direction reproachfully.

The Mage didn't even flinch. “It's technical.” He told us.

“I am no laymen on the subject.” Kerrass insisted.

“It is also confidential.” Lord Cavill cut him off. “I hope you understand but one of the few things that we have that we might be able to use to turn the fortunes of our house around is the skills and knowledge that our friend Phineas here might be able to provide. I hope you will forgive our refusal to comment. It is not malicious I assure you.”

I nodded my acceptance of the point. Of course I didn't accept it, as I say, not that stupid. By some margin it was the most suspicious thing that we had encountered and you can bet your ass that I was itching to find out what our friend Phineas the mage was up to. I would have liked to be a little less blunt however.

Most mages in modern times are either involved with the Lodge's efforts to integrate themselves into life under the Empress or are living in the North under Kovir and Poviss. Not quite trusting that the Empire, or the countryside in general is yet at the stage where they will have gotten over their anti-magic prejudices.

So to find a mage being openly used as a court mage is unusual. I am aware that my sister is all but married to one but I would point out that Laurelen lived in secret for many years and it is only because of circumstances that that situation has become public knowledge.

Laurelen is very much the exception that proves the rule nowadays and, almost because of this, I find that it highlights their attendance when I find them in other places.

“So that's our situation, Lord Cavill. That these things, these men are somewhere in the countryside is, unfortuantely, the case. We have scouted out the area and we know that their central base is not on Kalayn lands.”

“They would need some kind of a base?” Cavill asked.

“Oh yes.” Kerrass responded. Again taking the lead when I would have preferred to be a bit more....circumspect. “Their equipment and belongings would be impossible to house or maintain without some kind of substantial base to operate out of.”

“What are you thinking?”

Kerrass opened his mouth to answer but I jumped in with both feet before he could answer.

“It's impossible to say.” I said. “We know that the base would need some kind of extensive alchemical lab as well as a forge and stabling. We were thinking of some kind of cavern system or a derelict castle of some kind. Maybe a substantial camp out in the wilderness or even several such bases. We have heard that there is an elven community somewhere in the area...”

“Pah,” Lord Cavill sneered. “Runaways and fugitives mostly. Certainly nothing as large as a Scoia'tael commando and support.”

I laughed at his suggestion, trying to show that I shared his scorn. “I agree. Certainly nothing that would support this kind of enterprise but, even if they have moved on by now, their leftover camps might be enough to house something on the scale that we fear.”

Lord Cavill nodded before scratching his chin.

“Well, I can absolutely understand your concern Lord Frederick, and indeed I share it....”

Here it comes. The dismissal that we had heard so often over the last few days. “Not our problem” was the response of so many of the lords and ladies that we had spoken to and that was when they were able to receive us or comment at all. Of course they used much more flowery words than that however.

I won't bore you with the full write-out about how things went from there. I asked questions and Lord Cavill parried every attempt that I made to try and probe his business to see if there really was anything else going on. He did so in exactly the same way that I deflected every attempt he made to try and discern what the motives and attempts that the Coulthard trading company would be making over the coming year. Along with what I knew about the comings and goings at court as well as Sam's intentions regarding his land and whether or not Sam was betrothed or not yet.

If there is one thing that I have inherited from my father when it comes to matters of commerce it is the ability to know someone that my family would be interested in trading with. Normally I would offer a letter of introduction to anyone who I thought might be able to offer our enterprises something but in this case there was something here that I didn't like. The ham fisted attempts at courtiership that I had seen despite the keen mind that I saw lurking behind Lord Cavill's eyes. The bullying as well as the willingness to humiliate his son in public. I didn't like this man and there was something about his mage advisor that made my skin crawl. It was a hard won lesson that I need to learn to listen to these instincts, back in the beginnings of my journeys. But I never failed to listen to them now that I was used to them.

“So, really.” Lord Cavill was speaking. “Thank you for bringing this situation to my attention Lord Frederick but I will admit that I don't really think that we have anything to worry about. The men that I have here, as led by my son, are more than capable of dealing with any threat that might arrive short of a foreign army.” He laughed and leant forward in an effort to include me in the gag. “If the third Nilfgaardian guard came to take over the province then I think we might struggle with that. But from what you're saying, I don't think we would need to worry about a group of bandits with some magical or chemical support.”

He smiled.

“Failing all else, Phineas here will be able to help us should anything come of it.”

I sighed. I was pretty sure that I had the place now. That if I wasn't sitting in the middle of the enemy camp then I was certainly dealing with a significant figure in the enemy ranks. But I had no proof. Maybe, Kerrass had seen something that I hadn't but it was just as likely that he felt the same way. What I needed was an excuse to look around and see if there is anything else that I could unearth. I was trying to work my way around to something that would give me a way to express my fatigue, or some kind of desire to bathe, or have a decent meal or something that would let us stay in the castle for a night or two, but then Lord Cavill gave me a gift.

“Perhaps.” He said, seeming to think about it although I guessed that he had already made a decision about this a little while ago. “Perhaps you might want to spend the night with us Lord Frederick and then you can inspect the guards in the morning.”

I was elated. “Are you sure,” I heard my mouth saying without input from my brain. Automatically running through the niceties. “I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience.”

“No, indeed. It might do my son some good to see how a real lord behaves.”

“Thank you. I won't lie but I could do with a bath.”

Lord Cavill laughed and we started to make arrangements. As it turned out, the Younger Lord Cavill was the Captain of his Father's guard. Previously this had been a more ceremonial appointment but now that he had been thrust to the point of being his father's heir. He had had to take over some more responsibility and step up to learn governing. A task that he wasn't taking to. I agreed that we would stay for two nights. In the morning we would watch the guard train for a while before making a more formal inspection. Then, in the afternoon we were invited to join Lord Cavill on a hawk hunt to provide some pigeons for dinner that evening.

I didn't sound entirely unpleasant and I begged leave to return to our rooms to clean myself up ready for the feast that we were promised for that evening.

Truth be told, the food wasn't that bad. Some of the politics that were discussed were a little close to the bone though. There was a strong anti-Nilfgaard sentiment in what was being talked about which left me with the overall impression that I was being mocked. There was also an overwhelming feeling that if King Radovid had survived then he would have eventually defeated the Nilfgaardians (who were referred to as “The Black Ones” throughout the evening and other derogatory terms that would go with this. Crows, devils, that kind of thing) But the food was good, plenty of game meat which is not unusual but I was left having to work at not thinking about all of the farmers and common-folk that had suffered to make this meal possible. There was certainly no indication that this was a special occasion so it was reasonable to assume that they ate like this every evening.

We retired to a separate room where, again, I was struck by the absence of any women amongst the assembled folk. This was a man's castle it would seem. We talked about nonsense and pointless things. I listened to people telling me that “if only Radovid had listened when we.....” and “If Radovid had actually had the courage to.....” and “If only the north had fallen in line behind us when.....”

It was a little dispiriting to have to listen to it over and over again. I was reminded of listening to the rebels in Angraal. These people had no idea about the logisitics of the thing. They assumed that if the banners were raised then it was the duty of everyone to drop what they were doing and march to war. What those self same knights and soldiers were going to eat, wear and carry, let alone how their injuries would be cared for, was simply not accounted for.

I was forced to admit that if the countryside had been stripped of everyone then yes, we could have fielded enough raw manpower to turn aside the Nilfgaardian offensive although I managed to avoid agreeing to the suggestion that we would have been able to hold our own against any Nilfgaardian offensives.

The problem there being that the Nilfgaardian army would have been properly supplied and maintained.

I'm not a military strategist but I often wonder if, despite his madness, Radovid was aware that he was merely biding his time until the other Nilfgaardian armies could come north and that he, himself was working towards some kind of truce so that he could rebuild and take the fight to Nilfgaard at a later date. I don't know but I do know that what these people were suggesting was all but impossible and that even if we had done what they were suggesting and, by some miracle, defeated the Nilfgaardian armies on the field. Even if we had managed all of those things then the country would have been decimated by famine and disease afterwards. Then the Nilfgaardians would have simply walked over the Yaruga and the Pontar without pausing to notice whatever it was that they walked over.

I pleaded fatigue and went to bed early. I was amused when a young maid turned up at my door to see if “there was anything that she could do for me,” the suggestion being rather blatant given that she was barely wearing anything. The poor girl was plainly terrified, as well as being far too young, and I turned her down as gently as I could with the insistence that I was promised to another and would not betray my betrothed.

Also, something about the way that she stood shivering in the hallway made my stomach turn. Taylor told me that he would take care of the matter and draped a blanket around the poor girls shoulder and escorted her back to the kitchens where, he told us later, she was accepted back into the pack by the head cook.

The following morning we rose late. It would have been against our established character to get up and train as would normally be our desire so I took the opportunity to sleep late and eat a large breakfast before dressing and wandering out to the practice yards.

It took me ten minutes. Ten minutes to find the proof that I was looking for. Ten minutes and then, everything that I had, all of my focus and concentration was taken up simply making sure that I didn't give away what I had seen.

Lord Cavill came out to meet us. Taylor was behaving like my shadow, following from a short distance, arms behind his back and walking up and down like a slightly disapproving servant, Kerrass looked bored and I was left with the task of maintaining a stream of conversation with Lord Cavill.

It was intensely dull and banal. Talk of which merchants provided the armour and how his castle blacksmiths worked night and day to properly be able to turn out enough weapons. I was invited to examine some of the weapons that they had and dutifully picked out a couple of samples in order to give them a bit of a wave around.

They were alright I suppose. But I've walked through a dwarven smithy.

Then there were some of the private weapons. That we saw before we were invited to see some drills. Some one on one fighting, some two on one fighting and some small scale skirmishing.

Which was when I saw it.

It took everything I had not to yell out. Everything I had not to charge across the field and grab the offending article and wave it around for everyone to see. Instead I had to nod and smile and let my eyes slide on to the next detail so as not to give everything away.

Then we watched the parade.

Where Lord Cavill the younger. The prize bullying fucker walked at the head of his men with armour and sword at his side along with Father Gardan's axe resting on his shoulder. That axe, looted from the body of a good and holy man, even if I don't follow his religion. Looted from a fallen veteran of the war against evil, I saw it. The butterfly pattern blades distinctive and glittering in the sunlight. The rage that I had spent some time fighting down crystallised into a point. A bright and glittering jewel in my head so that it washed everything else clean. I felt an awful calm settle down over me as everything else went away and it seemed to me that the axe floated in front of me.

Mercifully, the garrison was not that large and I didn't have to pretend that I hadn't seen it for long as they left on their various patrols.

I joined Lord Cavil for a small luncheon before we departed on our hunt. Kerrass looked at me oddly as I spend some time scrupulously checking my horse equipment to make sure that it hadn't been sabotaged like father's had been. It seemed important to me that I checked for some reason.

It was a fairly successful hunt and we came back with enough for the evening meal where we talked about the same things that we had the previous day.

Over and over again.

Thank The Holy Fire that Father had seen to my training. Thank you Proffessor Tidesdale for teaching me the skills that I needed and thank you Emma for insisting that I continue with my lessons rather than sacking them off for something more interesting. Without these things, I'm not sure I would have made it through the night without committing murder. As it was, I was certainly far too quiet and, of all people, if became Kerrass that stepped to the fore, turning on the charm and telling many small and amusing stories about his life on the road. I laughed in all the right places and winced, suitably comically, when the story was embarrassing to me personally, much tot he amusement of the assembled.

Lord Cavill tried to persuade us to stay another day. I felt that he wasn't entirely sincere and was giving the invitation for the appearance of the thing rather than due to any real sentiment. But I could genuinely plead that we needed to move on and to follow our duties elsewhere.

We slept and rose early. There was no attempt to send me a girl that night.

We were two hours on the road before Kerrass turned to me.

“So that was the place.” It wasn't a question.

“It was,” I answered. “The axe.”

Kerrass' eyebrows rose in question which was when I remembered that he hadn't met Father Gardan. He nodded when I finished my explanation.

“What did you see?” I asked him.

“The sword play. Those men in the courtyard were either the riders themselves or trained the riders. I don't think that they house the hounds in that castle, but Lord Cavill's in this deep.

“It's here.” Taylor added. “The kitchen staff told me that they send castle supplies off to a place to the south east. An abandoned mine apparently.”

I nodded. “Then there we have it.”

“We should leave the road.” Kerrass said. “The axe might have been a foolish mistake, or it might have been a deliberate trap. Either way we should leave the road and head off before looping back to Sam and friendlier terrain.”

I nodded. My crystallised hate and fury was still there, the day after it had formed. It had buried itself deep in my chest.

It felt good.