Chapter 148: Your Brother is a moron

So let's talk about Alchemy.

Believe it or not, dear reader, there is a not insignificant part of my audience that does nothing but scour my works to try and find out the formulae for Witcher decoctions and Witcher potions. So I just want to make it clear, for the record, as well as for all the people that may or may not be reading these words.

Ahem

I do not know any of the Witcher formulae. Neither for their potions, nor their mutagens. I know nothing about the methods that Kerrass uses to brew these things. I've watched him do it, many times even, but could I tell you what it was that he was doing? Or why?

These things remain a mystery to me.

Partly because I once made a promise to never divulge the Witcher secrets and the formula of these things is one of those secrets but also because, as it turns out, I simply don't have the mind for such studies. I study people and history. Occasionally some politics, not alchemy, art or crafting.

So here's what I do know.

I know a few names of several different potions. I know about the Swallow potion which is a substance that aids in healing. I know about something called White Rafferd's decoction which does the same thing but I couldn't tell you the difference between the two if you held a knife to my throat. I know about White Honey which is a substance that is neither White, nor is it honey. What that stuff does is to violently purge the body of all toxins and alchemical effects.

But beyond that, I know nothing. I've seen Kerrass peer into a darkened cave and take a deep sniff of the air before carefully oiling his blade with a dark blue jelly like substance. I've also seen him do the same thing with a light green grease. The difference? Damned if I know as both times we ended up dealing with Arachnomorphs.

I also know that he buys potion bottles by the dozen from a well known herbalist in Novigrad or a similar equivalent when he can't get to the halfling in question. Having said that, one of his satchels is absolutely rammed full of the things and he very rarely has to go anywhere else.

So how does he make these potions?

You are reading on fantasylibrary.ink

I've seen him use a mortar and pestle. I also know that he has a collapsible drying rack for fresh herbs. I also know that he has several other small tools in his satchels that help with these things but again, the problem here is that I intentionally look away when he's doing this stuff. The better to be able to keep the trust of these extraordinary groups of people who have granted me their trust. So I'm afraid I can't answer your questions.

Here is some layman's knowledge though. The kind of thing that I would have been able to pick up just from hanging round with the man. First, even if I could tell you how the potions are made, then it wouldn't do you any good on the grounds that those self-same potions are nearly always deadly to non-Witchers. Apparently they are easily able to kill rock trolls and dwarves. I mention these two races because of their legendary stamina and resistance to toxins.

Also, these are not new things. Remember that there hasn't been any new innovation on the subject of Witchers for hundreds and hundreds of years. If you look hard enough you can normally find a formula for the more common Witcher potions. People have been able to make them for centuries but then they have to consider what possible use they might be to them.

Simply diluting them doesn't work. Kerrass once told me that, famously, in some situations adding water to them can even make them more potent which is why some Skelligan whiskeys are best drunk with a touch of water in them. Something happens during the mixing process that makes them this way.

This is where I have to consult notes to make sure that I get this right. As an aside, you shouldn't worry. I have been given permission to publish all of this information and Kerrass will be reading it before it goes off to my editor.

I spoke to Dr Shani, Professor of medicine at the Oxenfurt academy on the subject. Although she would say that she isn't an alchemist either and doesn't understand how this all works, she theorises that this is because the Witcher toxins (that's what she called them. Not potions or elixers. She called them toxins) also effect the nervous system, the pulmonary system as well as the lungs and brain and metabolic system. It is often not simply a case of the potion being digested through the normal process. As soon as it enters a Witcher's system it is being absorbed through the internal walls of the throat and stomach. That is when it isn't being diverted into the lungs by virtue of a Witcher's phenomenal self-control as the imbibing of the liquid turns it into a gas.

These things are absorbed through the gums, the tongue, they go up into the nasal cavity as well as down the throat.

Think about that the next time you are considering trying to brew one of these things and psyche yourself up into drinking it.

One of the many modifications that Witchers go through when they are being mutated is that their immune system as well as all of the above bodily functions gets adjusted. Part of this was done so that Witchers would be able to withstand the various horrible and deadly bodily functions of the beasts that they would end up facing and it would be interesting to know as to whether or not Witcher potions and elixirs were designed afterwards when it became clear that Witchers could withstand this kind of thing.

“Ooh, our wonderful new test subjects are immune to just about everything. Let's see what else we can give them and really see how far we can push the envelope.”

This chapter is from fantasylibrary.ink

But that's a theory for another day.

But, although Witchers are immune to most of the problems that come with drinking these potions on a regular basis, there is one harmful result of these things that very rarely gets talked about.

That is the risk of dependency.

Kerrass takes these potions at a rate of, on average, one a day. Regardless of how you shake it, that's a lot of potions. Bearing in mind that to the average person that is a lot of poison. The equivalent of drinking raw alchohest crossed with Basilisk venom and the adrenal glands of a greater Wyvern.

On a daily basis. Sometimes more than once a day.

With their heightened immune, nervous and respitory system, it is a very real problem that the Witcher's body gets used to all of this extra stimulus and from what Kerrass has said, as well as what he can tend to look like and the way that he behaves after a potion binge....There are comedown effects as well which look and feel a lot like someone having a hangover.

But they take them so often that their bodies start to crave them, craving the support that these potions and things give. It starts to get used to the increased healing effects of the Swallow potion as well as the increased reflexes and strength. So it starts to crave those self same effects.

Sounds a lot like addiction doesn't it.

I asked Kerrass about this and what he says, is that being on a potion come down is like walking through fog while all of your limbs are tied down by weights. He was told that this was a risk and one of the ways that Kerrass copes with this is that he takes what he describes as “holidays” from the elixirs. That's when he goes into town for some debauchery or when he's travelling by sea or we're travelling with a Caravan. It's also why Witcher's retreat to their keeps over Winter. It's not that the world is shorter of monsters during the winter than they are at any other stage, or because of the climate, although that is probably a factor, but it's so that they can flush all the contaminants out of their system and....kind of reset.

Shani called it “a cleanse” although Kerrass took this opportunity to mention that one of the things that he likes to cleanse his body with during the winter, was strong Rye Vodka and she glared at him.

So Witcher potions are also addictive and need to be taken at regular intervals. Kerrass calls these things his “elixirs” which are different from his potions. If you took them away, Kerrass would still be a deadly opponent and that the only loss of any edge is really in the eyes of the man that has lost that edge but even so, it is apparent. Certainly I have seen the post potion comedown myself on many separate occasions.

These elixirs are often mixed with tea or with strong alcohol. Often just a small potion in the morning every other day the same way that some people take their own medicine in an effort to stay fit and healthy. It's just that in this way, Kerrass gets to stay deadly.

It has been suggested that these potions are also responsible, at least in part, for the Witcher's perceived emotionlessness. That I can't answer for. All I will say on the matter is that, from my understanding, Kerrass and his fellows have plenty of other reasons to be a little bit emotionless.

So why are people so obsessed with the idea of Witcher potions?

I don't know but I can guess.

I think it's to do with the very reason that Witchers don't want to share their secrets. You see, I think that they're right. I think that if the mutations, elixirs and potions got out into the general public then, sooner or later, someone would figure them out. Some Baron like Lord Cavil or Lord Dorme of Angral will get hold of someone and he will forge himself an army of Witchers. Men who are utterly loyal to them and who will follow their orders to the letter. Then, there they are. An Army of men, dependent on potions that only I can give them and now they are the dominant military force on the continent.

I think it's that.

I think that the potions represent power, even if the person who is asking for these formula have the best intentions in the world. Even if they want to heal the sick or something, does their assistant? Does the guy who fetches and carries for the doctor in question. The stuff would fetch a high cost in the hands of the right person.....

Just the thought of that insight is exciting to us.

Does that effect the potential development of new Witchers?

I think that we're getting off topic now as well as it still being a little early in proceedings to answer that question. We're still working on the question of whether or not we can make more Witchers, or people that will be close enough to what the Witchers could do to be called Witchers.

But it's also about the excitement of a secret. The unknown. And who doesn't want to be a bit faster, a bit stronger, or to live a bit longer, free from the worries of old age, sickness and poisoning. Who wouldn't want to see in the dark and be able to smell and discern the smallest scents around. Who wouldn't want to hear someone sneaking up behind them or to be able to fight off the bully that was born just just that little bit stronger than us? A Witcher's potion is the latent promise of these things.

But that's just my opinion.

Are they vital to being a Witcher?

No.

Important? Definitely. They help to keep the Witchers at the top of their game. Keeping them strong and giving them that edge over their enemies and their opponents. Letting them take on the nightmares that live out in the darkness on the edge of town. But if you take them away from the Witcher then what do you have.

The person is still a mutant. Still that bit stronger, faster and more physically capable than the next man. Still able to stand up to the monsters and cut them down with blade and sign. What do the potions do? The bombs, elixirs and weapon oils? They let them do all of these things that little bit more efficiently. They provide the Witcher with an edge that they might not necessarily have otherwise.

But vital?

No.

-

They came for us that night.

It was one of those things that if we had all been realistic, thinking people, then we should have seen this coming. Without being too modest, I am an intelligent and highly educated man. I have travelled a great deal and my experience of life is not what someone might call....standard. I have seen and done things that I would never previously have expected to see and do while every single experience along these lines has expanded my horizon to awe-inspiring degrees.

Kerrass is a Witcher. Somewhere around a century in age where he has been travelling, fighting, killing monsters and people all over the continent and beyond. He's seen so many things that if we actually started to transcribe the entirety of his life then it would take the entirety of my life to get that done. He is also, to be fair to him, far from stupid.

Taylor is one of the more frightening people I know. He has skills that I do not understand and cannot fathom where he has come by the expertise and life experience that he has. He's only, at best, a couple of years older than me but he can speak with a Temerian, Redanian, Kaedweni and Aedirni accent. He can speak the Elder speech of the Nilfgaardians with little to no discernible accent and also knows the ins and outs of polite society. He's also a skilled horseman, an accomplished shot with a bow and the best swordsman I've ever met barring Witchers and the Empress.

But none of us saw this coming.

I once had the opportunity to speak to a thief. It was Perkins, one of the younger members of Sir Rickard's bastards who had been a thief on the streets of Temeria and he told me something interesting. He said that the most dangerous part of making off with a score (His words. Apparently this is a single word that refers to the goods that have been taken) is the part when the goods are in hand and you're in the process of escaping.

You might be out the door, through the window and down the street but, he said, that's when the vast majority of theft's go wrong. Just when you think you've gotten away with it, you will turn around and there's a guardsman watching you. Or, more often, there's the other criminal gang that are waiting for you to beat you up and take you score off you so that they have the easy part.

Apparently, that was how the kid ended up joining the army. He got “nicked” by a guardsman back when the Temerians were marching against the La Valettes and he was offered the choice of serving prison time or joining the army. He's told me seven different versions of how he came to join the army, every single one of them has been different so far and I'm beginning to think that the bastard's as a whole have maybe a couple of dozen stories as to how they joined the army and they just swap whenever someone is foolish enough to ask them how they came to join up.

But the point to his story was that it's at the point of feeling safest that you become most vulnerable. It's when you let your guard down, when you relax that people come and get you.

And that's kind of what happened. We were so taken by surprise by it as well which, even now, is a little galling. We should have seen it coming. We should have protected ourselves against what happened.

Could've, should've, would've done something different.

But hindsight is a wonderful thing and it's easy to see this in all things. So easy to look back at what you've done and thought to yourself that you should have done it differently.

But we didn't.

We left the road, maybe an hour or two's ride out from the castle, certainly making sure that we weren't in sight of the castle itself, or any guardsmen. We didn't see any farmers or other travellers but I suppose it could have been possible that there was someone there. The best training in the world is no match for knowing the land and having played hide and seek since you were a child.

But we left the road and started to head east by Southeast. We knew that Sir Rickard and the rest of the bastards were out there in this kind of general area and that, even though we would probably miss our assigned rendezvous, he would double back, find the sign that we left, small though it was, and be able to pick up the trail.

We headed into a group of trees in an effort to hide us from prying eyes before we were again moving through open fields and pasture land. We took the time to make sure that we spent some time walking through a stream to throw off any scent that we might have and Taylor took a small packet of pepper out of his bags and sprinkled the stuff over that small patch of ground where we entered the water.

I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Hunting dogs,” he told me.

Kerrass grinned and I laughed.

“You sick bastard.” I told him. “Seriously though, who are you?”

He just smirked as we moved off upstream towards the mountains.. Deliberately leaving sign that we had left the stream in several places as we got further and further and further away.

We were in good spirits and to be fair, looking back, I can understand why. We had found the enemy, we knew where they were and we could start moving towards destroying them. The dead would be avenged, the wronged would have their justice and all the sick fucks that might be tempted to pull the kind of bullshit that these people would do would have their warnings.

I also intended to place Gardan's axe on his grave. Just for a while though. It seemed wrong that a weapon like that would not be used by someone aiming to make the world a better place.

There was also that small hope fluttering in the depths of my chest. That we would find Francesca. Taylor had explored the castle quite thoroughly and told us that he hadn't been able to find any sight or sound of any captives, let alone my sister. Lord Cavil did indeed have a dungeon but it had long been converted into a wine cellar and storage room but that didn't deter me. We knew that there had to be another base elsewhere to house the equipment and the horses and, very possible, the men themselves as well as alchemy labs and whatever else was going on.

So there was hope. I tried to limit myself, I tried to monitor my own hopes and not to raise my own expectations too high. I felt like the child on the verge of a Yule celebration, being able to see the gifts laid out and looking at the particularly big boxes and hoping that those things would be for them and that they would enjoy the contents. That they weren't some kind of clothes or some kind of gift that would “aid in their education”. They want to be excited, but at the same time they don't want to disappoint themselves. That was me. But at the same time, you can't help but entertain that hope. Even in a small way. Just a tiny way, deep down somewhere.

We moved up stream as far as we could before backtracking a little way and rode our horses clear. Taylor and Kerrass dismounted and walked back to the stream where they spend a bit of time arranging matters to do their best to hide our tracks and....I understand....leave another secret trail marker so that Sir Rickard could find us.

It was about mid-afternoon by this point and our good mood and elation at the prospect of having found our enemy began to die down. Now we had to make it back to safety. We did discuss trying to get to any of the friendlier Lords that we had met on our journey since we had left Castle Kalayn but, in truth, it wasn't that practical. Our enemies would know who was on their side and who might be persuaded to be on our side and so the approaches and routes would be watched. Or we would turn up to find that Lord Cavill had beaten us to it and turned a previously friendly lord against us.

Or, even worse, it would turn out that the friendly lord that we had gone to was in on the conspiracy themselves.

So we had resolved to head back to Kalayn lands and link up with Sam. It was going to be a tough march. We had supplies but they weren't bottomless and so we would need to live off the land. That wouldn't be difficult given that we were heading into summer but that kind of thing takes time. Time that we didn't really have as we needed to get back before Lord Cavill realised his mistake.

Kerrass chose us a camp-site just as we were getting towards dark. He chose us a small clearing where we could sleep with only two gaps in the thick undergrowth meaning that attackers couldn't get to us easily There wasn't a lot of cover but people would struggle to get to us and we were well off the beaten track. At the end of the day, there is just no way of completely protecting yourself. If they surrounded the clearing with Archers then they could just pepper us with arrows, especially as Taylor was without his bow, or his arrows but Kerrass set some traps around the place so that it would, at least, be difficult for them to sneak up on us.

We lit no fire and ate some cold meats and a hunk of bread each. Kerrass did something alchemical with a rock and a flask of water which meant that we at least went to sleep with something hot in our bellies. It was summer though and the skies were mostly clear, not yet up towards the mountains either so it was mostly warm and I was able to stretch out in relative comfort.

I volunteered for the middle watch which is universally acknowledged as the hardest watch on the grounds that I would be struggling to sleep anyway and Kerrass took first, wanting to watch our back trail given that he could see in the dark, leaving Taylor to wake us both up with the dawn.

It felt good to be out of that persona of Lord Frederick and to just be Freddie again. Traveller and scholar. I spent a bit of time trying to contact Ariadne in the hope that we could get a message out to the right people to let them know where we were and what was happening but also because I wanted to speak to her. Not unusual, I had avoided contacting her while inside the castle as I didn't want the servants thinking that I was mad. I couldn't get through to her though. I remember reassuring myself that this wasn't unusual, being a vampire comes with some benefits and one of those is not needing anywhere near as much rest as those of us that are human and she is often off meeting people or working at all hours of the night in a place where she can't be reached.

What I'm trying to say is that we did everything right, everything right. But they caught us because we had forgotten something very important.

I had forgotten that Lord Cavill employed a mage.

I woke up to the sounds of metal striking metal. Long trained reflexes sprang into action, the dagger grasped in my hand leapt into life as I jumped to my feet.

Although I couldn't. I couldn't move. I could barely even breathe, but my body tried. It really did to the point of feeling pain as I hurled myself against invisible bonds bruising body and straining muscles. I even opened my mouth to scream and although, to me, it felt as though I was bellowing with all of my might, nothing came out. I was just staring at the night sky.

The sounds of combat were becoming sporadic but I couldn't turn my head to see what was going on, all I could do was strain and pull and....

I didn't give up. I never gave up as the pain lanced down my spine, along my arms and legs and seemed to pool like molten metal in the base of my skull.

The sounds of fighting ceased and I heard the mage Phineas' voice in my head.

“Shhh,” it said, almost softly in the same way that you calm an upset animal. “Shhh, rest now.” They seemed to be the most reasonable words in the world as I felt my willpower just drain away. My eyelids drooped and I returned to sleep.

I was conscious for maybe four seconds.

But I dreamed for much longer.

I still mean to consult an Oneiromancer about this at some point as these dreams were....uncomfortable in the extreme.

Along with a lot of the normal kind of recurring dreams. You know the type, imagined confrontations with people that never happened. Alternative universe versions of events. Along with the ever popular flying dreams, falling dreams and that dream that all students or graduates get where they find out that they've got a sudden exam and they haven't studied, or have an essay due in and they have forgotten. Or they have to deliver a presentation, they stand up in front of everyone, only to find out that they are completely naked.

This last one is an increasingly regular dream of mine only for me it's that I turn up to my wedding, half dressed and covered in mud before the assembled congregation starts to laugh.

The worst part of this is the scorn that Ariadne shows me in that dream.

I also have a recurring nightmare about Francesca screaming. Sometimes she screams that I let her down, sometimes she's calling for help, but most times she just screams in terror and agony.

Pleasant stuff.

But during this period of dreaming, I had several recurring dreams. Neither pleasant, sad, pleasurable or frightening. One was where I was floating through a field of stars. I could see giant balls of flaming light in the distance that kept me surprisingly warm. The thing that I found so surprising was about how peaceful it was. It was so very quiet there as I floated, like taking a midnight swim in a still lake while staring up at the stars. I turned in place and saw a giant crystalline structure. It was absolutely huge, so vast that I could kind of feel my brain kind of sliding off the entire concept.

Then I realised that there was something moving around inside the crystal. Moving around in confinement, not uncomfortable but kind of squashed in.

Then it blinked at me.

There was another dream where I stood on top of a mountain. I couldn't tell where but I was completely naked. There was a storm and the wind and the rain tore at my flesh but I didn't feel cold. Lightening flashed in the sky and it highlighted a shadow. As though there was a huge, hooded giant standing above me, blotting out the sky and all of existence.

Another dream that I was still “working” for Jack. That he was coming for me, that he was following me round and killing everything and everyone that surrounded me in a series of grizzly murders. Everyone that I have met, shaken hands with, touched, bought things from or even brushed against in the street. Just calmly and methodically working through them all as though it was some kind of list that he had to strike the names off. I caught him and confronted him with what he was doing. He laughed and said. “It is a kindness really, what you are doing to them is so, so much worse.”

I woke up in a cage. I primarily remember that it took a long time and that it hurt like the devil. It was not the first time that I've ever had the very special feeling of realising that I've shit myself.

I groaned. I was trying for words but nothing came out. I felt two pairs of hands lifting me into the sitting position and the opening of a wineskin at my mouth.

“Drink Freddie,” Kerrass said. “You're badly dehydrated.”

I groaned something more at him. Equally as inaudible.

I could hear Taylor's voice chuckling.

“Just drink Freddie. You need it.”

I did as I was told before taking a bit of time to work myself towards waking up properly. When I did finally manage to open my eyes I groaned again. We were in a cage, covered with some kind of tarpaulin and the reason that I felt sick was that we were moving. I had a good look round, had time to realise just how much I stank and how much the cage stank before I just shook my head.

“Fuck” I said with as much feeling as possible.

“Truly,” Taylor was grinning, “You are an elegant man with a masterful command of language.”

“Fucking Fuck off.” I told him but he just grinned at me, retreating to another corner of the cage. Kerrass pushed the waterskin at me.

“Drink.” He told me.

Silence reigned for a while as I did what I was told. I was thirsty, and hungry now that I came to think about it. We were on a wagon, a cheap one as I could hear the axels grinding against each other. I could also hear the jangling of traces and the beat of horses hooves against the dirt. I thought I could hear the rustling metal sound of moving armour.

“How long have I been unconscious?” I asked.

“Nine days as best as I can tell.” Kerrass said.

I spluttered a load of water about the place. “Nine fucking days?”

“Near as I can tell.”

Taylor was chuckling.

“What have I been doing for nine fucking days?”

“Sleeping,” Kerrass told me. “Also, vomiting and generally carrying on.”

I thought about this for a while. “Hold on, don't you starve to death with no food in that time.”

“You do.” Taylor answered. “It can be done if you're careful and conditioned for it, but you've been fed.”

“How?” I demanded.

Taylor raised his eyebrow. “Do you really want to know?”

I considered this for a moment. Working my jaw around as I sloshed the last of the water down my throat.

“Tube in the throat?” I asked.

“You've done this before then?” Taylor asked.

“He's actually getting quite good at it.” Kerrass responded with a smirk.

Taylor looked thoughtful. “There's a joke here about gag reflexes isn't there. Something about travelling around, and having things forced down your throat but for the life of me I can't think what it is.”

“Fuck off.” I told him again as he crouched there, braced against the corner of the cage, radiating innocence.

“I don't know what you mean.” He protested.

“QUIET IN THERE.” A voice that I didn't recognise from outside the cage. Something metallic crashed against the cloth covered cage, making it ring under the impact. The headache that had begun to lessen, kicked back up a notch.

“And he can go fuck himself an all.” Taylor muttered darkly.

We sat in silence for a while before another question floated to the top of my brain as I moved around with the movement of the cart.

“Kerrass?” I said,

“Yes Freddie.” He said it with the same tone of voice as a long suffering wife.

“Why is it always me that has to shit themselves?”

“An interesting question.” Kerrass said after some time. “Something that I hadn't given much thought to if I'm honest.”

“Loose bowels.” Taylor said. “A man with loose bowels shouldn't be let anywhere near the battlefield for it is well known that they are apt to pee themselves in terror when the enemy comes marching over the hill.”

“Shut your face.” I told him.

“Or when a pretty woman looks at him for the first time.” He continued unabashed.

“Taylor, I swear to the Holy Flame itself that if you don't shut up, right fucking now, I'm going to remove my trousers and under-garments and push them into your face.”

“Why not just throw a nice wet handful at him?” Kerrass asked.

“Because,” I said, tilting my head to one side to consider. “I think it's more of a smear situation than a solid one.”

“Hey, you know what though?” Taylor said looking excited. “I think we might be on to something here. What we do is, when they open the cage we throw Freddie's trousers at our captors and make a run for it while they're still gagging and trying not to throw up.”

“It's not a bad plan as plans go,” Kerrass mused. “The problem with it is that I would then be subjected to Freddie's nakedness and that would be a fate worse than whatever they have in mind for us.”

“And you can fuck off and all.” I told him.

You see all of that. That is what we in the trade call “Gallows humour”. There was no getting away from the fact that we were very probably in a lot of trouble. We were all wearing out clothes but all of our equipment was taken, including our armour, belts, laces and any straps that we might have so we were basically in loose fitting garments as well as being barefoot.

I'd also had my amulet removed. On the one hand that meant that Ariadne would know that something had happened and even now might be mobilising things in order to facilitate a rescue.

Kerrass could still fight, even without his swords, he was still deadly but he was just one man versus an unknown number.

“Nine days?” I asked him. “How are you doing?”

He shook his head and pushed his hands through his hair. “Not great Freddie. Not great.” The hand was trembling.

“You should have saved some of the water for yourself.” I told him but he shook his head.

“Nah, I'll be ok.”

“What's wrong?” Taylor asked.

“Elixir withdrawal.” I told him. “He's still a Witcher but.....a little....less himself.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not really,” Kerrass said. “Just means that I'm going to need to east, sleep and rest a bit more than I normally would.”

“Nine days.” I mused. “Have we been moving all that time?”

“No, we stayed in one place for a while.” Kerrass said. “Somewhere cold and damp so I think a cave of some kind. They took you off at the time and you were somewhere else for an hour or two before they brought you back. You were incredibly weak for a while.”

“You're much more verbose when you're off your elixirs.” Taylor commented.

“Nah.”

“What was wrong with me?” I asked.

“I don't know but I think that they bled you.” Kerrass told me.

“Bled me, why?” I asked before I could catch myself. Never ask a question if you already know that a person doesn't know what's happening.

“I don't know. But people like this never do it for a good reason.”

There was a halt called before an armoured man lifted up the side of the tarpaulin and threw a loaf of bread, a wheel of hard cheese and a few apples at us. We had to scramble to catch them so that they didn't land in all of the human filth on the floor of the cage. The man was wearing Cavill colours.

We ate for a while and I realised that I was famished.

“What do you reckon?” I asked after a while. “Taking us somewhere to kill us?”

“Nope,” Said Taylor. “If they were going to kills us, why not just get it over with and dump us in a ditch. At most they could take us off for a day, two at most before giving us the old Temerian smile.” He grinned savagely.

“A Temerian smile?” I asked.

“Yeah, Jenkins taught me it. It's when you cut a man's throat from ear to ear. Looks like a smile from the right angle.”

“Or the wrong angle.” Kerrass commented, taking a huge bite out of an apple.

“But I reckon that they'll sell us as slaves. Still a roaring slave trade in Nilfgaard or they could send us across the sea. The Ofieri still use slaves don't they?”

“They do.” I said. “But they're a lot more tolerant of their slaves than Nilfgaard is. Also, how does someone like you know about the Ofieri?”

“You learn a thing or two in the army sir.” He said with a grin.

“Lying toe-rag.”

“It's not slaves.” Kerrass said as he finished off the apple. Core and all. “If we were being sold as slaves we would have gone down the hills towards the river or the sea so that we can be transported properly. We've actually been taken up, towards a higher altitude.”

“They could be taking us over the mountains towards Kaedwen to bring us down to the south that way.” Taylor argued but he wasn't convinced.

“Nah, It would be Ofier.” Kerrass said. “To get to Zerrikania they would have to get us across Kaedwen, Aedirn and Some of Nilfgaard. They would never make it as Kerrass and I are too well known in those parts. No, if it was slaves it would be down towards the sea. Something else is going on here.”

We started moving again shortly after that.

We started to play a game as we moved. The object of the game was to get as close as we could to the guards yelling at us to keep the noise down and shouting at us or striking the cage, without actually getting them to do that. The person who caused that final tip over the edge towards an outcry from the guards was considered to have lost a point and we would jeer at each other and crack jokes at each other's expense. It was clear by now that the guards threats were mostly empty and that we were being kept for something else at the end of our path. So we had decided, without discussing it or talking about it, that we would enjoy each other's company for a while.

The sun kept us well lit under the canopy although it was tricky to tell which way we were going, the tarpaulin wasn't so thin that we could see the shape of the sun and I gather from the temperature that it was a fairly overcast day. It was dim and we could see to move around and things. The road that we were following climbed up a slope, meaning that we had to hold on to the bars of the cage in order to keep ourselves standing upright before we reached some kind of plateau. It was getting colder and the light was beginning to dim and I assumed that it was getting late in the day. We had reached some kind of track and it felt as though we were picking up speed. The wagon wheels would occasionally jar up as they crashed against the walls or well worn ruts.

All told we had been travelling for a few hours before we came to a halt. Abruptly, the sky outside the wagon went dark and the temperature dropped noticeably. We were sloping downhill now. The light seemed to grow again and I could smell burning oil as well as wood smoke and damp. The wagon leant to one side as the thing was steered into a corner.

I had felt the fear during the journey but then it began to flicker again, scrabbling at the base of my throat like some kind of wild and untamed monster.

Anger, that was the answer. I had been given this anger, as a gift, or as a curse and now I had to use it, to harness it in some way.

The tarpaulin was pulled off and even though the light was still dim, I blinked in the firelight.

We were in a cave, although that word doesn't quite do it justice. More like a cavern. There were many torches, fire bowls and baskets all around the place and every man there seemed to be carrying another flaming brand.

For men there were. Lots of them. So many that I couldn't count them. Someone hit the cage near where I was standing and I flinched, both from the impact and the noise that it generated.

People started shouting, loud, dissonant voices clamouring for my attention. I still had a bit of a headache despite the food and water that I had eaten earlier and I winced, the light seeming to stab at my eyes.

There was another loud crash and it was a moment before I realised that one of the walls of the cage had opened. The volume of the shouting only seemed to increase though as long poles, the butts of spears started to be pushed through the bars of the cage jabbing us in the backs, necks and legs. I had no idea what they were shouting at us but one word seemed more and more fitting.

“Out,” and it seemed that that was the general sense of the order that they wanted us to follow.

Taylor went first. What he had doubtless intended to be a quiet and controlled dismount from the side of the wagon ended up turning into a stumble and eventual fall to his knees given the extra little push that he was given by a helpful thrust of a pole.

Kerrass went next. Grabbing at the pole that pushed at him and yanking at it causing the volume of all of the shouting to increase. He seemed satisfied though as a horrible grin crossed his face. It was the kind of grin that normally promised that violence would soon be committed.

“THAT'S ENOUGH,” bellowed someone. The noise seemed to abate a little and certainly the poking and prodding from the various people abated abruptly but the owner of the voice was dissatisfied. “I said that THAT'S ENOUGH.”

A Large man approached. The voice was educated, trained and he seemed to dominate the area through force of personality. He was wearing a long, cowled robe although for now his hood was down. He had enough of a family likeness to Lord Cavill for me to assume that he must be some kind of nephew.

“Show some respect.” He hissed at the gathered guards who were abusing us before abruptly stepped backwards. I was under no illusions that we were being rescued though. The robe was of a similar cut to the ones that the “Hounds of Kreve” wore, although it struck me as being of richer cut with better fabric. Certainly the carriage of the man that we were dealing with was much more commanding.

Also, the fact that behind him was a row of eight crossbowmen with levelled weapons pointing at us made things very clear.

“Gentlemen.” the figure said. “Please,” he gestured for us to come out of the wagon. Kerrass grimaced before stepping down. I was a little more wobbly.

“Yes, they told us that you might be a bit weaker Lord Frederick.” The figure said. “I would offer you my hand to help you rise but I suspect that you would scorn the offer.”

I ignored him. I should probably have been more polite, or made some kind of statement by allowing him to help me. Some kind of way of tying myself to him but it didn't occur to me at the time. In the end though, it was Kerrass that helped me to my feet.

“You men have work?” He snapped at the guards. They didn't stay to answer. He merely scowled at them as they fled.

The crossbowmen didn't waiver though.

“Now then,” the man turned to us. “I know you feel nothing but anger and hate towards me and mine. I will even go so far as to suggest that I even understand it.”

“How can you understand it?” Taylor began.

“Never the less.” The man went on, ignoring the question. “I want to thank you for your sacrifice, and know that I will always remember you.”

“Wait, what?”

“Now if you'll follow me please?”

“Hang on.” I said, “what's this about a sacrifice?”

“Just that.” He told us, “it's just that I don't often get to talk to the sacrifices. Now please, this way.”

The three of us looked at each other, I can't speak for Kerrass or Taylor but I was feeling utterly lost. There are many questions that I could have asked then I suppose, quite a few questions, in fact, that might have given us more of a clue as to what was happening. Maybe we could have done something then but instead I said....

“Who are you?”

“Ah,” he bowed in a style that wouldn't have been out of place in the Imperial court. He used the Redanian form of a bow, I noticed. “My name is Arthur. Son of Lord Cavill.”

“We met his son.” Taylor began. Kerrass was just watching.

“Yes, look, do you mind if we talk while we walk. You see, Father won't punish me, rather he'll punish one of the other slaves and....” he shrugged.

“Who are you?” I asked again. My brain didn't seem to be able to get past the question. But Kerrass had another one.

“And what do you mean by “other slaves.”

He smiled, honestly apologetically, and gestured for us to follow him.

“What's to stop us not following you?” Taylor asked. “What's to stop us making a break for it?”

He turned and for a moment I saw something hard in his face. “Please believe me when I tell you that I hold none of you in any kind of ill will. However, I would have thought that the threat in the presence of the crossbowmen was rather implicit.”

I felt my eyebrows rise in surprise at the vocabulary.

Kerrass shrugged. “I'm a Witcher. It is well known that Witchers can parry bolts in flight.”

“Interesting.” Said Arthur. “I had heard such stories, however, in the stories that I have heard, they need swords to do so and it is generally only against one bowman. Can you parry six?”

“There are eight men here.”

“Yes, I thought that one each would be sufficient for the soldier and the nobleman's son.”

Kerrass shrugged and stepped forward.

It seemed that we were following Arthur then.

Is it odd to find that you like your enemy? Even to feel pity for him. He was all but wearing the outfit of the men that had tormented the villages in Kalayn lands. He was obviously strong and moved with balance and poise. He was wearing gloves but they were worn away in exactly the right areas for a trained swordsman. He was charming, well-spoken and articulate. Apologetic for our hurts and discomforts and answered our questions politely.

He was also, utterly, utterly insane. Perhaps damaged might have been the better word to use for this but there was some kind of problem with the mechanism that existed behind his eyes.

“So.... Who are you?” I insisted as we walked. He laughed at me although it didn't seem particularly cruel.

“Normally I would enjoy some kind of philosophical debate about the nature of labels with someone of your obvious intelligence and education My Lord,” he told me with a smile, “But as we're here now, I suspect that the more pertinent information that you require is that my name is Arthur. That's it. Not surname, no “of” somewhere. Just Arthur. I am the eldest living of Lord Cavill's sons although I will never inherit on the grounds that I am illegitimate having been born of one of the sacrifices and therefore am fit only for a life of service towards the God.”

“Which God?”

He frowned as though I had asked a stupid question. But then he laughed. “Yes, of course, I forget. I had been told that you people from outside the blessed sanctuary follow different powers. I serve the God, the ultimate God. The unknowable one, the unnamable, the Master.”

I glanced at Kerrass who was looking around carefully, probably trying to remember the way out. Taylor shrugged at me.

“Sorry,” I said. “I've never heard of it.”

“Would that I could take the time to induct you into the mysteries.” He told me, clapping me on the shoulder companionably. I honestly think that the gesture was genuine. “But, alas you are to be the sacrificed which means that you will meet the God long before I will.”

I stared at him,

“So you are Lord Cavill's eldest living son?” I asked.

“Eldest illegitimate son.” He corrected. “I would never presume on my brother's rank or status. He is far, far above me in the ranks of both the worship and the world. He is better than me in every way and I will be honoured to serve him, just as I am honoured to serve our father.”

I stared at him for a long time, trying to detect any hint of irony or mocking. But his large, handsome face seemed entirely innocent.

“He is the only remaining legitimate son now.” He went on. “Long may he survive.”

“Would your father not adopt you, should he die. Such things happen you know.”

His mouth twisted in distaste. “Ooh no. I am aware that you were born in unholy lands but such things would be wrong. I am illegitimate, child of a sacrifice, my blood is not pure. How could I rule? Anyway.” He smiled happily. “I am content to serve.”

“But....But your brother's a moron.”

You ever have one of those things that you're just so desperate to say that you can't possibly hold it in any more. You know that it won't solve anything and that it might possibly make the problem worse, but at the same time, it's so true that the person that's going to hear it needs to hear it. This despite the fact that you know you're being rude and offensive and you know that the person may never forgive you.

But you've just gotta say it.

It's like telling your best friend that the man that's courting her, that she's falling in love with is an ass-hole. It's something that just needs saying and then it just bursts out of you one time when you're not really prepared for it.

This was like that.

The poor man was caught in some kind of existential crisis as I said it though. As though I had confronted him with a truth. He knew that truth and he had always known that truth but at the same time, he couldn't possibly admit that truth.

He was also a painfully honest man. If it hadn't been due to the circumstances I would have even assessed him as a good man and he didn't want to admit fault in even the worst of cases.

“My brother....” He began as though it was causing him actual physical pain to speak. “My brother has a lot on his mind.” He began to feel as though he was on safer ground. “He is now the sole heir to our Father's seat and as such he is under a lot of pressure.”

“You....you pity him?” I was appalled.

The man winced.