A Scholar's travels with a Witcher

by Spike368

Sent out to gather the knowledge of the real world. A young scholar from the University of Oxenfurt finds a wounded Witcher on the steps to the inn where he was staying. So he starts gathering the material for his journals. Rated T for language I will be publishing this story on Royal Road /profile/349358

142. Chapter 142

(Warning: This chapter gets bleak. Contains descriptions of physical injuries.)

There are some things in life that we know to be certain.

We know that water is wet, ice is cold, fire is hot and that the sun will always, always rise in the morning.

But there are other truths as well. Things that we take for granted as people. Small, childish truths that we just take to be the case, no matter what happens in the world. Things that the small child that lives in the back of our skulls insists are true, no matter how hard the rest of us try and convince it that that isn't the case.

Those truths are the ones that define us. They define a lot about the way we act, the way we behave, the way that we speak and think. And there is nothing that has the power to shake our reality as much as when one of those truths turns out to be untrue. Not always a lie, because that suggests that people have told you something different. But a truth that you have taken on to yourself.

Examples of these things might include a sure knowledge that this person or that person is absolutely your friend, that they would never lie to you or betray you in any way, until you come round the corner one day and find them kissing the person that they know you have feelings for. Another would be a person who you absolutely believe to be truthful. Someone who would never lie to you. Not ever. And then you find out that they have been lying to your face since the moment that they first met you.

Everyone has examples of this kind of thing. Some of them go back as far as childhood. There are logical and illogical ones as well. The moment where a parent promises that they will never abandon you and that they will always be there for you when you need help. And yet, when you do need help they yell at you for making foolish mistakes, sleeping with the wrong person or spending money that you don't have.

In that instance, the truth is that they are being there for you, just not in the way that you necessarily want.

A more tragic example might be that, growing up you think of your father as being this giant bear of a man. Amazingly strong, incredibly fast and physically powerful to the point that it never occurs to you that this man might be toppled by anything. There might even be anecdotal evidence that proves this. Your friends might tell stories about how, one day, a tree fell on him or he got struck by lightning. That he was hit by a runaway horse or wagon and that he emerged from a drunken tavern brawl with twelve other men and emerged unscathed.

Then one day he gets sick or injured and the tall, broad, strong man that you remember lifting you up so that you can ride on his shoulders, is reduced to a tottering, doddering, weak old man that needs help to get too and from the outhouse.

I can relate to this. I did not expect my father to die. I had always pictured him in his study, fingers steepled together as he frowned in thought.

My often mentioned, but strictly never named friend from university told a story about how his father had bought him a toy wagon with a carved wooden horse. The wagon was cleverly made by a dwarven artisan so that the wheels turned in tune with the way that the horse's legs moved. Apparently, the wheels would regularly break off and he would take the toy to his father and hold the different pieces aloft and demand in a loud, toddler voice "Daddy fix". His father would, without fail, take the wagon and push the wheel back into place until it would act as it was supposed to again.

Then one day he broke one of the horse's legs in a more serious accident and the entire contraption fell apart. He took the different pieces to his father and held them up and in a wavering voice asked "Daddy fix?" and his father was forced to admit to the now sobbing child that the toy could not be fixed.

My friend, who would not be out of place in Skellige as he is tall, blond, muscled and handsome, choked up as he told the story and admitted that it was the first time that he realised that his father was not able to do everything. It broke his young heart.

Emma tells a different story about how her world was shaken. For her, it was a time early on when she started to work for our father. She was only young at the time, her words not mine, and she was just starting to make recommendations to him. She made a recommendation that she knew was right, she knew that it would make the trading company a lot of money. In her, then, naivete, she believed that she would be listened to on an equal footing to the other people in the room. Unfortunately, one of the other people in the room was Edmund. And everyone laughed as Emma made her opinions known while praising Edmund's attempts, which Emma knew would lead to financial loss.

Our father chose Edmund's plan.

And when it failed, as Emma had known that it would, people were conciliatory to Edmund for the failure saying things like "It happens to everyone," and "There is no such thing as a certain bet on the trading markets," and the one that caused Emma to lose her temper which was "No-one could have seen it coming."

She yelled out "I saw it coming and I told you all at the time."

And Father yelled at her for lying.

With the cold benefit of hindsight it is easier to see what happened and Emma admits this. It would not have been acceptable for Father to support his daughter over his eldest son at the time. The other people in the room would have objected to a "girl" being consulted and trusted in such a matter. And Father was also in the process of trying to teach lessons to Edmund that he, and Emma for that matter, found simple and easy to follow.

But it hurt Emma profoundly and, she says, still affects her to this day.

Her pain is not helped by the fact that Edmund caught her later that day and after he was inappropriate with her and her maid, he made a point of breaking one of Emma's favourite toys before blaming Emma for it. For those people wondering, Emma was twelve.

When we were discussing this topic over a breakfast conversation the other day, another one that she brought up was the moment where Kerrass told her that I had killed people. Apparently, and supported by Laurelen, it took her a long time to come to terms with the fact that her little brother had killed several men in defence of himself and others. She was still struggling to think of me as anything other than the little boy who's cuts and bruises that she had to clean up and bind after a particularly gruelling session in the training yards. But to learn that I was now a killer and a fighter? She found that intensely difficult.

I have had several of these over the course of my life. The first one that I can remember is the moment that I realised that my big sister didn't know everything. As I have said before, Emma all but raised me. In many ways, she was my mother. It was her that I ran to when I had hurt myself or after Edmund had bullied me or Mark had given me what I considered to be a massively unfair penance in return for a relatively minor transgression.

It was her that I took my problems to and my questions and queries too. And one day I had a problem that my tutor had set that I didn't understand. I can't even accurately tell you what the problem was or what the thing was talking about. But knowing Emma, like I do, it was almost certainly a matter of History or Science of some kind. But I do have the most vivid memory of handing her the piece of paper that had the question that I had been set written on it and she looked at it, looked at me, looked back at the paper before shrugging in an offhand way and saying "I'm sorry Freddie, but I don't know."

She then couldn't understand why I had been inconsolable for quite as long as I ended up being. It wasn't until years later when she asked that I was able to tell her exactly what had happened in my head that day. After which she was, of course, mortified. The explanation for her casual and thoughtless cruelty was that although she is mumblemumble years older than me, she was still not an older and experienced woman herself. And anyone who passed us on the street would not mistake us for anything other than children.

There are other moments that occur to my mind when I think about this as well. It's not just that one. Many of these moments are ones that I have talked about in past articles. The realisation that I wasn't going to find Francesca was one of them. I am still dealing with the aftermath of that and I will probably be doing so for the rest of my life. There are others as well.

To be clear, I'm not talking about the other transformative moments. I'm not talking about the beast of AAmber's crossing or the moment where Ariadne took the engagement ring from my hands. I'm talking about those moments where my settled understanding of existence has been shaken down to it's core.

Another example was the moment when I read that my father was proud of me. That shook me profoundly. Oddly though, finding out that my sister preferred the romantic and erotic company of women was not one of them. I remember that more as a moment where a lot of disparate facts came together in one moment and suddenly made sense in a way that they hadn't before.

I talk about this because another truth has been shattered for me and even as I write these words. I can sincerely say that I was shaken to my very core with what happened.

I have said, many times in fact, that I love Kerrass like a brother. I will also echo something else that I have said many times which is that in many ways, I love him more than I love either of my surviving brothers. I'm sorry to be a giant cliche, but the two of us have been through too much together. Kerrass was there when I met Ariadne, he helped the two of us get together in the first place. He was there when I learned about my father's death and he was there when we learned about Francesca.

I have stood with Kerrass in places that I could not have imagined when I set out. I have stood on the decks of a Skelligan Longship and on the top of Sleeping Beauty's castle. He has rescued me from torture of the body and soul and I have seen him fight more monsters and more men than I could have ever even dreamed of.

He is my hero. He has been through more than any of us could imagine. Not least of which was the very process that turned him into a Witcher in the first place. He has lost multiple women that he has loved as well as being tormented by the fact that he cannot have the woman that he loves the most.

Even though the reason that he can't have that one is entirely self inflicted but that's a conversation for a different time.

He has been through injury and indignity unimaginable in a world that, although attitudes towards Witchers are mellowing out, the world still hates him as being something alien, something… other than themselves. He is hated and feared in equal measure. And every time he gets close to someone, he is sure to live long enough to see them die.

All the while he is fighting off his own madness and despair as he tries, every day, as he struggles to take just one more monster down. Just one more so that the people of the continent that fear and despise him might be that little bit safer.

He is… so much to me. An indomitable hero, an unmatched fighter. And a good friend.

And my world was shaken to its very core when I saw something happen that I never thought I would see. Something so utterly alien to my imagination that when it happened, even as it happened, I didn't believe the evidence of my eyes.

It never occurred to me. Never. Not even in my wildest nightmares. It never occurred to me that I would see him lose a sword fight.

I have seen Kerrass fight with fists, feet, head, knees, elbows and when all else failed, he used his teeth to tear the fucker's ear off.

It was a whole thing.

I've seen him display expertise with swords of varying length, daggers, knives, axes… again of varying length, spears, lances, hammers, maces, crossbows, staffs, staves, clubs… I once saw him fend off an attacking inn patron, who thought that Kerrass was making eyes at his woman, with a fork. While the other guy had a broadsword in his hand. I've seen him skewer a rat with an unbalanced bread knife… I say skewer, I think he more bludgeoned the poor thing to death rather than actively cutting it given the balance and the woeful lack of edge.

And he did it in the dark. So I hope that I can be forgiven for being utterly taken aback when Kerrass was beaten with a sword.

And what made the episode all the worse for me was that he knew it was going to happen.

That might be wording it a bit strongly. But what he had been told, over and over again by people who had seen him fight and seen Alain fight, was that Alain was the best man with a sword that Toussaint could muster. The very best. The actual quote was that the only person that could beat Alain reliably in a fight with a sword was Lord Geralt, and even then, Lord Geralt would need to keep his wits about him to ensure that he wasn't caught out.

Why is that important? Because Kerrass himself acknowledges that Lord Geralt is by far the better swordsman out of the two of them. So if Geralt needed to be on form and be careful. Why did Kerrass think he could win?

Everyone told him what was going to happen. Everyone did. Including me. But the bastard went and did it anyway. Through some kind of sense of misplaced desire for justice. But not even that really. Justice was coming for Alain, we all knew that. One way or another, we had more than enough evidence and testimony to put Alain away, even if he was the only member of the conspiracy that we could definitely take down.

Nor can he really claim that he needed to provide a distraction for the guards and the Knights to go out and perform their searches. There were a thousand and one ways that that distraction could have been provided just off the top of my head.

It was the arrogance of the thing. He wanted Alain's justice to be at the tip of his, Kerrass', sword. Despite both Syanna's and the Duchess' stated desire that justice would need to be seen to be done. He just felt that his justice, his wrong, was more important than everyone else's. And he had been so furious when our situations had been reversed and he had made me take my time in waiting for my, oh so desired, justice to be delivered.

And in that courtroom, in the heart of Beauclair, when he turned back to me, he did so with a smile on his face. This smug expression of victory was soooo… Aggravating that I desperately wanted to wipe that smirk off his face with my fists.

I have been angry with Kerrass before. I have been hurt, disappointed, scared and everything in between at the hands of the Witcher from the Cat school. But I think I can truly say that that was the angriest I've ever been.

I have the distinctness memory of that moment as he turned towards me. The people around the court exploded into a chorus of whispers and mutters that grew and grew and grew until it was almost deafening. It was like the sea coming into the beach although it didn't seem as though the sound was going to break.

Gregoire and Guillaume left me there to face the coming music. I don't blame them, they had work to do. Apart from anything else, it was all but certain that they would be leading some of the coming raids, or at least, they would be leading elements of it. But it meant that as Alain left the courtroom in order to prepare and do… whatever he did in the lead up to a duel, I was left staring at Kerrass' face and that smug, self-righteous smile.

"You stupid bastard." I snarled.

"What?" He grinned and took a deep breath before stretching his hands over his head. "Goddess Freddie but I'm looking forward to this."

"What happens if he wins Kerrass?"

"He won't."

"Kerrass." I all but snapped at him.

"He won't win Freddie. He's a duellist, he's smug, he's overconfident, the crowd will be on my side and I want him so badly. I'm going to win and when I do, his wife will be exonerated. All the men, and the women that he has abused will be avenged."

He actually laughed before continuing.

"Goddess Freddie. Do you know how rare an opportunity this is? Here is an honest to Goddess monster. A real son of a bitch that deserves everything that I am going to do to him. He deserves it. I am in the right and I am going to fillet him. A real monster. Not some beast or some animal that has had the misfortune to be born in a place where humanity wants to build one of their stinking little villages. Not a rock troll that has the bad grace to call a cave that contains a rich gold bearing vein, his house.

"Not some werewolf that was accidentally cursed by a jealous lover or the spirit of a woman that was murdered on the morning of her wedding for not having the grace to appear grateful when the local lord demanded his rights. This is a real monster. A bad man. A rapist, abuser and murderer and I am going to fight him, humiliate him and then I am going to kill him in front of witnesses."

"But what if you lose Kerrass?"

"I'm not going to lose."

A man approached the pair of us.

"Excuse me." He said. "Your companion is quite correct. My friend, Lord Moineau is a very skilled swordsman. He has taken lessons in Temeria from Brasidas and from the Nilfgaardian capital from Carlinus."

"Those are big names." I said. And they are. Those of you that follow duelling as an art form and a sport will have heard of both men. Sir Brasidas has retired from active competition now but is still enough of a tutor to be able to be selective about the students that he teaches and is more than skilled to defeat anyone that he meets. He is to the blade what Sir Morgan would have been to the lance if he had the ability to be more graceful in his retreat from the sport.

Carlinus is a champion still in Nilfgaard. He would be more famous than he is but he has a terror of travelling. He likes his routine and as such, only competes in tournaments that take place within the capital city itself. If he was able to travel, then he would have been world famous.

"Well." Kerrass said. "He will take lessons in Beauclair from me. I must go and prepare. I take it that you are here to represent the wretch?"

The man nodded. He was tall, handsome, dark haired and well tanned. He was dressed fashionably but tastefully in a reserved style. He was the kind of man that knew what kind of clothes suited him and refused to move with the fashions accordingly. He had an easy smile and a well groomed goatee on his face. He was also missing his right hand.

"Allow me to present myself…"

Kerrass waved him off. "I don't care. Freddie will act for me won't you Freddie?"

It was the off-handedness that offended me. It stung that he would put me in this position. That he just assumed that I would be part of this and help him out when I utterly disagreed with what he was doing. He just assumed that I was going to fall in line and what really hurt. What really stuck in my throat was that he was right.

That didn't mean that I was going to let him get away with it completely unscathed though.

"Oh I will will I?" I demanded, with more than a little heat. "And why would you think that I would do that Kerrass? Why would you think I would support you in this foolishness."

"Come on Freddie." He scoffed. "You can't tell me that the bastard doesn't deserve to die."

"Oh he does." The other man agreed, taking out a snuff box. "But he won't. Not at your hands." He offered the box to me with a companionable air. "When he does die, none will cheer louder than myself. But it will not be in a duel."

He took a pinch himself and inhaled it before sneezing massively.

"Alain will die, murdered in his sleep by an angry father or husband. Or he will fall from his horse or die as part of an accident, or as part of an "accident" if you follow. But in the duelling ring. You won't kill him. No-one will. Not until age starts to catch up to him and he has a few years on that yet."

He sneezed again.

"Heh." Kerrass snorted at the words. "He will be beaten and I can do it. So are you going to help me Freddie, or do I need to get someone else to do it." He wasn't really asking and we all knew it. Just as we all knew what was going to happen.

I looked, I searched Kerrass' face for some kind of sign that he knew what he was getting into. That there was some kind of realisation that he had made a mistake. But all I could see was the joy of a man that has gained his heart's desire.

"Of course I'll help." I snarled at him. "And when he guts you I want to be close enough to tell you that I told you so before you bleed out into the dirt, you stupid selfish fucker."

Just for a moment, I thought that I could see my despair and my surety as to what was going to happen, hit Kerrass somewhere. Just for a moment, I thought I could see some form of doubt and fear strike a nerve. But then it was gone.

"I will leave you to it then." He said. "Freddie can speak for me." Then he turned and left. Stopping to shake a few of the hands that were offered to him.

"I have something stronger than snuff if you prefer." The strange nobleman told me offering a small flask. "This is not the first time I have witnessed that kind of argument."

I considered it for a moment before taking the flask.

"Sip it." The man advised. "It's powerful stuff."

I spluttered. It was indeed powerful.

He laughed. "Let's start again. My name is D'alambourd and I act as second to Lord Alain. You'll forgive me for not shaking hands." He held up the stump on the end of his right arm as evidence. "I know who you are of course and I heartily recommend you get your man to apologise."

He took a much larger drink from the flask himself.

"I have so many questions." I said a little weakly.

"I have heard that about you." He said as he took me by the arm companionably and steered me towards the wall. "But first, let me find you something to lean against and preferably sit upon. I am forced to inform you that for an attractive man, you look positively green around the edges."

"It's been a long few days."

"I can imagine." He said, taking a large swallow from his own flask that didn't seem to bother him. "Or rather I can't which is the most obvious truth." He sniffed.

"So can I ask my first question?"

"Please." My new friend caught a passing servant that was carrying a tray of drinks, passed me a fruity drink before taking one the deep burnished brown of something that spoke of hardened alcohol.

"You don't seem to like Lord Moineau." I began.

"Can't bear the man." He said happily before he stopped and peered at me. "Sorry, was that the question?"

"So why are you doing this. Seconds are supposed to be friends aren't we?"

He laughed. "Yes, well. It's a matter of honour you see. I owe friend Alain my life by simple virtue of him having the right to kill me and then only crippling me instead." He held his hand up as evidence. "My punishment for my arrogance, in thinking that I could challenge a Knight of his strength, is that I must now see him punish every other poor bastard who comes along in the same vein. I largely think he did that because no-one else will be his second any more."

"What happened?" I asked.

"Are you going to have all this printed up?" He asked in excitement.

"Almost certainly."

"Excellent. Just be sure to make sure you're far away when you do. He will challenge you for it and then I will have to lie and claim that you must have found it out from other sources." He spoke with a certain amount of relish.

"I don't think that will be a problem." I told him.

"Ooohhh." His eyes widened with fascination. "I sense gossip. I do so love gossip. No, don't tell me. I would rather find out on my own."

"So what happened between the two of you?" I wondered.

He looked to his left and to his right in the most comical overexaggeration of a man looking for spies around every corner that I rather thought that anyone who had been watching would automatically be aware that secrets were about to be exchanged.

Then he led me out onto the balcony and into the open air. I was actually surprisingly grateful for that, the fresh air was like a knife that cut through the woolen blanket that had seemed to wrap my brain, to its detriment.

"It was about my sister." He said. "He decided that he wanted her and when she had the temerity to turn him down, repeatedly, he made a public fuss, spreading lies and all kinds of horrible rumours about her, him, him and her, me, me and her, me and him, my wife, my wife and him, my wife and me and her and him all at the same time."

I winced in sympathy while also trying not to laugh. He had that trick of story telling that he could talk about things that must have been absolutely awful while at the same time, making them sound really really funny. His delivery was lightning fast, utterly without shame and a joy to listen to.

"So naturally," he carried on. "I was not without talent with a rapier and I challenged the blaggard. The result was inevitable. My sister pleaded for my life and given that the only witnesses to the duel were my friends and his as well as my sister and my wife. The arrangement for why my life would be preserved was of the rather obscene nature."

He sighed unhappily.

"Afterwards, my sister lost her engagement to another friend of mine who was rather more understanding than I would have been if our circumstances had been reversed. I managed to arrange for her to marry a Northern Lord in Kovir and Poviss."

He pronounced the name of the twin Kingdoms as KovirandPoviss.

"I lost my hand, a good portion of my honour, and I was also forced to extend a permanent invitation to the wretch of a man to attend my parties whenever he chooses."

"That doesn't sound… what's so special about your parties."

He laughed. "We are both Gentlemen I hope Lord Frederick?"

"I would like to think so although I would say that the term has many different applications and such things are often in the eye of the beholder."

He laughed. "I like that. I shall use it. But being frank on the matter. My wife and I do not have the most… conventional sexual tastes. And occasionally we like to throw parties where she, and I, can explore such things with other like minded individuals and friends who might want to try a bit of a walk on the other side of the street as it were."

"I see." I was overcome with curiosity and embarrassment in equal measure.

He looked at me shrewdly. "I think it might be a little bit beyond your tastes Lord Frederick. Obviously you would be most welcome but I think you would need to work up to it. Your betrothed on the hand might enjoy it from an onlooker's perspective if everything you have written about her is true."

My mouth did that thing where it started talking without my consciously deciding to allow the matter.

"She is insatiably curious about such things." I said.

"Well," he went on. "When all of this is over and whatever gossip you are withholding about friend Alain has come to pass, I shall extend an invite. I make it a point to remain cordial, if not friendly, with those friends of the men that Alain ruins. That is my real punishment, you see."

"I'm afraid I don't…"

"The loss of a hand has actually been a blessing in disguise. People don't challenge me and if anyone insults me, better men than Alain fall over themselves to leap to my defence, throwing around phrases like "Insult a cripple would you?" My sister is happy enough and her Northern husband is rich enough, and loves her enough, that she wants for nothing. And the unique things about my parties means that I can control exactly how much enjoyment friend Alain has at such things. Truth be told, I would have invited him just to see him being… well… I shall leave that to your imagination."

He grinned nastily before moving on.

"The real punishment." He went on. "Is that I must act as his friend in these matters of honour when the truth is much more towards the fact that I wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire and I passed him in the street."

"That's… rather vivid." I told him.

"True though." There was a sudden steel in his voice. It was suddenly all too believable that this man had once been a skilled and feared duellist.

"But still." He stood again and took on the cloak of formality. "Lord Frederick, I hope that you do not take this personally. Indeed, when all of this is over, you would do me the great honour if you and your fiancee would agree to join my wife and I for dinner when this matter of Jack has been dealt with. She would be delighted to meet you both."

"I would be honoured and I will have no doubt that Ariadne will take great delight in embarrassing me with many questions."

He smirked at that.

"But first, we must discuss the matter that I have been sent to discuss." He told me. "My friend is outraged at the accusations that your gentleman has thrown in his face and feels that the only possible way that the matter may be resolved is with the life of your friend being spilled out onto the ground. Having said that, he will accept a full and public apology as well as a guarantee that your gentleman will never stain my friend's presence again. Otherwise we must demand that the duel be fought to the point where one combatant is not able to fight."

"How does your friend feel about yielding? Not that I think my friend will yield but you never know."

I saw him trying not to smirk.

"In my judgement, yielding amounts to being unable to fight any further. But you should be warned that if your man yields, then it will depend on the whim of my friend as to whether or not your friend survives or is forced to apologise or some other kind of punishment."

"Very well." I agreed.

"Further to that." He went on. "As your friend is a being of a magical nature, I must insist on a couple of things. On your honour and the honour of your companion sir, I must demand that no magical tricks be used on my friend. Also, your man must not be allowed any chemical assistance before the bout. I know of Witchers and I know all about the various potions that they might employ to gain themselves an edge."

"I understand." I said. "I feel that I must also insist on light armaments. Your man is better inclined to defend himself with heavy armour whereas mine is better with leather."

"Shall we say bare chested then?" He wondered with a slight smile.

"In this weather? You are giving the advantage to my man again." I said.

"Then we shall say clothing but nothing armoured." D'alambourd agreed with a slight air of disappointment.

"I will also insist that there be medical personnel nearby." I said. "I can provide medically trained Sorceresses."

"So I understand." He considered. "But an agreement must be reached as to the finality of the duel by yourself and me before the Sorceresses are called in. If that extra time results in one man's death or other, then that must be acceptable."

"I understand."

"And if one or other man survives due to magic... I must remind you that the duel is to the death. The Loser must suffer the consequences of their actions. Yielding? Then the life of the loser belongs to the victor to do with as they please. Including to end it if they so desire."

"I understand." I told him. "And I will make that clear to the gentlemen that I represent."

"Excellent." He offered his hand. "Then, no hard feelings Lord Frederick?"

I took the offered hand. "No hard feelings Lord D'alambourd."

"Then I shall see you in the graveyard at dusk." He bowed and turned on his heel.

I waited outside for a little while, taking in the undeniable beauty of the Toussaint countryside. The clouds were beginning to move in and a not small part of me wondered if Kerrass and Alain would be fighting in the rain. I tried to tell myself that this would be another advantage for Kerrass but there was still little hope of that. Alain had chosen the grounds for a reason and I thought that there was much more to it than to just making a point on behalf of having a good line to deliver.

But Toussaint did look beautiful. The clouds were really coming in now and the wind was picking up. At least it was warmer.

I was startled out of my thought process by the sound of clattering hooves and I was able to look down to see Damien riding out of the palace with a pair of guardsmen at his heels. It was not unlike being slapped in the face with the fact that there were other things to do and that other things were moving that needed my attention and I turned to go back to them.

I returned to the meeting room to find it to be a hive of activity. People were running in and out and shouting. Kerrass was in the corner doing some gentle stretching. You know the kind of thing, he was rotating his body at the hips and pulling up his leg so that it bent at the knee and his heel got to his backside.

Syanna saw me first.

"So when is this idiocy taking place?" She asked in a neutral tone.

"Dusk." I said flatly. "And this lunacy is none of my doing." I tried to pitch my voice so that Kerrass would hear me but I think it largely went over his head.

"Dusk." She mused. "Not bad I suppose but it's going to be a rush to get everything in."

Kerrass had either seen me or heard my voice and so he came sauntering over.

"How did it go?" Syanna asked me, ignoring the Witcher.

"It went well." Kerrass said. "All eyes were on us so we should have a good audience. Sir Raoul looked a little too thoughtful and contemplative for my comfort though. He seemed to be thinking."

Syanna turned on him slowly. "I was not asking you." She hissed quietly. She is one of those people that is merely scary when she shouts, but the way that you can really tell that she's really angry is when she is quiet. "And just so we're clear. If you rob my sister of her justice. If, by your clumsy sense of romantic bullshit or honour means that Alain gets away then I will hunt you down and have you impaled on a spike. And if you're killed in the process then I will do something unspeakable to your corpse. I will have one of the Sorceresses that hang around Witchers like Flies on shit have you tied into your body using Necromantic rituals and I will have you tied to a pole in the town square so that people can throw rotten eggs and fruit at you."

Kerrass eyes narrowed. "I would remind you that…"

"WHAT IF YOU LOSE?" She bellowed at him. Turns out that she's just as scary when she yells "You challenged him on the grounds that he disgraced his wife by sleeping around and mistreating her. If you lose then according to law and society, it means that Alain was not unfaithful to his wife. She was the one that betrayed him. Which in turn means that he was not the person that was sleeping with Lady Caroline which makes Lady Caroline a liar. She is a woman and underage. Her words will be made lies and she will be disgraced for it."

The room had gone silent as everyone watched.

Syanna didn't have to yell at the room. She just looked at them all and the activity restarted.

"If you lose, you betray her memory as well and she will go into the next world, not as a woman betrayed but as a harlot and a deceiver."

For the first time, I thought I saw something in Kerrass' eyes that suggested that he knew what he had done.

"This is not your country Kerrass." She said. "It's mine and you have allowed your balls to rule your head. You want to prove that you are more of a man than the bastard that mistreated your woman. I understand that, but we were going to do that. Gregoire and Guillaume are, even now, on their way to go and do that. And lest I remind you that you already had all the proof you needed that you were a better man to her than he was. She went to your bed didn't she? She went to you to perform the duties of her man did she not?" She demanded.

Kerrass said nothing.

"We could have used you in that search for evidence and witnesses." Syanna threw her last bolt. "You and Freddie both. We could have used your help. But now among the best trackers and investigative minds that I have are kept from me and kept on the sidelines. If the lack of you, or the lack of Freddie, or your mistimed and noble gesture means that any of these fuckers gets away with it…."

She shook her head.

"You had better hope that you die on the end of his blade."

She turned away from Kerrass in one of those dismissive gestures that must be taught in the same class where they teach that regal, raised eyebrow thing. Kerrass stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. I recognise that stance now. I have worn that expression myself on many different occasions. It is the face of a man who is coming up with and then dismissing different responses and comebacks. It is the face of a man who knows that the other person is right and there is nothing that can be done about it. That in reality there is no arguing their case.

I would have felt sorry for him but the fury was still hot in my blood, even though it was dulled with fatigue.

"Freddie." Syanna had turned to me. "Nothing would make me happier than letting you go back to bed to get a few hours rest but I fear that we still need you. First of all, can you add anything to what Guillaume has reported about what happened in the court after Kerrass said his piece."

I thought for a moment before deciding that honesty was the best policy here. "I will be honest and say that my head was not exactly in courtly mode. I was too busy trying to think about how I was going to keep Kerrass from doing something stupid, and when that ship had sailed I was too busy trying not to slap his smug smile from his face."

She nodded and shook her head. She was disappointed. Not angry.

"This is taking its toll." She said. "We are tired, angry, frustrated and that means that we are making mistakes."

"What did happen?" I wondered.

"Unfortunately," she told me. "Or fortunately if you would prefer Kerrass' point of view."

The man himself had left and was standing looking out a window, a thoughtful expression on his face. He seemed oblivious to the glares that both Syanna and I were sending his way.

"Unfortunately, the ruse worked. Everyone that we are watching or want to watch was absorbed in the spectacle."

"Then why don't you look happy?" I wondered

"There was an exception to that rule."

"Leblanc." I guessed.

"The very one."

"I am not surprised. If anyone is cleverer than we are, it's him."

"Tonlaire and Guillaume agree. That is why Damien has head out so quickly. He is hoping to get to Headquarters and on to the Leblanc lands before word can reach them to start their purge of incriminating stuff. That's not the real fear though."

"Dare I ask what the real fear is?"

She shrugged. "That Raoul figures out what we are doing and warns his compatriots to go to their homes and destroy their own evidence."

"How likely is that?"

"That's not my game. You're the thinker. What do you think he will do?"

"I'm a thinker whose vision keeps flickering out of fatigue." I told her. "Speaking of which," I poured myself a coffee as I considered the question.

"I think." I began cautiously. "I think that he won't care what his friends and comrades do. In fact, I think even saying it like that is wrong. They're not his friends or his comrades. Saying it like that would suggest some kind of feeling of friendship or camaraderie. They are the people that he works with and I would be astonished if he thought of them as being anything different than that. He is also known to hate everyone. He hates me, you, Kerrass and the rest but he also hates the people on his own side just as much. I think he will hang everyone out to dry. I think he will leave them to their fate and if he can possibly do something to twist your nose then he will do that as well."

"What's that going to look like?"

"I have no idea. Something where he will all but admit that he's the perpetrator of all of this while also being able to protest his innocence and have the whole world believe him."

Syanna nodded. "Well you should get some rest. We will need you to assess what we find."

"I won't be able to rest." I snarled at her. "Sorry, Sorry. I'm not angry at you."

"It's alright."

"It's not but thanks for saying it. Everyone tells me that Alain is the best duellist in the Duchy, maybe the world. Kerrass is angry, upset and overconfident." I looked over at my best friend. "He's going to die this evening and I am going to have to stand there and watch it happen. And when it's done, I'm going to have to shake the hand of the man that killed him in order to show that there are no hard feelings."

Syanna put her hand on my shoulder.

"Gregoire and Guillaume are already riding for the Moineau manor." She said. "The instant that they find something they will be riding back to Beauclair so that we can arrest the fucker. In this instance, the justice of the Duchess takes precedence over the revenge of a Witcher. I will stop the duel and take Alain into custody."

"There is so much that can go wrong with that plan." I told her. "Alain strikes me as the kind of man that will take advantage of the distraction to kill his man and claim that he did not hear the warning. You might not find anything and the duel will have to play itself out. Moineau could kill him before they get word back. So much can go wrong with everything that you have just said."

"True." She admitted. "But other than getting my sister to order the duel off…." Syanna considered. "She would do it if I asked, but that would set a dangerous precedent I think. And then, there will be even more evidence that we are just doing all of this in order to get our distraction. And flawed though Kerrass' plan was. It did work for the majority of our suspected conspirators."

"That is not a lot of consolation."

"I know." She took a deep breath. "Still. If you're not going to go and get some rest, I could use you in briefing my team on Temerian thinking."

"What do you mean?"

"Guillaume and Gregoire are leading the efforts to search the Moineau manor. Damien is leading the force that will go into the Leblanc manor and I am leading the team that will take the house of Velles. Of all of them, Velles is a merchant and will therefore be more used to hiding things in places where we don't know where to look. Knights of Toussaint will not believe that anyone would dare to invade their private holdings and search their papers. Lady Tonlaire agrees that if there is any evidence in Moineau manor, or Leblanc manor, then it will not be hard to find. I am not as confident when it comes to Velles. That man is a merchant and therefore he thinks like a snake."

I felt another wave of sadness. I liked Velles and I still, dearly hoped that it would turn out that he was innocent of it all. Unfortunately, it was also true that his involvement in the conspiracy fit with all the other factors.

I set to work. I told a group of very earnest looking Knights and watchmen about how to search in hidden books. How to check the spines of leatherbound volumes and how to look for books that were out of place. A book of prayer amongst a set of erotic novels. A book on history among the works of a poet and a sagamaster, that kind of thing. I spoke of desks, looking behind drawers, behind desks, under desks and rugs. To look for bumps in the walls and on the underneath of chairs. I told them about feeling the mattresses for hard lumps and for looking at differences in depth and volume in trunks.

And it was with a sinking feeling that, as I spoke, it occurred to me that the reason I knew about a lot of these things was because I had worked with Kerrass for so long. Some of those skills came from my historical knowledge, still more from my work with the Royal dispatching service during the war.

But a lot came from watching Kerrass work.

As for the Witcher himself. He had left at some point, he left word that he was going to train, warm up and prepare himself. Looking back now, I wished I had gone with him.

But I worked away and did the best that I could to prepare the teams for what I knew to be coming next. But then, at some point I looked up and I realised that the table that I was sat at was empty. They had all gone about their tasks and I was left alone in the room. It had been a hive of activity, the centre of the brain that we had spent time devoted towards the thinking and defeating of our enemies. And now the room was empty and silent.

I walked to the window that I had seen Kerrass looking out of and gazed out of the same glass. I felt cold and I sighed.

"How is it going?" I asked Ariadne through our link.

"As well as can be reasonably expected." She sent back. "You are angry and sad at the same time. Are you alright?"

I leaned forward and rested my head on the welcome cool of the glass.

"No." I said. "I am tired but I am too energised to sit down. You have heard of Kerrass' foolishness."

"I have." She said gravely. "I was not far off from going down to the graveyard myself. After all, my services might be required and I wanted to be there for you should things go in the direction that a lot of people seem to think that they will."

I grunted at that.

"But why are you so angry?" She wondered.

"He's going to get himself killed." She snorted. "There are so many ways that we could have done this better but he had to go and do it this way. This way where the guilt of his opponent will be in jeopardy if he loses, which he very well might do. This way where he will die and… there were so many other ways it could be done."

"Really? Name one."

"What?"

"If there are so many other ways that your enemies could have been distracted in so short a period of time, name one other way that they could have been distracted. Just one. I will wait."

I got the sense that she was folding her arms.

"Well we could have…" I began and then stopped myself. There would not have been enough time to do that.

"I am waiting," she said sternly.

I tried again, I have no doubt that my face was exactly the same as how Kerrass' own mouth had opened and closed like a fish earlier.

"You can't can you." She said. "Also, while you are thinking about that. I have another harsh truth for you. Honestly, are you surprised at what Kerrass has done? I am not."

I thought about that for a moment and I saw that she was right. I was not surprised. I was shocked, angry, appalled and scared. But I was not surprised.

"Kerrass is a male," she went on. "and although life, experience, illness of the physical and mental variety, Witcher training and oh so much trauma has robbed him of a lot that makes him human. He is still a romantic fool. If you want to wonder why women like men so much, one of the many many reasons is that we like that romance in men. He loved Lady Moineau. He didn't say that aloud, he probably didn't even think that to himself or realise that of himself."

"But the Princess Dorme..." I protested.

"You see." She was not done. "This is another one of those things that human language does not properly encompass. Kerrass loves the Princess. Indeed, it might be true that she is the love of his life. The tragic love affair that never was is a compelling romantic hook. But he also loved Lady Moineau. As I have said before, many times, there are many different kinds of love. Including the romantic kind between men and women. Kerrass loved her, and she loved him too. They were two, very wounded, people who saw in the other a person that was as hurt as themselves and they realised that truth that so many humans miss. That in comforting another, we too are comforted. Being analytical, they would not have been the all encompassing love that lasted a lifetime. But they would have made each other happy for a while and parted on good terms. That is also love.

"So why are you angry?"

And just like that. I saw the answer. "Because I am afraid that I am going to watch my friend die."

"Then you should go to him now and make your peace. Do not part like this. You will regret it for the rest of your life if your worst fear comes to pass. I will fetch his potion case and Laurelen who knows more healing magic than I do and we shall do our best to save lives if the worst comes to it. But if the worst happens, then I will ensure that I, and others, will be there to catch you."

I nodded. She was right. Of course she was right.

"It comes with having nine hundred years experience." She told me. "I love you Freddie. So much."

"I love you too." I said.

"So go and make your peace with your friend."

I found Kerrass outside sharpening his sword. He almost never does that, he almost never needs to. He looked up at me as I approached.

"Are you still angry with me?" He wondered as he examined the edge of the blade.

"Yes." I admitted. "But I don't know for certain if it's you that I'm angry with."

"You should be angry," he told me. He produced a small bottle of blade oil and ran some down the blade. Normally he would have called this a colossal waste of blade oil. Normally he would have poured a small amount of the oil into a cloth before rubbing that into the metal.

Normally.

"It might rain," I commented looking at the cloud coming and having a sniff of the wind. There was certainly damp in the air and if we had been on the road somewhere then I would have been looking for an inn, or a big enough hedge for us to shelter underneath.

"Nah." He said, carefully rubbing the oil into the blade with small circular motions. "If it rains, that will only work to my benefit. He is not a man that will enjoy standing in the rain and he will want to finish things quickly. Not to push the point, but the ground in the graveyard is a little uneven and the rain might make things slippery. Which is again, not something that he will be as experienced with as I am, or that you are for that matter."

He sighed and sighted along the edge of his sword.

"But it won't rain. Not until well after nightfall and unless I miss my guess, all of this is going to be over well before then."

I grunted at that and I stared out over Toussaint. The garden that we were in overlooked the hills and slopes down towards the Tournament field. I had been shown the horse racing track when we had first arrived and as I stood and watched it, workers were pulling covers out and covering the track with canvas cloth to protect vulnerable areas from the coming weather. I snorted at the thought. We couldn't possibly allow something as mundane as the weather to come between the nobility and their idea of entertainment.

"I am sorry Kerrass." I said. "I should have been with you on this. Even when I disagreed with you. Even while I think that you might be walking down to your death. I should have seen how much she meant to you and therefore how much your vengeance, or the hope of your vengeance will have meant to you."

"No Freddie." He said, sighing audibly, even over the wind as he rose and thrust the sword into the scabbard. "No, you were right to be angry. You are right to be angry. I am being a fool. I know it. Both you and Syanna have made it clear and you are both right."

He came and stood beside me to look out over the countryside.

"What I should do." He said after a moment. "Is march to the site of the duel and apologise. I should get down on my knees and beg for his forgiveness and then I should take to horse and ride out somewhere. Maybe get Laurelen or Ariadne to transport me out of Toussaint where I can wait for all of this to blow over. I have arrangements to make for your wedding after all. That is what I should do. It will leave me alive and uninjured to follow my other obligations. It will leave him open to being taken for the crimes that he has definitely committed. It will mean that things will be seen to be done in the correct way. That is what I should do."

"But you are not going to do it." I told him, even as my mind went down that avenue. Even as my imagination rolled through the potential implications of what would happen in the world and the future of that. I could only get so far down that particular tunnel before my mind would just… sheer off to the side of the path. Where I would refuse to believe what I was thinking about. It just wasn't going to happen. I knew it. It was so against my understanding of the way that the world worked that it was clearly ludicrous and I would be lying to myself if I tried to convince myself that that was the case.

"No I'm not." He admitted. "I've tried Freddie. I've really tried. I've been sitting here since it became clear that I was no longer welcome in the inner chambers. I saw that way out of all of this almost immediately. Your tutoring in the subject of politics and courtly plays no doubt."

"No doubt."

"But a little while ago, I realised that I was just not going to do it. That would be too close to giving up for me to be comfortable with it. I am going to go down to the graveyard in a short while. I am going to refuse to apologise or do anything other than to do my very best to kill the bastard. I would prefer to do it as slowly as possible so that the fucker can feel it and know, in the sucking pit of darkness where his noble soul used to live, that it was his wife that was doing that to him. I cannot do anything else. I have tried. I really have."

I said nothing. As is so often the case with these kinds of things, the person wanted to fill the silence and all I could do was to let him. It occurred to me as he spoke that he was grieving. I was once told that there is a process to grief and that there have been books written on the subject. I cannot answer for that and I have certainly never read any of them. But I remember someone saying that one of the parts of grieving is to get angry.

And that was what Kerrass was doing now.

Another one of Kerrass' many lessons on how to fight was that if you go into a fight angry, then the danger of you losing your temper is almost overwhelming and as such, is highly dangerous. So I resolved to just let him get it out of his system.

"I had given up Freddie. The Goddess will be furious with me for admitting that but right now, I don't really care what she thinks which will, oddly, make her a little proud. But I had given up on my vengeance. I had told myself that I would revenge Lady Moineau on her husband when we caught him in his crimes and that I would be able to whisper in his ear as to what was going to happen and who had done this to him. I was not satisfied with that. Even if the Duchess would allow me to be the one to wield the blade, I would just be the final blow that finished the thing, he would have been killed long before that, I would just be the last part of it. That was not me beating him. It would just be my killing him.

"And then we were all sitting there in the room and someone said… I couldn't even tell you who it was. Someone said that we would need a distraction so that all of the eyes of our enemies were on one thing and not on the fact that armed men were leaving the capital. That messages were leaving and going here and there to tell people what was going on and what needed to happen and then…"

He shook his head and when he spoke again, his voice sounded like it was on the verge of cracking.

"

It was as though I could see her face. Oh Goddess Freddie. I could see her and she was smiling at me."

I turned towards him then and I saw a broken man. My friend, my teacher and my brother and he was broken. So I put my arms round him and hugged him as he sobbed for a moment. It wasn't for long.

"I am so sorry Kerrass." I told him.

We stood like that for a moment and I listened to the wind while I waited for him to calm a little.

Then he pulled away. "What do you have to be sorry for?" He demanded, with a touch of his slightly mocking smile. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"No. I know." I said. "But I am still sorry."

He nodded at that. "She was a fling. Just a fling. A warm pair of arms to wrap around me. A soft pair of lips for me to kiss. It was never going to last and we both knew it. That it lasted more than a single night astonished both of us I think. I have lost lovers before. Ones that I have known longer and been more involved with than this one. Good women, beautiful women, kind, generous and strong. But this one…?" He shook his head. "All I can say. All I can admit to is that I don't remember walking into the courtroom. I don't remember anything else other than the immense satisfaction when I smacked the fucker in the jaw. I won't lie Freddie. That felt better than some sex I've had."

"Too much information Kerrass."

He smirked at that and we lapsed into silence.

There was something I needed to say though and I took a deep breath.

"Ariadne," I said carefully. "Thinks that you loved her."

Kerrass took that in silence and tilted his head onto one side. "Maybe." He said. "It would have been nice to have the opportunity to find out."

I nodded to that too. That seemed to be as close to the truth as I was going to get.

"We should get going soon." I said. "I presume you want to be there early?"

He nodded.

"Then I need to say this. And before you get all… "Don't give me that crap Freddie." on me. I would point out that according to everyone that we like and respect in Toussaint, this man is probably the best sword you've faced since the last time you faced Geralt. I can't speak for Letho or any of the others. But this guy is it. So I have to prepare you, to understand that this might be the last time that we get to speak together as friends."

He opened his mouth.

"I swear to the Fire." I snapped. "If you say something overconfident like "He won't get me Freddie." I will slap the silly off your face."

The comment occurred to us both as being funny at the same time and we laughed.

It felt good.

"But if you die down there." I told him. "You should know that it has been a privilege to have travelled with you, and an honour to be your friend. I owe you everything Kerrass."

"Freddie." He said. "Likewise. I do not have the same gift with words that you do. But likewise Freddie. Likewise."

He held his hand out and I shook it.

"Time to go?" I wondered and he nodded, turning and picking up his sword, carrying it in his hand.

It was just before we got to the door that he stopped me.

"Wait." He said. "Just a moment."

"Kerrass, we need to…"

"No, listen to me." He spoke fiercely. "If this fucker gets the best of me. And if he wriggles out of the net that is closing round these fucking scum that have been doing this. If he lives Freddie, you kill him for me. Can you do that?"

I was appalled but then I looked a little deeper and realised that I was also determined.

"We'll get him Kerrass."

"But if you don't." He said. "If he runs or if he gets away with it. You kill him. I don't care how. I don't care if you kill him in his sleep, poison him, set Ariadne on him or what. But you kill him. And if you can, whisper her name in his ear when he dies. Will you do that?"

"I will." I promised. I was also astonished to discover that I meant it as well.

"Kill him for me Freddie."

"I will."

And the pair of us walked to the graveyard.

At some stage, at some point in the future if they haven't already. Someone is going to write a book on graveyards and what they mean for the world. The book is going to analyse what a graveyard is for, why we have them and the way that different religions treat them.

As part of this book, some enterprising scholar is going to look at the different kinds of graveyards around the continent and talk about what they all mean. Why they are the way that they are and what led to them.

I mean not me, I'm not going to do that. I don't really care that much beyond a kind of surface level of fascination. I am, after all, well acquainted with Graveyards in my time travelling with Kerrass.

They don't tend to attract wraiths or spirits as much as you might think. They are attracted to their own remains of course, but in my experience, the angry ones which are the ones that a Witcher is more likely to be employed to deal with, are drawn to the places where they die. The place where the bones lie is still important because the remains often need to be burned to fully and finally dismiss the body. But the spirit itself, the bit that kills random passersby. That is in the place where the death took place, or where the wrong was committed.

As a result of these kinds of hunts, which I will admit I find far more fascinating than the other kind of… monster hunting hunts….

They require more historical research rather than knowledge of the beast in question. And to me, that is just more interesting. I'm a historian for a reason.

… I have spent a rather uncomfortable amount of time digging up graves, standing watch over Kerrass while he digs up graves, breaking into mausoleums, breaking into crypts and rooting through corpse piles than I am entirely comfortable with. I have also been chased from many of these places as the same authorities that have just told Kerrass to do whatever it takes to get rid of the monster, suddenly balking at the prospect of having the dead dug up. That says something about society. I have no idea what, but it says something.

So, by far, the biggest problem in Graveyards or other areas where people store the remains of their departed brethren, is the Necrophages.

Believe it or not, there is more than a little bit of evidence that the new decrees by the Eternal Flame that the dead should be burned… I say new, but it's like fifty years old now,... Is a practical one in an effort to cut down on both returned spirits and leaving things that would attract Ghouls and the like.

It doesn't work. Fire leaves bones and one of the things that the Necrophages are after is the marrow in the bones and Kerrass is of the opinion that all that burning the body does is give the marrow a nice roasted flavour. His words. To truly, utterly destroy the body needs a heat that few outside of a furnace can manage and it doesn't stop angry spirits either. They will just find something else to bind them to the world which is far more difficult to hunt down. The best way to prevent a Ghoul or other nasty Necrophage from eating the bones of your dearly departed is to have a well lit graveyard that is regularly patrolled by people that know what they're doing and regularly pour sage oil around the boundaries of the place.

But I was talking about Graveyards.

The thing that makes it strange is that the differences between the different ways that people pay tribute to the dead seems to be a cultural thing rather than a religious or a racial one. The biggest difference being the Elven race who believe that the corpse of a fallen companion is just meat and might as well be left for the local flora and fauna to feast upon. They make it sound more flowery than that of course but that's essentially what it boils down to.

The people of Skellige burn their dead when they are lost in battle. They build a big fire and burn the bodies, or if they have time and the dead person is particularly important, they might build a ship and send it out into the sea… before they set fire to it.

However, there are no such niceties about the bodies of honourless men. Bandits and foreigners that might die on the shores of Skellige are taken into the catacombs where they are dumped wherever there is space. Yes, this attracts Necrophages but it is a rite of passage that the young folk of Skellige go into these old tunnels and barrows to retrieve something. It is also good practice for the Huscarls to go and clean the places out once in a while.

The people of Redania and Temeria don't like to think about their dead. They like their graveyards to be off and out of the way somewhere. A remote site or walled off cemetery where you can't see it by accident. The dead are housed in crypts underneath churches and chapels, in family crypts on the estate well away from the houses themselves. That's not to say that people don't visit these places in order to pay their respects to the loved ones that are interred therin.

There is just a feeling of… Out of sight, out of mind. People don't want to be reminded of their own mortality and as such, they prefer their dead to be kept out of the way of people. So it doesn't depress them or something.

The people of Aedirn are torn. On the one hand, they agree with the people of Redania and Temeria, that the best thing to do with the dead is to keep them well out of the way. But Aedirn is riddled with sites of old, historical purpose. So as well as those kinds of graveyards, they also like the ideas of crypts. Large buildings to store the dead. Like my family crypt only on a much larger scale.

Apparently, you get a slot and they put your body in it, head first and then seal you in there by a block of stone. Your name is inscribed on the stone if you're lucky, or if you are particularly poor, or no-one knows what your name was, they will just put a sign up to say that it is occupied.

The people of Kaedwen like to think that they have been living in Kaedwen for longer than the rest of us. They believe that they are more descended from the first humans. The Dauk that historians agree died out in some kind of cataclysmic series of events that we have no record of because we don't understand the artifacts that they left behind. The Menhirs and the obelisks and the like. But in the case of the people of Kaedwen. They believe in interring their dead. The rich and powerful get interred in Barrows, the same as the old races of men did. They don't get buried with their wealth or favourite weapons, horses or slaves or anything like that. But they do get buried with things that symbolise that kind of thing.

The important thing about this, is that there is no headstone. No monuments or anything left that tells people who it is that lies under that particular pile of earth and grass. There might be a standing stone or something on the top, but it never contains the name of the dead. This is because it is up to the surviving family and friends to keep the name of the dead people alive.

As for why all of this comes up and why I'm talking about it now? The people of Thussaint like to keep their dead closer.

For them, grief is a communal thing. Even if they are all there to visit different people, even though they might all have different wealth levels or status. Grief is the great leveller in Toussaint. It is the one place where people get together and share all of that sadness. They are together in it. It is impossible to take in the entire scope of the thing in one visit.

The stuff that is on the surface is just one part of it and is, arguably, the smallest part of it. The tunnels underneath the carved mausoleums themselves are full of small niches where someone has tunnelled out an extra part of the ground underneath Beauclair and there they have left some small place of remembrance. Even if that is not the body of the dead themselves. A small stone, a picture, a portrait, an urn full of the ashes or some small monument to the memory.

As a result, the tunnels of Beauclair are often filled with robbers but that practise has fallen down since the Empress decreed certain things. Now there are regular patrols of the tunnels and guards posted a good percentage of the time. So it's one of the safest places in the world. This has also meant that the number of Necrophages have reduced.

I'm told that it can be quite beautiful. Small alcoves with votive candles burning as men and women stand together, arms around each other as they weep with grief about different people and different things. When Knight and peasant sob and maid and high lady wail at the losses that plagues us as those that we love move into the next part of the journey.

It is a nice thought. Even if my treacherous mind cannot help but imagine the noble marching away from sharing some grief with a baker only to demand reparations for the damage caused to their clothing due to the presence of bread flour in the weave.

But then again, I am from the North, not from Toussaint and it is entirely possible that I am jaded by the differences in geography.

Unfortunately, I do not have much that I can add to the mental image of what you are thinking about the place. I have been there three times. The first is by far the most publicised of the lot in that it was during that time that I fought against Jack. As well as my own account of the events of that night, there are also a growing number of other histories and analyses that are building up on that subject. For myself, I have already said everything that I have to say on that subject and I have no intention of going over it again.

There is literally a play written about that night. I was invited to go and see it. I told the person inviting me that I couldn't possibly think of anything more obscene than sitting through such a thing.

The second time was when I first returned to Toussaint. I was invited to go back to see the beauty of the place for what it was. I was told that a shrine had been erected there for my sister and when I was going there, right up until the moment that I touched the gate, I absolutely intended to walk in and see the place for myself.

But just as I was about to enter with Mark who had wanted to come with me, Emma had already been, I felt a stabbing pain in my chest where Jack had started to impale me on his absurdly slim sword.

So I claim that as a visit. I went, and I stood out in the street and looked into the place. I saw the edges of the, undeniably, beautiful stonework, statues and the like. And it really is beautiful.

And then I walked away.

And the third visit was the most recent and hopefully, the last visit.

It was an interesting choice of a place for a duel. I had wondered if Alain had chosen the place deliberately on the grounds that that would put us off. The place where Kerrass had fought Jack and that I had nearly died. I considered it for a few heartbeats before I realised that it was either really really stupid, or incredibly clever. Kerrass would not be affected by that kind of thing. And he wasn't fighting me. So I rather thought it was just one of those tricks that a duellist has in their arsenal. A psychological thing. I've heard of people arranging duels in graveyards, near churches and all kinds of symbolic things in an effort to throw one or other fighter off their stride.

I think it was that. Anything else would be giving Alain too much credit.

When I had last been here, the gate had been closed and attended by a pair of guardsmen. The guardsmen were there to keep overly drunk and problematic people out of the graveyard and to protect it from the kind of overland monsters that the place attracts. I'm not just talking about Necrophages either. I'm talking about the body stealing variety. It's not just Doctors that use cadavars for research purposes.

I'm going to leave that there. I've already gone off on enough tangents. Suffice to say that whatever your imagination is getting to grips with at the moment, the truth is much worse and far more mundane.

The gates were closed for our private viewing but as we arrived, the guards were letting any number of people through the gates in order to pay their respects to this person or that person. Just so long as they were quiet and civilised.

As a note though, civilised doesn't often mean sober. People often get drunk and want to go and talk to the dearly departed. I regularly do it when I'm at home.

Civilised is a polite way of saying that the guards turn away the homeless and send them off to one of several shelters that are around Beauclair that are there to serve this particular need.

Now though, the guards were still there but the gates were open as people were fed into the place. Not many of them yet. These were the connoisseurs of sword play. The people that attend the tournaments to see the duels fought there and commentate to themselves and place side wagers on the outcome. In the same way that there are armchair generals that argue about old battles and what such and such a general should have done on the field of blah de blah. There is also a large field of men, and women for that matter, who like to watch duels and comment that if they had been fighting that duel at that time and that place, then what they would have done would have been to…. I'm sure you get the picture.

Note that the lack of physical capability or talent is not an object to these kinds of people. Saying to them, "well why don't you pick up a sword and get involved" will not get the outcome that you are looking for. They will say that they are there for the sport of the thing. To admire the craft and the tactics of the duellists, no matter the outcome or the cause that has led them there.

To be truthful, I can understand the fascination of the thing. I can. I never took part in it. But I have wasted some entertaining evenings arguing about historical events in a similar vein. Arguing what this historical figure should have done in the different circumstances and what I would have done in their place.

In case you are wondering. My favourite line of argument is what would have happened if Falka's claim to the throne had been upheld by her father in the face of her new step mother's insistence. Then the rebellion would not have taken place and the world would not have the same shape it does now.

But still.

So as I say, I can understand the people that enjoy that particular pursuit of the thing as a sport, even as I find it kind of distasteful. And before any of you start to jump up and down on me for saying that, I would point out that the thing I find distasteful is when a duel which will result in someone's death is treated as a spectacle to be watched and applauded as a form of entertainment. That is what I don't like. Watch to see history take place. Watch because you agree with one side or the other. But don't watch because you want to see blood or because you think it's something to be enjoyed.

In this, I prefer the Skelligan attitude towards duelling.

So we walked into the graveyard. The path was certain, well cobbled and well maintained. The cobbles themselves had the slightly rounded edges and corners that betrayed their age and how many sets of boots had walked over them while on either side, tombs, statues and gargoyles loomed over us. A leering gargoyle in black stone next to a virginal woman in white marble which sandwiched a large family crypt that would dwarf some village huts that I have seen, with a statue of some knight holding an improbably large sword aloft.

Trying to take the entire thing in is impossible. The clash of style, substance and taste is overwhelming. As a result, it becomes far easier to take in one point at a time. Concentrate on one tomb or monument and allow the rest to fall into some kind of background blur that lies beyond your vision.

But I wasn't here to see the tombs. I was here to accompany and escort my friend to the place of honour. I knew from past experience that there was a large, round area at the bottom of a small hollow that would be the most likely area for the duel to take place and we headed towards that. It was certainly the direction that the other people were heading.

I briefly glanced over at Kerrass, he was frowning in thought as he walked. People were realising that we were there now and were making way for us. Some called out our names, some threw blessings and wishes of good fortune. Some threw insults and hopes for our gruesome and messy demise. Kerrass ignored both and I followed his lead.

As we reached the bottom of the graveyard, sure enough, I found that there was an area that was separated from the growing number of people that were gathering. It wasn't very large, a kind of oval shape, twenty feet across at its narrowest point and thirty feet long at its longest. There were guards stationed to prevent people coming in to that area which started to shout for the crowds to break apart to allow us entry.

Emma, Laurelen, Mark and Ariadne were already there.

Mark was dressed in an austere, thick, monk's habit and cowl with a symbol of the eternal flame around his neck. He looked cold, austere and forbidding as we approached. Emma had also chosen to emulate a cold and remote style of dress. She was dressed as a formal lady of the Northern courts dressed for winter. Fully clothed, dress tightly laced with head-dress and scarf tied into a wimple. Although she wasn't a nun, the same kind of feeling was given off of being cold and remote.

I never understood those people that have romantic longings about nuns. I always find them rather forbidding and frightening to look at.

Laurelen was dressed as she ever was, her increasingly long and golden hair was tied back although she won't thank me for pointing out that the damp in the air was making her hair a bit frizzy. She was dressed in her long, flowing green dress and although she didn't need to do so for the cold… Being magical in nature does come with some benefits… She too wore a scarf but without the headdress the Emma boasted.

Ariadne was dressed in her traveling gear. In a long, flowing light cream dress, absolutely spotless with a fur lined cloak that was wrapped around her shoulders with the hood up. Her dark hair hung in a long braid over her shoulder. She has recently figured out that I like to see her neck exposed for reasons known only to my own brain and has started to adopt that particular hairstyle that was neither one for the village folk, nor a noblewoman's wimple and head scarf. Nor was it loose the way that other Sorceresses and magical women wear their own hair. But rather a mixture of the lot. She was clutching Kerrass' potion box in her arms.

Mark met us first with a hand held out. Kerrass took it with Mark wishing him a quiet "good luck," from my brother and a nod from Kerrass.

"I will be here when it's over." Mark told me as he wrapped me in a hug. "One way or another. I will hope that I will pray over the right man and I will certainly be praying for Kerrass' victory."

I muttered something in gratitude. I was very afraid that I was at my breaking point and was concerned that sympathy and kindness might tip me over the edge into tears and tantrums.

Emma met us next with a hug for both of us. She didn't say anything but her presence here said an awful lot that Kerrass might not possibly have realised. She does not enjoy these kinds of things and says so often and loudly to anyone that will listen. She thinks that the best way that she can show this is by not turning up to them to show how beneath her she thinks they are. She likes tournaments and things when combat is a sport rather than done to the death, but duels over honour are foolish to her.

I don't entirely disagree. Except in the case of Robart de Radford. Regular readers will know who I'm talking about. That fucker is mine and if he is reading this then he should know that I am coming for him.

Laurelen was a bit more insistent and whispered something fiercely into Kerrass' ear when he passed. He nodded in response but I didn't hear what she said. I got a hug and a whispered "We're with you Freddie." Like with Mark, I muttered something about gratitude and moved on.

Ariadne would not let either of us get away with that. Kerrass got a hug and a few questions about how he was feeling. He asked how she knew which box was his potion box and she gave him a withering look that made him smile a little.

"When it is all over." She told him. "Laurelen and I will be there to see to the wounds. That is why I have the box."

He nodded. "That is if we are not dead outright."

"There is dead and then there is dead." She said. "Admittedly, if he has taken your head off, there is little that we can do about that, but for anything else?" She shrugged. "It all depends on how fast we would be allowed to get to you. Which is why Freddie and the other second should agree that the matter is closed as quickly as possible."

She gave me a significant look. I know an instruction when I see one.

She turned back to the Witcher and looked at him for a long moment. "Thank you Witcher." She said. "After Freddie, no-one has done more for me than you. And without you, I do believe that Freddie would have just run to the hills. So thank you for making him get to know me and learn to love me."

He nodded and moved down into the duelling area.

Ariadne didn't hug me. Instead she just looked at me, gazing into my eyes flatly and steadily. "I know how tired you are." Her voice sounded in my mind. "I know how weary in body, heart, mind and soul. So know this. You only need to be strong for a little while longer. You only need to hold on for a little while longer and then you can let go. One way or another, I will be there to catch you. Emma, Mark and Laurelen too. And if everything falls apart, I shall take you away from this place to another where no-one has ever heard of the name Jack and I will put you in a small log cabin in the woods and I will hold you until the stars grow cold. Failing that, I shall take you home and simply love you. Just a little while longer Freddie. I promise."

"I love you." I said aloud.

"I love you too." She answered.

And then I turned and followed Kerrass.

Lord Palmerin de Launfal was there, pacing backwards and forwards in the middle of the open area. He was in his old Golden breastplate and he came over to greet us.

"Kerrass." He said offering his hand which Kerrass took. "In the past," Palmerin spoke as he took my hand as well. "Duels of this nature would be presided over by a member of the Knights Errant to ensure fair play."

"That's not what happened…" I began.

"You are thinking of the matter between Gregoire and Morgan?"

I nodded.

"Yes, that was a special case. But the Knight Commander fulfils the requirements so…" He shrugged. "That was about accusations of treason and other such matters. This is a matter of honour and as such, it is far beneath that. This is two gentlemen fighting over a woman. Very romantic but needlessly stupid."

He sniffed and we lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Kerrass stood in thought for a long moment before he visibly shook himself and moved over to a flat grave upon which he placed his sword while he removed his jacket.

"I thought you were withdrawn from duty." I commented to Palmerin.

"I am. But I heard about this and decided that I needed to get back in the saddle somehow." He scratched his head. "I hate Alain as much as the next married man. He was not the first, or the only young man that my wife dishonoured me with, but he was one of the most boastful about it. I knew what was going on then and decided not to pursue the matter. Not least because I would have lost and then Natanis would have yelled at me."

"How is Natanis?"

"She is off somewhere. She is struggling with the fact that I am grieving my wife's death. She doesn't understand why I'm so upset by it all. Truth be told, I don't understand it either but there you go. She does this occasionally, going off for a day or three and then she'll come back."

He sighed.

"She knows I miss her and will be drawn to that at least."

Kerrass drew his sword and was warming himself up. Nothing too strenuous, just some small movements designed to loosen muscles and prepare them for the coming exertions. Palmerin and I watched for a while.

"This is foolish you know." Palmerin said. "Alain is the best that I've ever seen, and that includes Geralt. Geralt would win in a fight because he has more experience than Alain, but Alain has more speed, talent and is comparable with strength."

"I know." I told him.

"I mean, I think I know what you are all up to, but this is the wrong…"

"I know that too. But Kerrass won't step aside. You're welcome to try because he wouldn't listen to me or anyone else that's tried. I think he needs this to happen."

"He needs to die?"

"Maybe." I admitted.

I sensed, rather than saw Palmerin watching me.

"I am so sorry Lord Frederick." He said.

"So am I." I looked at the sky.

"He's late." I commented.

"He would be, a common ploy designed to put your man off his balance."

I nodded. "I should be with…"

"Go, I will call you over when they arrive."

I approached Kerrass and started to help him warm up. I had my spear of course and we just ran some of the more basic, simple drills. Little things. Nothing strenuous but it was getting cold now. Not as bitter as it has sometimes been in the past, but cold enough to feel the need to keep warm.

We were not waiting that long. But certainly longer than was entirely necessary. Did it frustrate Kerrass? Maybe a little but if it did, he certainly betrayed nothing of his thinking on the matter. He was just calm and working through the forms of his blade.

Lord D'alambourd arrived first and Palmerin called me over.

D'alambourd smiled apologetically to the two of us. And although he spoke formally, there was no doubt from his expression as to what he was really thinking.

"Gentlemen." He addressed the two of us and Kerrass who was ignoring him. "The Gentleman has sent me on ahead with his apologies for his tardiness. He has had certain matters that he has been forced to take care of."

I grunted and I thought I saw just the shadow of a knowing sympathy in the other man's eyes.

"So I am here," he went on. "To get some of the formalities out of the way. Our terms are that this can all be called off if the wretch is willing to apologise publicly for the insult that the gentleman was subjected to. The wretch will then ride to an out of the way place where he will await the opening of the passes where he will leave Toussaint never to return."

"Excellent" I said. "When can we expect the wretches apology?"

D'Alambourd's eyes glinted in humour although Lord Palmerin's face remained stony. A couple of those people listening laughed at my small jest."

"I do not think that my Gentleman will be willing to apologise in this matter." D'Alambourd said. "Will yours?"

"No." I said.

"Then My Gentleman is approaching with a sword of similar length to your man's. Although there may be some variance in either direction. Is that acceptable."

"It is." I said. "Bare chested?"

"A shirt against the elements only." D'Alambourd agreed. "None of the Witcher's potions during the battle although if your man is rendered injured rather than killed, then potions may be administered should my man allow him to keep his life."

I nodded. "Same for magical healing I suppose." I said.

"Yes, for both combatants. If not killed outright, or the life being spared, then magical healing can be administered accordingly. However, Witcher signs must not be used on the opponent."

I nodded.

"Shall we check your man's weapon then?" D'alambourd asked.

We approached Kerrass who held out his blade for our inspection. Obviously, it was free from the coloured sheen of weapon oils.

Kerrass resheathed his sword and stood easily.

"No potions." I said.

He snorted.

"And you're not allowed to use signs on him."

"On him?" He wondered.

I nodded and he grunted.

A murmur started slowly in the crowd as heads turned to see.

Alain had arrived. He took his sweet ass time about it too. Flame but I hated that man then. I know that we're not supposed to hate. I know that there's all kinds of things about being kind and tolerant and understanding. But right then, I would have happily traded places with Kerrass, even though it would clearly result in my death.

He strode to the fighting area with a swagger and a big ass grin on his face. His long sword was tucked under his arm. He wore a pair of leather trousers with good boots on with a buckle across the top that looked as though it had been polished to a mirror intensity. He wore a woollen shirt and was wrapped in a fur lined oil skin that must have cost him an absolute fortune. Real oilskin is mucky, misshapen and smells bad for ages until it's been through several good rain soakings. Whereas this thing looked tailored to his form.

He laughed as he came, greeting friends and enemies alike with shaken hands and big smiles. He looked like the handsome champion of the people, coming to defeat a no good wretch of a person. He looked like a hero coming into his glory. Handsome, pretty even. Charming, clever and caring. And it has been a long time since I have quite wanted to smack someone's skull to that extent.

He walked over to the other side of the area. Palmerin approached him and I could almost hear what he was being told. Palmerin was admonishing the other man for being discourteous to his opponent and to the Ducal representative for being late. Alain looked properly contrite and nodded, he gave some kind of excuse although there was no way to tell what it was. Palmerin beckoned me over and I walked with D'Alambourd over.

"Gods I hate that man." D'Alambourd muttered. "I know I'm supposed to support my friend but dear Prophets I hope that your man takes his sword and… Hello Alain. You're looking well."

Alain grinned as we approached. "Ah Dally. You know how it is. A good day, a nice piece of violence against a wretch and then a good meal, a nice bottle of wine and a warm woman. Life is good. Lord Frederick?"

He offered his hand towards me and not really having an excuse to slap it away or kick him in the balls, I took it and shook it firmly. "Lord Moineau." I said.

"For the record and before these witnesses." Alain raised his voice so that the surrounding people could hear. "You should know Lord Frederick that I hold no ill will towards you or your family. Indeed, I would have hoped that the two of us could be friends in the long run although I admit that that is unlikely and probably wishful thinking on my part. But still. I want it known that this quarrel ends here today for me, one way or another and you have my most profound respect."

I managed to keep myself from sighing. The game was being played. Even now, when I had hoped to be able to set politics aside, I was in the middle of it. My opponent was an enemy. He knew and I knew it. He expected to win but he knew that if he continued to bully me then people would think that he was being crass and uncouth.

Which he would be.

He knew that I wouldn't let this go, because I wouldn't, and so he knew that he had to pretend to be the bigger man. I just wanted to be done with this now. I just wanted to build a fort out of pillows and blankets and crawl in for the next month.

"Likewise Lord Moineau." I said. "This is the end of the matter and I am grateful to you for expressing those sentiments."

He nodded with a slight smirk. Although I am self-aware enough to know that the smirk was probably in my imagination.

"Has the other weapon been inspected Dally?" He asked.

"It has." D'Alambourd bowed.

"Excellent." Alain drew his own blade with a flourish. I rather thought it was a bit shorter than Kerrass' own blade but not by a lot. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. The kind of thing where people might say "It's not a fancy sword but some master put part of his soul into that blade." To a collector, this blade would have been worth a fortune.

I looked for a blemish really hard. I really wanted to find something. Fuck, I would have settled for there being a spot of rust on it which I could claim to be the presence of some kind of oil or something in the steel that would render the entire thing unfair.

But there was nothing. It was just a well forged lump of steel, honed and sharpened to a razor's edge.

In the end I was forced to simply nod and move away.

"Very well then Gentlemen." Palmerin spoke. "Formally, I must ask if there is any way that this combat might be avoided. Is either party willing to apologise?"

Kerrass shook his head, he was bouncing gently, keeping himself limber and warmed up. Bleeding off the little bit of overwhelming energy that builds up in anticipation for a fight.

"Hah." Alain mocked. "I am the one insulted. It is I who expects an apology."

Palmerin sighed.

"Then formally. No poisons or oils. No magic to be used on the other gentleman. No magic at all from the crowd until after the fight is over. No medical skills or alchemical skills to be used in the healing until after the fight is over."

Both Kerrass and Alain were nodding along as Palmerin spoke.

"The fight will continue until both seconds agree that one of the fighters is unable to continue. Or until one of the fighters asks for mercy and, or, yields at which time it should be said audibly enough that both of the gentlemen can hear it, or by the universal signal of casting aside your blade and raising your hands high in the air."

Again, both men nodded at that.

"Then you should both know that I expect an honourable fight. If at any person I decide that one of the two combatants is not acting in good faith then I will declare a victor accordingly. If you cannot win honourably then you don't deserve to win at all. I remind you both that the contest is due to be fought with the blade. Therefore there will be no flinging of insults or other insulting gestures in an effort to goad the other man into action. Fight with your blades gentlemen, not with your words."

"Sounds of exertion, pain and…" D'Alambourd wondered.

"Such things are natural and will be allowed according to what happens." Palmerin said before turning to the crowd. "That also applies to the watchers as well. Noises will not be tolerated one way or another. Do not cheer your opponent on, do not hurl abuse at the other man. Certainly do not throw things or make sudden movements in order to distract either combatant. I cannot stop you all from watching the coming display. But I can have you removed from the area if I feel that you are doing your best to interfere with the matter. I will not stand for it."

The crowd were more excited than chastened and I felt myself grimace.

"I will allow one rest per combatant. To be called by the combatant only and the rest will last no longer than two minutes by my sand glass. Any Questions?"

We all shook our heads.

"Very well Gentlemen, places please?"

Kerrass moved to one end of the temporary arena and Alain moved to the other. With a gesture of his head, D'Alambourd beckoned me over to stand next to Palmerin.

"Salute and begin." Palmerin called.

Alain answered crisply. Sword raised to the vertical, Hilt before his mouth as he turned first to Palmerin, D'Alambourd and I before turning back to Kerrass before sweeping the sword down to one side.

The air whistled as the sword moved.

Kerrass was still collecting himself. He frowned as he held his sword in his left hand, blade down, and lifted his right hand to cover his heart before bowing once to Palmerin, D'alambourd and I before turning to Alain and copying the gesture again.

Alain smiled after Kerrass straightened and brought his sword round, swinging in a wide circle until the pommel slapped into the hands. His body sliding into the traditional "Mid stance" that is used with the Long sword. Right hand at the top of the hilt beneath the cross guard. Left near the pommel. Right foot forward, Left behind and at an angle to act as a spring to launch the fighter forward. Point facing towards the opponents face. The movement was crisp, quick, and the sound of the weapon meeting the hand made a satisfying Clapping noise.

Kerrass watched for a moment or two before he flipped his sword round in his grip and then attained the same stance as a mirror image of Alain. But he did so slowly, It wasn't an insult, he wasn't mocking the other man. He just took his time getting there, making sure that every gesture was the same, controlled and slow.

He wanted it to be right.

"Begin gentlemen."

And nothing happened. The two combatants just stood there, swords pointed towards each other and utterly unmoving. Alain had been wearing a smile when he had first settled into his stance, but as he stood there, unmoving, for longer and longer, the smile slowly drained from his face until his expression became a mask. Still and without movement.

I looked over at Kerrass and he was the same. He had already had his mask up when he settled into his stance. But likewise, he was expressionless. Unmoving and seemingly without motion.

I turned back to look at Alain. His eyes had taken on a kind of vague, unfocused look. As though he was looking at a point just in front of Kerrass, but also at another point that was behind Kerrass at the same time.

I looked back at Kerrass. His expression hadn't changed.

And then we waited.

It was strange. I have seen Kerrass fight a couple of duels now, as well as single combats. In the fight against William the Ram, he already knew what to do and how the fight was going to go. Against Lord Fuckface Dorme in the halls of Angral, there was such a disparity of skill that it was over in moments. And that was the model for most of the fights that I had seen Kerrass take part in. That was when there weren't Alchemical or magical factors involved. Blade against blade, it nearly always went the same way. People would depend on armour or some other factor to carry the day without realising that those factors had already been countered. In Skellige, the combatants advance towards each other as though they are eager to get on with things and in tournament duels, there are other factors going on as well including rules and score keeping

But in all of those cases. One combatant had moved towards the other, there had been an exchange of blows and then…

Kerrass versus the other Witchers in the various training exercises that I had seen. Kerrass versus Ciri was a sight to behold. But also Kerrass versus Eskel and Kerrass versus Letho were educational experiences that I will never forget.

But this was the first time that I had ever seen a duel begin with nothing happening.

They became like two statues, neither moving as the winter wind carried a feeling of dampness through the air, whistling and billowing between gravestones and mausoleums.

It became difficult to keep my mind on the matter. I found my thoughts drifting away to how Syanna and the rest were getting on and whether or not this all might be over soon. I thought of my coming wedding day and all of the things that Ariadne was insisting on. The normally villager traditions of ducking for shoes, herding pigs and the capping ceremony.

In turn that led me to thoughts of my wedding night. Normally the kind of thought process that would lead me towards a decent night's sleep. But in the here and now, it suddenly occurred to me that the results of the day's work might mean that Kerrass would not be able to stand next to me on my wedding day after all.

Which brought me back to looking at the two duellists again.

Neither man had moved. Not so much as an inch. I couldn't even tell if either man was breathing.

My mind started to drift again. There is only so much you can do to keep your mind occupied when you are watching two immobile people. I found myself thinking of the last time that I was here. The time where I had been toyed with by Jack. I remembered falling over at some point and Jack moving towards me before placing the point of his blade on my chest and slowly pushing forwards.

I probably rubbed my scar from that event. Apparently I do that a lot when I talk, or think, about Jack.

I tried to remember where I was when that had happened and looked around for the headstone that I had slumped against.

There it was, just beyond where Alain was standing. There was a man and a woman leaning on it at the moment. They had brought a blanket to watch two men trying to kill each other and had a bottle of wine in a whicker basket. They were sitting there, legs stretched out in front of them and he had his arm, and therefore cloak, wrapped around the woman to keep her warm. It was a sweet scene, a nice, pleasant scene. Even a romantic one but there was no getting away from the fact that they were doing so at a time where two men were about to try to kill each other.

And one, or both, would succeed. I would later find that it is not uncommon in these kinds of matters of honour for both men to be killed, or to bleed out from small wounds that they had not noticed or thought that they were particularly important or dangerous when they had first occurred.

Then my mind went down one of those… calling it a fantasy feels wrong because the word fantasy suggests a pleasant occurrence and thinking of something that you are looking forward to or desire. But this was not that. I started to imagine Kerrass' funeral. I had no idea where the closest Witcher was to act as family and I started to make plans.

I started to think that I would get Ariadne to speak to Yennefer who would either know more about that sort of thing or who would know where to lay her hands on a Witcher in order to ask the relevant questions.

But then it occurred to me that we were his family now and my mind went on a brief excursion towards having Kerrass interred at the family crypt up near Oxenfurt.

Which is clearly ludicrous.

Or I could have a tomb built near Angraal which was far more likely. But then it occurred to me to wonder whether or not Kerrass would prefer to be burned on a pyre. Then I started to wonder if he'd ever actually told me what he wanted. Then I started to imagine the conversation and wonder if it had actually happened or whether or not I was making it up.

Someone coughed in the crowd.

The two men still hadn't moved in that time but as I watched, Sir Alain's left hand came off the hilt of his sword and he held a hand out with a single index finger raised. As if to say "One moment."

Kerrass nodded and relaxed, letting his sword fall to his side.

Alain turned to Palmerin and held his hands out. Again, it could not have been more eloquent. "Oh come on." He was saying. "You expect us to fight in these conditions?"

Palmerin nodded in response, advancing to stand between the two fighters. Alain swung his sword through the air to make the air whistle in his frustration. Kerrass did not look too much better. He rocked his head from side to side and stretched a bit as Palmerin spoke.

"I would ask you." Palmerin shouted. "To keep yourself quiet. If you cannot contain your coughs or your sneezes I demand that you remove yourself from this place or I will have you removed. If you are sick, you should not have come to this place of honour and you disgrace yourself and the two men here in doing so. Be silent."

The crowd rippled a bit at that and shifted uneasily. My guess was that they did not enjoy being spoken to like that but there were also people that were glaring around themselves in solidarity with what Palmerin was saying.

"Gentlemen." Palmerin was still stood between them both. "Make yourselves ready. Witcher Kerrass?"

Kerrass jumped up and down a bit, rotated his right arm at the shoulder before nodding.

"Lord Moineau?"

Alain had also done some stretches while listening to Palmerin, swung his sword through the air again with a grimace of distaste at the audience.

Then he nodded.

"Then return to your stances and I will call the begin when I am satisfied."

They both nodded and took up their positions.

Palmerin was scowling as he returned to stand next to D'Alambourd and I.

There was another pause before Palmerin called out "Begin."

I returned to what I had been thinking about before with astonishing speed. Now I realised that I would have to speak to Princess Dorme. I would have to tell her that Kerrass had died and how he had got into that position. It was going to break her heart. A heart that was already pretty shattered as it was.

Dear Flame, this might just be the thing that finishes her off.

Something shifted in the crowd, just a feeling more than anything. The quiet became that little bit more anticipatory. People were leaning forward. There was a sense of withheld breath.

Palmerin's ceremonial armour rattled a bit as he leant forward. D'Alambourd did the opposite as he leant backwards slightly and I looked at the two combatants in an effort to see if I could see what these other two had.

It took me a while.

Sir Alain's mouth had turned upwards in a slight smile. It was not the practised smirk that he normally used and had employed earlier. This was the beginning of a satisfied smile, a craftsman that knew that his work was nearly over and that it was going to be a good…. Sword or whatever it was. It was the smile of a hunter lining up a particularly good spear thrust when the boar charges.

I looked over at Kerrass to see if there was any change in him. He was sweating. Yes, as I've said before, Witchers do indeed sweat. It is, however, odourless. Kerrass smells of the potions that he takes, the food that he eats and the environment that he moves through. Something to do with the mutations that he has been subject to on the grounds that you can't sneak up to a monster if you stink of body odour.

As I watched him, I also realised that his sword was trembling slightly. Not very much, just the tell-tale little shiver of a weapon that is being held too tightly.

Finally, Kerrass moved. It was not an attack, or a dodge or a feint. He changed stances. He lifted his sword into the high stance which some fighters refer to as the stance of the Eagle's strike. Sword held high and ready to be brought back down onto the enemy's head as they came closer. But also, his weight shifted a little bit further onto his back leg that was coiled and waiting to spring forward should the opportunity of an attack present itself.

The crowd literally gasped as though that was a major event. And I suppose it was. It was the gasp of a crowd watching a high end Gwent game where the first card has been played and thus, the opening strategy is starting.

Gazes, including mine, swung over to Alain to see how he was going to react to that. He was frowning in concentration now, the smile was more of a grimace.

But then he shifted, bringing his right foot back so that now his left foot was pointing towards Kerrass with the right acting as the spring and the base for his weight. The sword was held in a parallel position to his leg. On a downward diagonal with the hilt by his side and the point next to his foot.

And then both men became motionless again.

The air became thick, there were no noises now. No-one coughed, shifted their weight or breathed deeply. The entire crowd was on edge as they waited for something else to happen. It even felt as though people were afraid to blink in case they missed something. Something that I found a little ridiculous until.

I didn't see it. They moved too fast for me to see what was happening. I saw the first move which was when Alain jerked forward in a feint and Kerrass leapt forward to bring his sword down.

Then there was a series of movements, including one small kiss of metal, that were too fast for me to follow and then Kerrass was staggering backwards while Alain stood there with his sword held firm at the end of a strike. It was a pose, holding the ending. I can't remember the name of the strike but it was an upwards diagonal strike from Alain's bottom right towards his top left. He held the stance for a couple of breaths before smiling and stepping backwards, rolling his shoulders as he went.

Kerrass, for his part, had retreated until he found his balance. Then he paced for a little bit, and whipped his sword backwards and forwards in two fast and large strikes.

I have seen this behaviour many times. It is the behaviour of a man who realises that he needs to raise his game a little if he is going to take on his opponent. I have even had this kind of mannerism levelled at me. It often makes me feel better before a certain realisation comes in that the other man wasn't fighting at their best before now.

Alain took a couple of steps backwards before lifting his sword into the high stance that Kerrass had used earlier.

What happened in that initial flurry?

All I can tell you is what I pieced together later with Palmerin and D'Alambourd. But this is by no means the entirety of the story and we all agreed that the speed with which the two men fought was eye hurtingly fast.

We all agreed that Kerrass had fallen for Sir Alain's feint and had leapt forward to strike at Alain's head. Alain had read the move and brought his own sword round in a similar vertical strike that knocked Kerrass' sword away. Which was the time that steel had met steel. Kerrass had read this move in turn and spun in a pirouette to bring his sword round, using the spin to build up speed and strength. But he hadn't been fast enough. And Alain was now inside and underneath Kerrass' line of striking.

Alain ducked under Kerrass' blow and in rising from his movement he brought his sword up in the rising diagonal strike. Having nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, Kerrass had realised that he was committed to the strike and needed to hurl himself backwards from Alain's strike. It was uncoordinated and clumsy as defensive movements go and he was clearly furious that he had been pushed off balance in such a way.

Alain just waited, ready, and Kerrass walked right into it.

One of the first rules of combat is to not get angry in a fight. This is true, anger can distract and can convince you of untruths that you were not ready for. But the real truth of the matter is that you should not lose your temper in a fight and become uncontrolled. Anger can be a great focuser. It can distract you from injuries, it can remind you of a focus that would otherwise be lost.

And anger can focus your mind to an incredible degree. As can hatred for that matter and that was the thing that we had all forgotten when it came to Alain and Kerrass.

Kerrass hated this man.

He came on and this was the part of the fight that was more what I would expect from a fight between Kerrass and other men. Kerrass attacked, fiercely and decisively. I would love to be able to give you a blow by blow description of what happened but I am woefully unqualified to do that. Apart from anything else, the two men were far too fast, far too skilled for me to properly accept anything that was going on. They just moved.

It was… astonishing to watch. I found myself wanting to cheer them on. As though this was an acrobatic display rather than two men desperately trying to kill each other.

I think… I think that Alain was a bit taken aback by it. His victory in the first exchange gave him a little bit of overconfidence and as a result, he kind of forgot who he was dealing with. I saw two moments where he tried to change from being the man that was defending to being the man that was attacking but Kerrass saw both and was able to counter and turn the movements back into an attack.

I saw Alain try to strike out with the pommel to drive Kerrass back but Kerrass flowed round the blow like smoke, still attacking. I saw Alain strike out with his legs in an effort to trip the Witcher but Kerrass was too mobile to allow such tricks to work.

Kerrass just rained blows down on Alain's defence and in the end, there was the moment where Alain gave up trying to attack and just worked on ensuring that Kerrass couldn't strike out at him. As a ploy, I'm not sure about it. If he was a lesser swordsman than he actually was, it wouldn't have worked.

There is a truth that says that if you want to defend, you need to attack. Or that the only good defence is a good offence. This is true. And in a duel, the danger is that, yes. In constantly attacking, your attacker is wearing himself out, but defending takes work as well. Blocks and parries are not easy. Sooner or later your arms get numb and then your parries and strikes start to get sloppy. From there… Well, I'm sure that you get the picture.

But here there was an added wrinkle. In only focusing on defence, Alain was frustrating Kerrass' efforts. In not falling for the false openings in Kerrass' defence, in not moving for the attack, he was able to defend against the strikes, ignore the feints and the stratagems.

And all the time, Kerrass was getting angrier and angrier. He is a disciplined fighter and it was taking time. But gradually, it was clear that Kerrass was beginning to be a bit wilder with his strikes, depending on strength rather than speed or skill. There were strikes that were over committed and carried Kerrass' blade out of position. And all the time that this was happening, Alain's smile was getting wider and wider.

Again, I wish I could give you a blow by blow account. But I do not have the skill for that. It was bewilderingly fast and it wasn't until long after the event, when the emotional impact of what happened had started to lessen, that I was able to get an assessment of it all from people who know about these kinds of things.

Lord Palmerin's assessment was that Alain had never fought someone like Kerrass before and as such, was learning the technique that was being used. In the same way that a good card player will go and watch an opponent that they know that they will be facing in the near future, Alain was watching Kerrass fight in order to get to grips with what he was doing.

It couldn't last. Of course it couldn't. Sooner or later one or other of the two men was going to make a mistake. Alain's defences were going to slip and Kerrass was going to get through, or Kerrass was going to get tired and overextend in some kind of catastrophic way that would mean that it would be ridiculous for Alain not to attack and carve Kerrass a new hole somewhere.

So what gave?

One of the problems with these kinds of graveyards is that all of it is a graveyard. The places are literally paved with memorial stones. Sometimes the bodies can't be accommodated and before the tunnels underneath had been carved out, people would get rid of the body and just pay for there to be a stone somewhere. And then when more space was needed, the older, poorer stones would be removed and would be placed on the ground. Then years of foot traffic, weather and mud build up to make the floor look level when it isn't really.

People will debate the ending of this first period for a while yet. People on Kerrass' side will claim that what happened was an accident. Just one of those unknowable things that happens in a fight. In the same way that people say, "A man might be ill," or "something will break," or "a man might slip on a loose bit of ground."

Well in this case, Kerrass tripped on an exposed piece of gravestone. It happens. History is full of examples of this kind of thing happening and it can happen to the best swordsman in the world.

Here, it happened to Kerrass and he went forward, over compensated to keep from falling on Alain's sword and fell backwards.

People on Alain's side claim that it was a ploy. That Alain led Kerrass onto the exposed headstone. That he knew the graveyard intricately, indeed, he had fought there before, so there was no reason to suppose that he wouldn't know where that stone was and what would happen. I can't answer for that. Both sides are true, and both sides are false. It might even be a mixture of the two.

As a historian, all I can say is that, in the future, this is the kind of thing that people like me get all excited about arguing over. As a man that was there, removing all emotional response from it. I could not tell you the truth of the matter. I certainly couldn't find the paving slab later when I went looking for it.

But Kerrass fell and rolled desperately to avoid the falling sword of Alain that he was sure must be coming.

But it didn't. Alain certainly advanced and held his sword out, pointing at Kerrass' chest and neck as Kerrass realised what was happening. The meaning of the gesture couldn't have been clearer. "I could have killed you then." He was saying. "But I have chosen not to."

Both men were breathing heavily as Alain raised his hand and moved his sword aside so that it was no longer as threatening.

"Time for a rest I think and for you to recover from your fall."

He grinned and turned away.

"Two minutes gentlemen." Palmerin called.

I dashed over to Kerrass and pulled a waterskin from my belt to give to him. He was towelling his face dry with his over cloak as I approached.

"Cheeky fucker." He said as I approached but there was absolutely no energy to the insult.

"How are you holding up?" I asked as he took the water from me.

"I've been happier." He admitted as he took some of the water and splashed his face with it. "He's good Freddie. Really fucking good."

"Talk to me about it." I said. "Think it through." I looked over at Alain's side of the small arena where Alain was laughing at something that one of his friends had said. D'Alambourd was smiling but there was a pale, drawn look to the smile.

"He's fast, strong and his breath control is excellent." Kerrass said. "For every exchange where I come off as the better, he is coming back at me with two or three exchanges won. And every time he wins one of those exchanges he fails to capitalise it."

"I saw that." I said. "I think he's doing it to wind you up."

"He's succeeding. His guard feels almost impenetrable."

"Almost?"

Kerrass considered his own words.

"I could get him." he said. "Or at least, I think I could get him, presuming the gaps are not ruses to lure me in. But I could get him. But there is no way that I could get him without leaving myself open to another attack from him. And I mean wide open. To a deadly degree for arguably negligible returns."

He sighed and looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. "I think I might have made a mistake here Freddie. This is your appointed moment where you can say "I told you so." There may not be another moment where you can do it."

"I would never do that." I told him. "Anyone who would use a time like this to say something like that does not deserve the title of friend." I took a deep breath. "I can go over there. I can offer an apology."

Kerrass was already shaking his head but I carried on anyway.

"Or you could yield and declare him the better…"

"No Freddie."

"Why not Kerrass?" I pleaded. "You yourself admit that this time might be the time that someone gets you."

"Because that would be giving up." He said quietly. "You of all people know what that would mean to me. Today might be the day that I meet my Goddess for the final time and when I do so I will be able to look her in the eye and say that I never gave up. Even when it meant my death."

There was a retort on my lips. An insult but I held it back at the last second, again because I rather thought it would be unnecessarily cruel. I very nearly told him that he had given up when it came to Princess Dorn. But if I had done that, I might have killed him before he next crossed swords with Alain. Or I might have driven him to let me apologise or any of the other routes out of it for him.

Truth be told, the fact that that might have been a possibility never occurred to me. In the right there and right then of the matter. I didn't want to say that because it would have been cruel. And I didn't want our last interaction to have been a cruel one.

"Time Gentlemen. Return to your places please." Palmering called.

"Oh Goddess Freddie. What do I do?"

I had no idea what to say. He wouldn't yield, he wouldn't apologise. And he was asking me for advice when it came to combat?

"Keep the pressure up." I told him. "Push him, keep pushing him. Eventually he will make a mistake. Remember that you are a Witcher and your stamina will be better than his. So keep up the pressure, eventually he will break."

Kerrass nodded.

"And remember that you have another rest yourself." I reminded him. "Remember that and don't forget to use it and failing all else, remember that even as we speak, Knights are racing towards finding the proof that we need to arrest him. So play for time."

Kerrass nodded again, but there was no longer any putting it off. He walked forward to his place where Alain was waiting for him.

"Gentlemen, Salute?"

The same gestures were repeated before. A salute towards the seconds and Palmerin, and then towards each other.

"And begin."

The two men entered their mid stances. But this time, the delay before the fighting started was not as long. Kerrass barely spent any time in the mid stance before he drew himself back into a guard position. Blade held vertically, hilt down by his waist, left hand crossing the belly to keep the grip.

Alain smiled at this and lowered the point of his sword towards the ground. And then we waited, and as we waited, Alain's smirk widened and Kerrass' frown deepened. But we were not waiting as long. I had time to notice that the sun was setting and the shadows were lengthening in the graveyard. Time to wonder what Syanna and the rest were up to and how far they were from being able to solve this entire thing.

But then there was movement.

Alain feinted forward and Kerrass ignored it. Not even flinching.

It was the time honoured movement of the bully where he will jerk towards his intended target hoping to cause a flinch.

But Kerrass didn't play that game. A group of Alain's supporters laughed. Because there are always people that will laugh at that sort of thing. Alain smiled with them and then Kerrass was on him.

And at first, it looked as though Kerrass was doing quite well, raining blows down on the other man's guard. In the first part of the fight, the sounds of weapons crashing together had actually been much rarer. But now they came together more and more frequently as Alain found himself retreating backwards to make room for himself.

Kerrass had extended his right hand down the blade, thus shortening the blade length as he closed the distance and Alain was desperately trying to fend him off. The smirk began to leech from Alain's face as I slowly began to feel the first flutterings of hope in my chest.

Then Kerrass made a mistake. He decided to switch things up.

Up until this point, he had just been marching towards Alain, To be sure he was feinting and dodging from left to right. But there was little footwork in the movement. There were no spins, turns or pirouettes. But Kerrass had decided that he wasn't going to get past Alain's guard that way so he decided to switch tactics.

Now in theory, this might be the right thing to do. After all, the commonly held definition of madness is to do the same thing over and over again and expect different results. But he had been pressuring Alain, driving him backwards and down.

And then he started to come with the turns and the spins and the other things that are intrinsic to the Witcher's style of fighting, especially with the Feline school style of swordsmanship. But I think that was a mistake looking back.

Alain had studied this. Indeed, he had spent part of that first exchange watching Kerrass perform all of these movements. So that when Kerrass started making these movements again Alain knew exactly where Kerrass was going to be. He knew exactly what movements came next, what followed what and so on.

So Kerrass found that as he spun round in an effort to attack from a position that Alain would not have anticipated, he would find that Alain was not where he was supposed to be and instead there was a highly accurate thrust or strike coming in at an angle. Forcing Kerrass back onto the defensive.

It happened three times. The first was when Kerrass, rather smugly I thought if you can ascribe smugness to a movement, spun in place and brought the blade down except Alain had sidestepped the strike completely and just came back with the most simple of horizontal strikes out of some training journal, forcing Kerrass to carry the spin on and out of the way.

Another was where there was another spin. And as part of that spin there was a point where the sword was coming around Kerrass' back. The sword was out of reach in a normal fight but Alain had read this movement as well and as such, parried the blade when Kerrass' grip on the weapon was at its weakest. Kerrass didn't drop it but it did knock the sword aside, taking time to recover while Kerrass also had to duck underneath Alain's strike.

The third was the mistake that caused the fight to even up again. I don't know why he did it. I can only assume that it was some kind of conditioning thing. There is even a part of me that suggests that it might have been an error that Alain forced him into. An exchange of strikes and parries that forced Kerrass sword into certain positions which meant that he reflexively leapt into a flying spin.

And one of the things about spinning in the air, or making any kind of leaping attack is that once you are committed, there is nowhere else to go. You have to finish the move and as Kerrass' sword came round, for just a split second, I could see his face and for that fraction of a heartbeat, I could see that he had realised his mistake.

Alain rose from a crouched position and brought his sword up with a strength that he had not used before and struck out at Kerrass sword which, in turn, forced Kerrass off balance and Alain attacked.

I had thought that Alain had been going quickly before, but now he was like a force of nature and it was Kerrass that was being pushed back. Alain was no longer smiling or smirking. There was just an intense frown of concentration as he pushed and pushed, lunging and striking with a focus that I found intimidating even though it wasn't me that was being attacked.

Kerrass bared his teeth as he struggled to defend himself. Frantically keeping his enemies blade from being able to lash out at his own. And from nowhere, Kerrass managed to find some more speed and his own speed rose to match Alain's.

Many times I have said that watching a real fight is not like watching a dance. And it's not. But it can be beautiful. I might even have appreciated it if I couldn't see the anger and the pain of it all registering on Kerrass' face. Slowly, very slowly I saw that grimace of anger and frustration beginning to firm up into a realisation. And then, slowly, shift into an expression of despair.

"Oh no Kerrass." I pleaded. But it was too late. Kerrass saw the gap and he went for it. He made it too.

And so came the second moment in this fight that people will be arguing about for years to come. When the history of those few days in Toussaint gets discussed, as well as what led to Kerrass' slip in the ground, there will also be a discussion about who drew the first blood.

Kerrass went forward, committing to a strike at Alain's leg but as he had predicted he left himself open to Alain's counterattack.

Blood sprung from Alain's leg as the counterattack sped towards Kerrass who was desperately trying to get out of reach from Alain's coming blade. He was quick but it was an impossible movement. There was no way that Kerrass was going to escape. He knew it as well. All he was trying to do was to minimise the damage.

There was more blood on the ground now. Where the blood was leaking a little bit from Alain's injury on his leg, the blood was running freely down Kerrass' arm.

So that is my assessment of the matter. Kerrass drew first blood but Alain's strike was most damaging and had the greater impact.

Kerrass doesn't talk about single combat much. His view on the matter while he was training me was that only fools fought in matters of honour on a one on one basis.

That says something and if someone calls him a fool then they should know that he did it to himself first.

He would say that if you are fighting someone to the death then you use every advantage that you can have to get the job done. People might call you dishonourable but it is better for someone to say that "Freddie is a dishonourable fighter," rather than "Freddie was an honourable fighter." The distinction is a small one but it is important. But when I did manage to dig through all the rest of his teachings he had this to say about an honourable combat.

"There may come a time when your back is against the wall and you have no other choice. Where to fight dishonorably is to die. Formal occasions and things like that, with witnesses and serious folks standing around with spears, crossbows and swords to make sure that you fight on their level and no other. When that happens, the first focus must always be to kill the other man. If you can't manage that, wound him first. If they draw blood on you first then ensure that you draw blood from them shortly afterwards.

"The loss of blood is the moment where you know that the fight is beginning to come to an end. This is because the loss of blood is not just the practical thing in that losing blood is the loss of strength, but losing blood is also the loss of confidence. When doubt starts to creep into your mind then you are lost. The doubt walks hand in hand with the loss of your strength. As you begin to feel the blood running from the injury, wherever that injury might be in your body, it starts to tell you that you are dying. It always feels like there is more there than there actually is, especially if it's a head injury. But you are wondering how much blood you have left to lose. How long before you start to bleed to death. How long before the blood loss makes you feel weak and lightheaded.

"Then you start to feel the need to get the fight over with as soon as possible in order to get the medical assistance that you desperately desire in order to survive or, at least, to be crippled as little as possible. The danger here is that I cannot tell you that you are wrong to do so. As more than one duel that I have seen has wound up in a race to see who could bleed to death the quickest, with the winner being the man who is slowest.

"And every movement you make, every movement you make, makes the injury worse. You can either favour the injury in order to keep it from opening and getting worse, which leaves your guard open to being exploited. Or you can fight as you would normally which leaves you open to all of the risks that I have just mentioned.

"In all things, know this. When blood is shed, it is approaching its end."

I looked at Kerrass as he fought and I remembered all of this and I rather thought that I could see that same realisation in his head. He knew that things were coming to a close.

The duel continued. It was happening a bit slower now. Kerrass' arm was injured and so his blows and parries were that little bit slower. But this was balanced out by the fact that Alain's leg was injured which meant that the Knight's footwork was that little bit clumsier.

Both men could see the weakness of the other now and both men were constantly moving and attacking in order to work at the injuries that had been made. Kerrass kept moving in order to force Alain to turn awkwardly and put his full weight on the injured leg, where Alain kept striking out to force Kerrass to parry and block in awkward positions.

For a while there, the duel became boring and the crowd began to be restive. Alain always struck the same way causing Kerrass to become clumsier and clumsier. Kerrass always moved in the same way causing Alain to grow heavier and heavier. It was the same strokes, the same parries and the same movements over and over again.

Alain would strike out at Kerrass' Low right guard which would stretch the muscles in Kerrass arm in order to exacerbate the wound when the blow was parried. Kerrass would move into the block with a double step and turn which would push Alain's sword out of the way and cause him to twist to keep Kerrass' blade from reaching him.

The two combatants were circling each other as Kerrass tried to get further and further round Alain's guard while Alain seemed content to just let him do that.

It had become a matter of endurance now and I had become convinced that Kerrass' injury was worse than Alain's because Kerrass' sword strikes were coming that little bit slower, his parries that little bit less sure. In the meantime, Alain's steps were the same.

And so it went. Two rapid strikes and parries before a pause as Kerrass moved round Alain, the sounds of his feet scuffing into the dirt as he went. Masked only slightly by the crowd shifting its weight and a growing murmur of whispering as people expressed their displeasure at what they were watching.

It went on and on like that for ages. For longer than you are thinking. Long enough that the shadows noticeably lengthened as we watched. The area that the two men were fighting in was well lit and there was no issues with either of them being unable to see.

On and on it went. Clang clang step. Clang clang step.

It became monotonous. Soporific almost. Both of them were waiting for the other man to get bored and try something else. Both of them were waiting for the other to weaken.

Clang clang step.

Once again, as I watched, I felt the cold cloak of despair starting to cover me. This had been going on for too long now.

Clang clang step.

And then I remembered that playing for time was guaranteeing our victory.

Clang clang step.

But how long would it take Gregoire and Guillaume to find what they needed to find and get here to stop this.

Clang clang step.

And would they have the authority to do anything about it even if they could.

Clang clang step.

A brief chain of fantasy occurred to me then that Gregoire and Guillaume would come down here and declare their intention to arrest and remove Alain at the close of the duel regardless of who the victor was. I found myself sinking into a nice warm bubble of the thought that Alain would realise that the game was over. That he would cry out in despair and charge at Kerrass, exposed and just waiting for the end to come.

Clang clang step.

It was a nice thought. Then Kerrass would have his victory and his vengeance. Alain would be known to be the cad and the ass that he was and I would still have my friend to stand next to me on my wedding day.

Clang clang, clang…. Clang.

It was a nice thought.

And Kerrass attacked. I don't know what he was thinking. What caused him to break the pattern like he did. But he suddenly stopped with the simple rhythms and just attacked. Blistering speed, overwhelming Witcher strength and skill born from years spent fighting monsters and all kinds of men and creatures on the road.

And Alain ignored all of it. Parrying, dodging and blocking as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

Kerrass jabbed forward in a similar pattern of lunges to what I use with the spear and Alain twisted aside, dodging and parrying them as he went.

Kerrass leapt high and Alain sidestepped.

Kerrass feinted one way before striking with incredible speed in a horizontal slice that should have disemboweled the other man.

But Alain simply wasn't there.

Kerrass tried everything. He tried getting inside Alain's guard to grapple the other man but again, Alain sidestepped.

Kerrass actually tried several varieties of that particular trick and Alain dodged one and escaped the other one by moving in such a way that it stressed Kerrass' injured arm.

Kerrass tried everything and anything. Including just trying to trap him and rain down blows onto his opponent in an effort to simply beat the man aside with his strength.

And Alain laughed.

Kerrass backed off after that, absolutely expecting a counter attack which didn't come. Alain held his hand up as he laughed in Kerrass' face.

"I'm sorry." He said through tears of laughter. "But the look on your face." He laughed some more and a few other members of the crowd joined in.

Kerrass stood there impassively, waiting.

"Do you want to rest?" Alain asked. "I mean, it's only you that can call for another rest but I wonder if you want to rethink your strategy."

He grinned as he said it. They weren't allowed to taunt each other but as non-taunts go, that was a good one. Kerrass, wisely, didn't play into Alain's hands and simply nodded, walking over to his end of the fighting area and setting his sword down while he examined the injury on his arm. By the time I got to him he was breathing long and slow in an effort to calm himself. His eyes were wide and staring.

"Goddess Freddie. I don't know what to do." He told me when I got there. "I'm out of ideas. I've tried everything I have. I just… I don't know what to do."

"It's alright." I tried to get him to drink some water.

"I'm sorry. I should have listened, I don't think I can beat him. I've finally found The Better Man. The man that I can't beat."

He sniffed and took a large swallow of water.

"I always thought I would be grateful. You know? To finally meet the man that would make it so that I wouldn't have to fight any more. That would mean that I could lay down my burdens and stop… stop fighting all the time. Goddess Freddie but I'm so tired. So tired. I finally, finally meet The Better Man. Someone I had almost been looking forward to meeting and he's the man I so… I can't remember the last time I so desperately wanted to kill someone."

It was appalling. I had heard Kerrass despair before but back then he had two shattered arms and was out of potions. Now he was there with everything going on and he was all but in tears.

"Come on Kerrass." I told him. "This is just one more monster."

"But it isn't, is it." He told me. "It's not just one more monster. I've tried everything I can think of. I've tried putting him on his back foot. I even went for the hole to injure him and I knew that I wasn't going to get away from that unscathed but I went for it anyway. I went for it and I came off worse than he did."

"How is your arm?" I wanted to check.

"It's all but stopped bleeding now. I only know it's there because it's fucking cold. I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Yield Kerrass." I told him. "Apologise. Run away."

"I can't do that. It would be…"

"Giving up. Yes you said. But this isn't giving up. It's living to fight another day."

"No." He said. "I don't have the strength. I'm tired. If I didn't know better I would say that he has some Witcher training in him. Some form of mutation. He's so fast, never seems to tire and he's strong for all of the fact that he has no weight to him. I'm just…. I don't know what to do. I've got no more ideas."

"Time gentlemen." Palmerin called. "Places please."

"Freddie I'm sorry." Kerrass said. "I don't think I'm coming away from this one."

I closed my eyes and finally let the idea that this was going to be the last time that I spoke to my friend, into my soul. I let go of all the little parts of the future that I had been looking forward to. I set aside the dream of the perfect stag party where my friend would get me drunk and embarrass me in front of other friends and some beautiful women. I put away the image of a smiling Kerrass handing me a pair of wedding rings before my family altar. And I ignored the desire to see Kerrass across the tavern table eating a huge breakfast for the final time.

"Then make the bastard bleed Kerrass." I told him. "You hold on and you make the fucker work for it." I put as much anger into my voice as I could. "Even as he kills you, spit in his eye. When he gets frustrated at the fact that you just won't die, you laugh in his face. Make him bleed. Make him remember it. Make him suffer."

And as I watched. I saw Kerrass come to that same realisation.

"That I can do." He said. "Good bye Freddie."

"Say hello to the Goddess for me."

He nodded and turned to the fight for one last time.

There are several sayings among fighters and swordsmen in particular. One of the most famous is "The greatest swordsman in the world is not afraid of the second best swordsman, but rather the worst swordsman." It is a comment on the fact that an untrained man will try anything in order to get the job done.

But another saying that you will probably have heard of is "There is always a Better Man." It's a saying that, according to Kerrass, is deployed when a student is just getting that little bit too big for their own boots. Just getting that little bit too arrogant. When talent, youth and skill combine to make a new swordsman feel invincible, that is when a warning like this is delivered. It is meant to teach people to take nothing for granted. That there will always be someone who can beat you. As you get older, there is always someone that can sneak up on you. Then they will have all the advantages of youth, strength, skill and knowledge while your body slowly conspires to betray you.

And Kerrass had finally met his Better Man.

It was true that as I watched the two men fight, I don't think I had ever seen a swordsman better than Alain Moineau. I will say that. I will write it publicly. If it was a battle then he would have been overwhelmed by numbers. None of his patience, skills or knowledge would have helped him against the raw ferocity of the mob, or the massed terror of the PFI. Nor would it have helped him if he had been facing a monster. I even think that if it had been a proper fight, then Kerrass would have been able to come up with something. A potion that would make him quicker, a sign or any of the other things that a Witcher could command. A simple trick that isn't usable in the field of honour.

It was just that, in a one on one fight. Where the matter came down to pure skill with the sword. Alain was just better. It hurts me to write those words because I rather think that I hate the man. But he was the best pure swordsman I have ever seen and I have seen the Empress fight.

Others who have seen both men in action claim that the Wolven Witchers have a slight edge. Something in their training up in Kaer Morhen meant that their sword skills are unparalleled. Apparently, in a list of the top ten swordsmen in the world, Geralt, Lambert and Eskel would be ranked right up there although I cannot comment on them. I have seen them fight, just not in this kind of context.

But Alain was incredible. He was fast, but I've seen faster. He was strong too but that is not as much of an issue as some people might think it is in a one on one sword fight. His breath control and his stamina was as good as I've ever seen. They had been fighting for a long time now and Alain's conditioning was easily on a par with Kerrass' own.

But looking back at that fight, I think that his strength was in his mind. All the time that he was fighting Kerrass, he was watching Kerrass. He was analysing Kerrass. He was learning how Kerrass moved and reacted to what was happening. He was perfectly able to just lean back and allow things to carry on, letting his growing knowledge of Kerrass' skill set and physical capabilities guide his arms and feet while the rest of him worked away at the problem

He was like…

And they way that Epiphanies come to you when you write. Here is one that I didn't see coming until now.

He was a lot like a Witcher. Except instead of analysing the monster, learning about the monster in order to kill the monster, he examined duellists and swordsmen. Where Witchers might engage a monster briefly to see how they move and behave. To see if they can figure out the riddle of the beast. Alain had engaged the Witcher to see how he worked.

That had been what all the standing around was.

I would even venture the theory that if Kerrass had just launched an all out attack, the most dangerous moment for Alain would have been in those opening seconds of the fight. When the first blows were exchanged.

But now we were in deep and Alain knew everything that Kerrass could dish out. He knew his opponent and it was going to get messy.

Kerrass had finally met his Better Man.

There is another saying that I am going to throw out at you. I have no idea if it is true but if it is, then I must admit that I am glad that I was not the third son and never had to join the military.

Famous generals and military minds have often said that in order for a soldier to do his job, then he must first accept that he is dead. Anything else is a bonus.

Now as a philosopher, even a fireside one like me, can point out all the problems in that. Including the fact that thinking like that is what leads to the horrors involved as to what can happen when the city walls are breached and the soldiers sack the city. Where otherwise good, flame-fearing family men go mad and steal, murder and rape their way through the conquered city.

But sometimes it works. And that was what Kerrass did when the duel began again. He had accepted that he was dead. He had said his goodbyes and he advanced towards his enemy, intent on destroying him and rendering him, simply, dead.

And it nearly worked too.

Kerrass advanced on Alain like an avalanche. Like a boulder rolling down hill. He behaved like one of those automated machines that the dwarves keep boasting about or a magically infused Golem. Just advancing towards the enemy, not flinching. He had his sword out and ready with his left hand also extended ready to grab and hold.

"Kill me." He was saying with his body. "Come on, kill me and when you do so, know that I will kill you with the return stroke." It was an attitude of mutually assured death and for a moment I saw Alain looking confused as he tried to figure out what to do about it.

Kerrass advanced, Alain attacked and Kerrass just swatted the attack away, reaching for his opponent as he came.

Alain backed off, frowning in thought. Kerrass didn't let him have the time. This time it was Kerrass that attacked but instead of attacking the body of his opponent, he attacked the blade seeking to knock it to one side or to move the blade to a point where Kerrass' left hand could reach out and seize the wrist that was holding the sword.

Again Alain moved back. I watched him carefully and it was about here when I realised that Alain fought with his mind as much as he did with his body. For an unintelligent man in his education and his way of treating other people. Unintelligent politically as well, he was a martial genius. His lips were moving as he tried to work out what was happening.

Kerrass chased him round in a circle, lashing out with his own blade, occasionally using both hands on the hilt to make the weapon stronger and more secure, less clumsy. But mostly, the blows were quick, jarring strikes that would, even if they hit home, almost certainly only wound slightly. He was goading Alain. Daring him to come on and attack. Daring him to kill.

I felt that, oh so treacherous ray of hope in my chest again. I had allowed the knowledge that my friend was going to die here today into my soul and in that surety, all that was left was to hope that he was going to get his man in return. I wanted him to kill Alain. I wanted to see Alain's blood in the dirt. Even if I would, inevitably, weep as I watched my friend die, that bitterness would be lifted somewhat by the knowledge that, at least, he had taken his enemy with him.

Stupid macho male bullshit I know but in the heat of the moment, when there is nothing else to comfort you, you take what you can get.

Just as I had begun to feel that hope though, my heart sank accordingly as I saw Alain begin to smile and his frown brighten. D'Alambourd would later claim that I groaned and he might be right.

Kerrass saw it too and leapt forward, attacking faster and faster and faster, still pushing forwards, still trying to goad Alain into overextending, to overcommitting.

And as he did, and this is just my assessment as a watcher. He became something that Alain could fight.

There were many movements that I couldn't see during this whole duel which is why it's been really frustrating to write about. One of the attending fencing enthusiasts published a paper in the fencing magazines about the duel that goes into all the technical aspects. The article is called "When the fighter met the duellist" and can be read in one of the more recent publications on the subject. I read it and although I cannot follow a lot of the more technical language and the writer is a little bit biased against Kerrass on a professional level…

He is basically of the opinion that Kerrass was a fighter that had no business in a duelling circle and that although he plainly doesn't like Alain the man, he admires Alain the duellist.

… It does sound closest to my memory of how the fight went.

There were many movements that I couldn't see because the blades moved so quickly and I would often simply not realise that an attack had been made and fended off until after the sound of the blades clashing had died down. But this move I saw and it was the beginning of the end of it all.

Alain leant forward and thrust his sword towards Kerrass' neck. Kerrass beat the blow aside and reached for Alain. Alain sidestepped, lifting his sword onto the other side of Kerrass blade, adding a bit of momentum to Kerrass parry. The two blades barely met that second time. It was just a little push after all and then Alain's blade jerked towards Kerrass' face.

To my mind, what Kerrass did then was a reflexive motion. He didn't do it consciously. I doubt he even did it knowingly. It is true that a man might be comfortable with the idea of dying but uncomfortable with the idea of going blind.

But regardless of the matter, Kerrass jerked his head away from Alain's strike. Howeve, Alain hadn't been aiming for Kerrass' eyes. He had been aiming for his forehead and managed a long, horizontal cut along Kerrass brow that proceeded to bleed profusely.

It was not a deadly wound. To break through the forehead, you need force and weight. You can do that with the sword but you need to put some stuff behind it and this blow was almost effortless. Entirely led by the point and the sharpness of the metal.

And because it was a head wound, when it started to bleed, it really started to bleed. Right into Kerrass' eyes.

Palmerin put his hand on my shoulder.

"Don't watch." He whispered in my ear.

D'Alambourd was looking at me with sympathy. Even he had a tint of despair in his face as he whispered. "It is inevitable now."

I shrugged off the hand.

"What kind of friend would I be." I told them. "If I didn't watch his ultimate moments?"

Kerrass backed off from Alain and wiped the blood from his face. And Alain came with him, shifting to the attack now.

Alain came on, overconfident and swaggering, huge big swings of his sword giving huge, magnificent arcs of light as they soared through the air, glittering in the torchlight. Some of his supporters were laughing now, small noises that were probably a little bit harsh and going against the comments or the distractions that Palmerin had warned about.

But there was also the problem of, who would he punish? There were so many of them.

Alain was mocking Kerrass. I knew it, he knew it and we all knew it. He was confident now, too confident and that confidence was making him cruel. He was swinging his sword to provoke the noise. He knew that Kerrass would have had his depth perception ruined by having blood in one eye or the other and so he was drawing Kerrass on. To force Kerrass to be clumsy and stupid.

And I felt my lips curling into a smile. Kerrass would not be fooled by this. Alain had made a mistake. Kerrass was trained to fight in the warrens of the Feline school of the Witchers. He could fight in the dark, he could fight in the brightest, most blinding light. And he was more than capable of dealing with the small distraction of a bit of blood in his eyes.

He did not fall for the feints and when Alain had come closer, Kerrass had feigned weakness before coming back with strength and a precise as can be, flurry of blows. He was fast, he was strong and he was manual perfect. His form could not have been better if you had held the weapons manual out and used it as a basis for his movements.

The movements were so fast that it was honestly a couple of moments before I realised that Kerrass' ruse hadn't worked. And it was a few moments after that where I realised what Alain had done. And just as my triumph was forming in my throat it turned to bitterness and a groan of hopelessness.

Alain had read the movements. He had expected Kerrass' ruse and had played into it. It was the most classic of things. He knew that they knew that he knew, and Alain played that game perfectly. I can hate the man but I must also admit the truth that Alain played the entire thing wonderfully. Flawlessly.

He had expected the strikes from Kerrass. He had even been able to read which set of strikes Kerrass was going to come at him with.

He sidestepped them, pushing them aside with his own blade before driving the pommel of his sword into Kerrass' nose.

Blood exploded from Kerrass face and he staggered away and to one side, but Alain wasn't done. He followed Kerrass and in a movement that spoke of much practice, he used another short, numbing strike against Kerrass sword arm, deadening the nerves and pushing Kerrass' sword aside. Then Alain literally dropped his sword before bringing both hands together with Kerrass' ears in a clapping motion.

Kerrass screamed before reeling backwards, sword arm flapping around uselessly, desperately shaking his head in an effort to clear it while Alain caught his falling blade with his foot before flicking it back up into his grip. He gave the sword a little twist to show off to the crowd. There was no doubt in the audience now as to who was going to win this duel.

Again, I have read some analysis of those people that watched and spoke of the different duelling styles. They claimed that Kerrass could have won that fight then. That if he had mastered his sword then he could have finished Alain off while Alain was showing off. This is true, he could have done. But I think that those people have never had their noses broken. They have never had that double impact over the ears which, I'm told, can cause permanent hearing damage.

And they have never had a cross bar of a sword driven into that particular nerve cluster in the arm. So yes, if Kerrass had been able to set all of those things aside then yes, he could have skewered Alain then and there.

But "if" is a much larger word than people think. Like "nearly" or "almost". As in "The North almost gained complete victory against the Empire." Or "The climber wasn nearly able to jump the sheer gap without falling to his death."

Kerrass staggered backwards, shaking his head furiously.

When he was well out of range of Kerrass' reaching, trembling sword, Alain turned to me and grinned.

"You really should stop writing down all of your strengths and weaknesses Lord Frederick." He told me. "I read about your friend's reliance on his hearing with great interest."

He laughed.

"Have a care." Palmerin growled but Alain ignored him. This was his moment of triumph and he was not going to pass up the opportunity to gloat a little bit.

"How does it feel Lord Frederick?" He asked. "To know that you have had a hand in the death of your closest friend. What is it you say? In some ways closer to being your brother than your brothers?"

He laughed.

"Watch your tongue?" Palmerin snarled.

"Oh please." Alain sneered. "What's he going to do? Challenge me to a duel? He can't beat me and he knows it. Nor can you? So what are you going to do? Are you going to duel me for all the times I gave you the horns of a cuckold?"

The crowd groaned at that as Alain turned away to face a Kerrass that was coming on.

"The Duchess will censure him." Palmerin whispered. "If nothing else happens, he will regret saying those things."

"Oh come on." D'Alambourd sneered. "He will claim about being in the heat of the moment. Same as he always does. There will be a fine and he will be sneered at, but there are greater scandals that will overtake everything for that to be remembered for more than, what, a week?"

D'Alambourd turned to me. "I am so sorry." He told me.

I ignored them both. The only reason I know what they said is because I was told later. I watched as Kerrass came on, refusing to be beaten. Refusing to go down. I forced myself to watch as he reeled from the damage to his ears…

I don't know why the ears are connected to your sense of balance, but they are.

He was blinking furiously, blinking past the pain in his face and to clear the blood from his eyes. He had both hands on the sword now although I noticed that he had swapped them round. Kerrass' right hand is dominant and he prefers his right hand at the top of the grip near the cross guard to aid with the precise nature of the strikes, while the left provides the power. But now it was reversed. In theory, it wouldn't be a problem.

In theory.

He came on towards Alain and attacked. Alain parried every strike easily, dodging aside from the others. Kerrass was slow now, hurt, bleeding and dazed.

Alain side-stepped another blow, moving right when Kerrass had clearly expected a left movement. Alain's blade flickered out and cut Kerrass in the Left bicep, cutting deep.

Kerrass switched the grip and came on again. Again though, Alain's extraordinary stamina…

I understand that, obviously, this account is being written from my point of view and that therefore the account is biased against Alain. As such, I may have underplayed just how much of a wonderful swordsman Alain was. Saying that he was gifted woefully underplays what was going on here. It would not be unfair to say that he was the perfect swordsman in this instance and if he had been fighting anyone else, I would have been in awe at being in the presence of such an obvious master. Leaving aside the obviously playful nature of the toying with the victim though. Alain's strength, speed and stamina were all extraordinary and also made for this. There is a difference between the strength you need to chop wood and the strength you need to dig a hole in the ground. The same way that just because you might be a relatively fit horseman or fighter, does not mean that you can keep up with the average farmer when it comes to physical labour in the field.

For Alain, it was as though he had been sculpted by some God or Goddess of the sword in order to be the perfect swordsman. And if he had been fighting anyone else, I might even have enjoyed the display on that level alone. But he was fighting my best friend and I was helpless before it.

Alain's extraordinary stamina came into effect. He had hurt Kerrass, injured Kerrass and he was still able to fight with his full strength and speed.

The numbness on Kerrass' right arm might have been receding but the injury to the left meant that he was simply not as strong with his blows and could not come back with enough strength to the parry, or provide enough strength to move Alain's sword aside.

So Kerrass would attack and Alain would strike at the blade, pushing the sword towards Kerrass' injury, causing more pain, more blood loss and meaning that Kerrass' blade was further and further away from the proper point of defence.

Which meant, in turn, that Alain could take his time and toy with Kerrass.

Small cuts started to appear on Kerrass. One on the upper thigh, the right forearm. The left cheek. Kerrass gritted his teeth and fought on but even those people who didn't know him could see the despair crawling onto his face.

Alain struck Kerrass's blade so hard that Kerras spun around and Alain delivered two strokes. One against the back of Kerrass' left calf, severing the muscles in the same way that Kerrass' left bicep was cut and the second was more of an insult as he sliced Kerrass across the arse.

Kerrass' leg buckled under him and he landed on his knee with another groan. Kerrass struck out again but the left arm failed him and he over balanced as Alain danced out of the way.

But Alain was not done toying with Kerrass yet. Another cut opened on Kerrass ribs. The left arm took another blow and it now hung uselessly at Kerrass' side. Another wound opened on Kerrass back, further deadening the muscles on the left side of Kerrass' body.

Palmerin was already pacing in disgust at this, so obvious, toying with a man's victim. But he finally lost his temper when Alain cut Kerrass' right ear off before picking up the distorted bit of flesh and holding it on the end of his sword for the crowd to cheer.

"Enough of this." Palmerin yelled. "Cease this disgusting display. Finish the matter or have mercy but this is cruel and sickening."

Alain spun out of Kerrass' reach. Kerrass, who was still trying to reach his enemy with his sword.

"This is mine." Alain snarled at Palmerin. "He is still fighting and the duel is not over. It is not over until one of us is dead or unable to continue. He clearly thinks that he can continue and so we continue."

"A Knight should have mercy." Palmerin told him. "This isn't knightly. This is… This is butchery. This is torture. He had the courage to come here and face you. Even if there is nothing else, he deserves your courtesy for that."

The crowd seemed to agree with Palmerin and Alain sighed. "Oh very well," He complained before turning back to Kerrass. Kerrass attacked.

In another move that I can well imagine some future sword instructor using as an example of how the maneuver should be done, Alain struck out at Kerrass' blade. He struck it once, twice before a third time sent the blade sailing through the air.

"Catch it." Alain called. "I would give it to his friends. That sword is mine."

He turned back to Kerrass who had somehow climbed to his feet. I couldn't believe it. I hadn't seen it as I, like the rest of the crowd, had been watching the sword spin through the air. But on his feet he was and he was nose to nose with Alain.

My heart soared with prode as Kerrass headbutted Alain in the face, breaking Alain's own nose. Kerrass followed up with a right hand strike to the face. The blow lacked strength and Alain was already falling back after that first head-butt.

"You bastard." Alain snarled as he visibly lost his temper and drove his sword into Kerrass' gut, so far that it exploded out of Kerrass' back in a spray of gore. Alain held it there for a long moment, supporting Kerrass' weight on the blade as he slowly gave the blade a twist, tearing a groan from Kerrass' mouth. Then the weight of a dying Witcher pulled the hilt of the blade from Alain's grip and Kerrass finally fell to his knees. And Alain let go.

His final act of cruelty.

"There Lord Palmerin." Alain spat at Kerrass' knees as Kerrass curled around the sword driven into his belly. "I have ended it. Now he can die in agony as he deserves."

The final act of cruelty

Why do I say that? Why do I say that it is the final act of cruelty?

Because stomach wounds hurt. No, I have never had one. I hope that I never do, but I have seen enough to know that it is more of a kindness to pull your sword out and deliver a swift blow to the neck in order to end the poor bastard's suffering rather than to leave him to it.

Sam once told me a story about when he was on his way to his first battle in the war. I was fifteen when the war started, give or take. Taken from my studies and sent to the logistics division to make sure that I would never be drafted onto the front lines. So that meant that Sam will have been sixteen when he was doing this. Naturally, Father's money meant that Sam was Knighted and was riding to war on one of the best warhorses that money could buy and wearing the best armour.

The horse was not a pure colour though so it looked cheap. Sam would often complain about this at the time as well as the fact that his armour looked poor and unornamented meaning that the other Knights would often bully him for it. Sam is older and wiser now and has since admitted that those self same Knights would have found a way to bully him regardless. And if he had had the ostentatious armour with the expensive looking horse, then the soldiers on the other side would have been more likely to go after him exclusively in hopes of a ransom.

But he once told me about how he was riding to the front when he passed a dying soldier by the side of the road. The man had been sent to walk back to the surgeons tents that were far back from the front lines at that point but he had finally lost his grip on holding his guts into his belly and they had all slipped free. He was sat by the side of the road trying to jam the kind of blue, pinkish sausage looking tubes back into his stomach. The soldier saw Sam looking and looked him the eye. He was pale, sweating and obviously in agony as he grinned at Sam. "Give 'em hell, son." The man said before groaning in the agony that the effort put him in.

But also, there is some science to it. Your belly is where all the food is broken down. We know that there are toxins in the human body that help break down your food and carry it away into your piss and shit and all the useful stuff elsewhere. We know that if you take that stuff out of the bits that it's supposed to be in, then it can become toxic, even dangerous.

And some fucker has just stabbed you in the stomach, tearing all those organs and spilling all those poisons and toxins into the other parts of your body. And those toxins include the bit where food turns into shit. And now that stuff is getting into your blood.

Feel sick yet?

So belly wounds hurt and it can take a man a long time to die if he gets stabbed in the gut, and that death is agony, every step of the way.

Alain was angry as he turned away from Kerrass. He had won and he held his hands up to his friends to acclaim his victory. And they cheered him, because why wouldn't they.

I surged forward to help Kerrass, to help him to the ground, to finish him off, to hold his hand, I have no idea what I was going to do but I tried to get to my friend. He was there, blood and dark, horrible, foul fluit was seeping around the wound where the blade still stuck from his belly.

"No." Alain spun on me. "No, he has not asked for mercy. He is not dead yet. His life is mine and I require that he dies." He wiped the thick globules of blood and snot from his face and spat to one side. "You leave him. You stand there and watch him die."

The anger and hatred in his voice was like a hammer and I looked around me to see if the people of Toussaint could see the man exposed for what he was.

He spat again. "And don't you heal him either." He howled at Ariadne and Laurelen who had also gone to move forwards. "The duel is not over until one of us is dead, or submits,"

"Or until both seconds agree that he can't fight further." I snarled, turning to D'Alambourd who looked stricken.

"My friend Dally." Alain snarled. "I instruct you to do no such thing. I've won, the Witcher's life is mine to do with as I please and I choose to watch him die here in agony. I've won."

And his friends cheered. I wanted to vomit.

"The mighty Witcher has fallen." Alain crowed. "I am the better man, I am the better sword." He turned to his friends and his anger at having his nose broken started to abate in the face of his victory. "I've won. I won. I won. I beat the Witcher. And I tell you what, I think I might even be able to take the fabled White Wolf. They can be beaten. And I did it. I am the foremost sword in Toussaint and you should all remember it."

"Finish the man Lord Moineau." Palmerin snapped. "Finish it. This is cruelty."

"Cruelty?" Alain laughed. "He challenged me. He insulted me. This is what you get when you insult me. People have been trying to portray these vagabonds as heroes for far too long. The bard Dandilion and now this oaf of a scholar who has been writing about the skills of his friend the Witcher. It should not be doubted that Witchers are filthy little mutants. Filthy things that were born and bred to be servants to their betters. And never let it be said that they are better than us. For after all, after all their training, after all their practice and their years and years of experience, they were still beaten by a normal man. A normal human with a sword and I beat them. I won. I won. I don't know who's cooking things but I want some of that… whatever it is as I watch the Witcher die, even if it does smell as though you burnt it."

He laughed again and turned back towards Kerrass…

And screamed as he staggered backwards and fell over his heels until he slumped backwards.

I like to think that he tripped on the same piece of raised flagstones that had tripped Kerrass earlier. Witnesses claim that Alain fell over his own feet, but I am less convinced.

Kerrass looked… He looked as though he was dead already. He looked like he was one of those living dead beings that continue to persist in plays and books everywhere despite the fact that they absolutely do not exist. His skin was grey with sweat pouring off him. His face twisted into a mask of agony, his lips parted as though he was screaming and yet no sound issued forth.

He looked as though he had lost weight and that he was a shambling corpse. Some plague ridden thing that does not yet know that it's dead and kills itself as it forces its way onwards and to my eyes, he had never looked more beautiful than he did in that defiant moment.

He was holding onto the sword in his gut with his left hand to hold it steady while his right hand sent a shower of sparks into the blade. Red, hot sparks and it was the cooking, burning flesh of the Witcher that we smelled as the hot metal partially cauterised the wound.

And then, Kerrass started to pull the blade that was killing him out of his own gut.

Some of the crowd screamed. More than one woman fainted. More than one man too for that matter.

Alain lost precious seconds as he scuttled backwards across the ground away from the Witcher that he thought he had killed. That he had beaten, that he had reduced to kneeling at his feet.

Kerrass tugged the blade free and for a moment the blade clattered to the floor as Kerrass let go.

Alain came to his senses for a moment and darted forward to pick up the fallen, gore covered blade. Kerrass went to stop him but he was still gathering strength. Alain stooped, swept the blade up in his hands and dropped it, howling as the hot meal burnt into his hands. The hilt wrapping smouldered as it fell free.

"Magic." Alain pleaded. "We insisted that there was no magic involved."

"He's right." Sighed D'Alambourd. He had enjoyed watching Alain fall back in fear.

"The Witcher is cheating." Alain shouted in triumph and fear as he eyed the Witcher who had got one foot under him and was reaching for the fallen sword again. "The duel is over and his life is still mine. I have won."

"No." I said. "I remember it distinctly, Kerrass even checked. No magic cast against his opponent and unless I miss my guess, he has only cast his magic against himself."

D'Alambourd's eyes seemed to glow. "That's right." He said. "That was the stipulation. Something that my friend himself insisted upon."

"That's not what I meant." Alain pleaded, now backing away from the thing that Kerrass had become that was trying to lever himself to his feet using the blade that was burning his hands as he held it. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I meant no magic."

"You said no healing magic and no magic used on his opponent. Those were the stipulations and you were even present when I checked them." Palmerin intoned. "I judge that the move is legitimate and the duel is ongoing."

"But I won." Alaim whimpered looking at Kerrass in growing horror as the dying Witcher hobbled towards him.

Kerrass wasn't a man any more. He was agony in flesh. Agony, hate and a rage so terrible that I was shaken by it. He could not move quickly but he was as inexorable as the tides. He used the sword as a walking stick, the blade bending under the weight and the fact that it was still hot and distorted with the heat. It would never be a sword again, but it did not need to be.

And Kerrass came on.

Alain looked about himself, looked around for a gap in the crowd. He saw one and went for it in an effort to get away, but there were men there and they barred his way. The crowd had turned, Kerrass' display of determination and courage in the face of Alain's unseemly behaviour had made Alain the villain. His wheedling had made the matter worse.

And Kerrass came on. He was moving faster now as he got closer to Alain.

"But I won." Alain said again, looking around for support. "I WON." He bellowed at the Witcher that was getting closer and closer to him. "I BEAT YOU. I WON. YOU CAN'T KILL ME. I WON."

He was pleading.

"SOMEONE STOP HIM."

"We can't." Palmerin said. "The Duel is still in effect."

Kerrass was finally in arms reach of Alain and started to bring the sword up. He was slow, painfully slow.

"But I won." Alain whimpered.

Kerrass' mouth opened and blood leaked out of the corner. He either didn't realise or did not care enough to spit it out and it made his face even more horrific.

The sword came up, slowly and inexorably.

"Wait… I won." Alain watched the sword coming up.

And then he pissed himself.

"Mercy. I yield." He whimpered as the yellow, steaming liquid stained the ground. "I YIELD." He shouted. "MERCY."

"He yielded." I shouted. "I heard him." I pushed into the circle towards Kerrass.

"So did I." "D'Alambourd said with a fierce joy that was astonishing to hear.

"As did I." Palmerin intoned.

But I didn't hear as I got to Kerrass. Something had gotten through to the stricken Witcher as the weight of the sword pulled him to one side. He looked at me and I saw my friend as the sword pulled him over. I leapt and for a moment, I didn't think I would make it.

But I caught him and lowered him to the ground.

D'Alambourd was just a second behind me and kicked the still hot sword away.

"Seize that man." Palmerin intoned.

Kerrass just smiled at me. His mouth went to form words.

"Yes Kerrass, you got him." I told him.

He nodded and closed his eyes.

"Not yet you bastard." I snarled at him.

And some horrid strength seized me by the collar and yanked me backwards.

"Out of the way." Laurelen demanded, Ariadne next to me as she dumped me on my arse.

She was already chanting and a blue glow sprung up around Kerrass.

I tried to push past them so that I could get at Kerrass, some way that I could get through to him so that I could be with him in his final moments. This time it was Mark's hand that hauled me backwards by the scruff of the neck.

"Let them work brother." He said.

"But he's dying." I protested, my inner childish voice springing forwards.

"Not if they have anything to do with it." Emma said standing next to me, adding her sisterly weight to my side and preventing me from leaping forward.

Not having a choice, I stayed where I was as I watched my friend.

After that first frenzy of magic and movement the two mages seemed to become a bit calmer. Laurelen placed Kerrass' potion case next to him and opened it. She seemed to whisper something quietly and softly before frowning and becoming angry. Then she nodded and reached into the box and produced a small black bottle that I remembered so clearly before she poured two drops of it into Kerrass' open mouth.

Kerrass screamed, a horrible cry of anguish and pain as his back arched up, only shoulders and feet on the ground.

Laurelen frowned and said a word in a language that I didn't recognise. Kerrass was instantly silent.

Ariadne was glaring at Laurelen who nodded again in answer. Another word was spoken and Kerrass went still, lying flat on the ground although to my eyes, his mouth was still screaming.

Ariadne hadn't stopped chanting.

I could no longer watch as tears were clogging my eyes and obscuring my vision. So I take what happens next from the accounts of some of the people that were there.

"Guards." Palmerin called. "You will take Lord Moineau into custody to await Witcher Kerrass' pleasure."

"But, I won." Alain protested weakly as city guardsmen appeared and took him into custody.

"You yielded." Palmerin told him. "We all heard you, you refused to allow the seconds to call the fight to a close and then you yielded. Asking nay…" Palmerin grinned viciously, finally allowing his dislike and hatred for the other man to show. "Pleading, begging, screaming for mercy."

The crowd laughed. Like any mob watching something like this, they had turned on a coin edge and now Alain was the coward and the villain of the piece. The matter was decided in public and in popular opinion. Alain had lost and therefore he was in the wrong. He was a wife abuser, unfaithful, a cad and all of the other things that Kerrass had said about him. And the people of TOussaint are nothing if they are not romantics. To betray a wife that loved you was a dark sin indeed.

"But I won." Something in Alain had broken I think. He couldn't get past what had happened and what he had said. It was inconceivable that he would lose and therefore he hadn't.

"So you will stand there and wait." Palmerin was ignoring the latest outburst. "To see whether or not Witcher Kerrass survives his injuries."

Lord D'Alambourd sighed unhappily. "As the gentleman's representative…" notice that he didn't say "friend." "... I feel that I must ask what will happen to the gentleman should his opponent perish?"

A spark of hope lit Alain's features for a moment.

"If he doesn't." Palmerin crushed the hope with ruthless speed and efficiency. "Then your life will belong to Lord Frederick. And although I cannot say what Lord Frederick will do with you, I would suggest that you, once again, steel yourself to plead for your miserable life. As you will have just killed his Sword Brother."

This particular aspect of Duelling law is interesting and is worth talking about. Duels happen all the time. Since the relatively recent, and by recent I mean since Nilfgaard first started invading the north, laws that outlaw the practice of duelling to the death except with the permission of your feudal Lord. This was so all the prominent military knights and generals would stop killing each other off over matters of honour. But since then mostly, the duels have been to the first blood. Which, in turn, has increased the popularity of the sporting side of duelling.

It's tricky.

But when you duel to the death and someone asks for mercy. Or if the duel is finished because the seconds both agree that the matter is over and that one opponent is definitely not getting up again, and yet he survives, then there is a point of law there. What happens to the losing side? An apology is not enough by this point, so what can be done? It is, correctly, considered as being absurd that a man might do this thing and then walk away afterwards without penalty.

So, like all of it, it becomes a matter of honour.

The loser's life becomes the property of the victor. This doesn't mean slavery. But it means that it would then be perfectly legal, if frowned upon, for the victor to walk up to the loser in the street and then kill him. Especially if it was a legally sanctioned, feudal lord agreed, duel to the death. If it wasn't then it would be perfectly honourable to do so, but the legal systems might disagree.

It all gets very complicated.

But what normally happens is that the loser is counted as being dead to a degree as decided by the victor. Generally that degree is governed by how serious the offence was in the first place. If it is a duel to prove that one man is a murderer, then death is all but certain. Except with a nice clean axe stroke instead of bleeding to death from a sword wound. This ranges from a man being forced to retire to his country estates, being exiled from the country all together, to never having any kind of public life again.

The most famous example of this in action that I could find was of two men that fought a series of duels since they first met some years ago. It was one of those trivial matters of honour that occur between two young noblemen who are convinced of their invulnerability and all round wonderousnous. And naturally, it was over a woman. A woman who, by all accounts, barely knew that either man existed.

The first insult was given and the duel was forced. The first duel was interrupted by legal means. The second ended in foolish injury. Depending on the account, a broken leg due to unsure ground or things to that effect. The third was inconclusive as the exertion and blood loss from the accumulated wounds meant that both men fell exhausted. This would go on and on to the point that the two men even managed to form a friendship when the duel was actually forbidden due to their nation being at war.

The two men fought and their growing friendship meant that neither was willing to force the matter to it's ultimate conclusion and so duels were called off due to weather, or because one man had a cold, or because honour "was not properly satisfied by the victory". They fought with all the different kinds of blades until it was clear that there was going to be no clear victor and a friend of both men suggested that they duel with crossbows.

That way, the death could be mercifully swift if it came to it. The two men were in their latter years by this point and knew that honour could not be left unfulfilled.

It's for bullshit like this that some people think that honour is a foolish institution. In this case, I would agree as the initial woman had long since moved on and the two men had both moved on with their lives. The final duel wasn't needed at all and was a waste of good lives.

Both men were given three bolts each and entered a hunting ground from opposite ends. Then whoever emerged would be considered the victor.

The tale of that duel is that the two men exchanged shots until one man had fired his three bolts and the other man had two in hand. He walked up to the loser and pointed the crossbow at his opponent's head and found that he couldn't pull the trigger. So he declared the other man dead and moved on.

What that meant was that the loser was to consider himself dead in all matters regarding the victor unless the victor acknowledged him first. In social situations, the loser would have to leave the party if the victor showed up. If there was a mercantile endeavour that both men were interested in, then the lower would have to remove himself from the entreaty if the victor showed an interest. And so on.

Or at least, that's the story anyway.

So we watched and we waited to see if Kerrass was going to survive or not. And as we did so, the shadows lengthened and it began to grow darker, and colder.

Although not as cold as it could be. That strange phenomenon of the fact that the skies are overcast meaning that it is actually warmer rather than colder.

I had completely forgotten what we were all there for in the first place until a young runner started pushing through the crowd.

"Hold." He shouted. "Hold. Make way. Make way. Halt the duel."

The crowd remained truculunt in it's insistence on not making a gap for the young man to get through. So determined that everyone was in an effort to ensure that they could still have the best view in the house. In the end, the lad, who can barely have been above the age of fourteen, climbed up on one of the mausoleums to get past.

"Lord Palmerin." He bellowed, his voice cracking at the end. "I have orders from the Knight Commander to halt the duel." The boy was waving a small scroll.

"A bit late for that." Emma muttered.

The boy was finally able to push through the crowd at Palmerin's insistence and the young man passed the scroll over with a bow and a flourish before collapsing to his knees in some manner of exhaustion while Palmerin read the scroll.

"It seems that matters are moving fast." He said. "Guards. You are to consider Lord Moineau to be under arrest for treason pending the arrival of the Knight Commander who is on her way here now. Commandeer his belongings."

"But I won." Alain protested. "I won."

"It seems that you have lost." Palmerin answered. "And in more than just this duel."

There was no moving the crowd now. I was dimly aware that something was going on. Palmerin had tried to give me the piece of paper for me to read but I was so intent on the growing magical light that was dancing around Kerrass.

Emma took the paper in my stead. Apparently it read, "Stop the duel and arrest Alain for treason. Kerrass' honour be damned. Wait for me. KCS" Emma told me that it was obviously written quickly and with a hasty hand.

The crowd erupted at Palmerin's words, dury, surprise and all kinds of things came to everyone's mind. Not least was an undercurrent of "How dare she interfere. This is a matter of honour."

But Palmerin stood there stoically and we all just stood there and waited.

Some waited to see what was going to happen to Alain. Others stood and waited to see what Syanna was going to say when she got here and still others waited to see if Kerrass was going to survive or not.

I was in that last category.

After what seemed like an age, Laurelen came to us, wiping her hands on a piece of cloth that she then dropped on the floor before she frowned at it until it burst into flame.

"He will live." She said.

I groaned and fell to the ground to more than a little bit of good natured laughter. Relief at a friend's life is one of those things that it is acceptable to get emotional about apparently.

"He is damn lucky that his best friend is engaged to a Sorceress of that kind of power. I'm not sure I could have saved him."

"What do you mean?" Emma asked.

"Well it seems that Ariadne's knowledge of human anatomy is intricate and detailed. And since being released and not knowing the first thing about healing magic, she now knows more than I would ever claim to know. And I know a lot. What she's doing now that he's out of danger is weaving a spell to accelerate and assist his own body's healing. It was tricky. We had to convince it, and him, not to just give up and die first and that was a close run thing. The damage that blade did as it went into his gut, then was twisted, then heated to approaching cauterising heat, and then being pulled out…"

She shook her head.

"Is that what he was doing?" Emma wondered. "With the sparks?"

"Yes," Laurelen's hand was shaking a little. "If he hadn't, he would have bled to death and pulled his guts out as well."

Mark winced in sympathy.

The crowd waited in silence as they listened to Ariadne chant. Syanna was not far behind her runner and turned up shortly afterwards with a pair of Knights Errant that I didn't know. And where the crowd had failed to part for the young runner, you had better believe that they parted for Syanna coming down into the graveyard in all of her power. She was wearing her full, Knight Commander armour. The business set of armour that was armour first and decorative second. It said something to me that she was obviously far more comfortable in that set of armour than she was in the other more ornate set.

She strode down to the bottom of the hollow and shook Palmerin's hand, other Knights Errant and guardsmen moved around, including a Knight Errant to go and stand with the guard that was around Sir Alain. Then she came over to us.

She was clearly ecstatic.

"What news Knight Commander?" Emma wondered. "You look like the proverbial cat that got the cream."

"And the mouse." Syanna agreed happily. "Also the bird and the… Oh fuck it. Yes, we've won and all we're doing now is securing our victory." She looked past us to where Ariadne was still chanting. "Is Kerrass going to be alright. He should hear this as well."

"He will be fine." Laurelen said. "It's just time for the spells to work now, he will be on his feet shortly I would expect."

"Oh, if I could only send mages with that level of healing out with all of my efforts." Syanna commented.

"He was lucky." Laurelen said. "We were here, we were prepared and our spells were already half cast. That he is a Witcher is another factor and that his potions, which would kill a normal man, were also on hand and prepared. He was lucky. But yes, if there were enough of us, if half of our scholarly work had not been burnt on the pyres of Novigrad and other places. And if our schools were not rebuilding and rediscovering rather than adding to and improving our knowledge. Then yes, many more lives could be saved."

Syanna raised an eyebrow. "Did I just touch a sore spot."

Laurelen laughed. "It's an old complaint."

"Lord Frederick." Syanna turned to me and held her hand out, speaking formally and loudly so that her voice could be heard. "There will be formal ceremonies of thanks and things as well as gifts, honours and feasts in your honour. But first, I offer my hand and my thanks for all that you have done in bringing this crisis to a close."

I was rallying now that it was clear that Kerrass was going to be ok. "Of course." I said, taking the hand.

Her eyes blazed. "We got them Freddie. We got them." She lowered her voice, allowing the gossip of the crowd to overtake her and muffle her words. Even as I speak, Lord Velles is singing like the proverbial song bird that your sister describes me as having caught. Runners have come back from Gregoire and Guillaume to say that the names that Kerrass supplied have borne fruit at the Moineau estate. We still haven't heard back from Damien, but it's clear that Raoul is in it up to his neck. We have more than enough to start arresting people and begin questioning them." She sighed happily.

"Any names that I would know?" Emma asked.

"Plenty, unfortunately." Syanna's good mood faded a little.

"How many were there?" I wondered. "In total I mean."

"More than I would like." Syanna said. "But less than I feared. Younger sons, entitled land owners, guards attached to bigger estates for the dirty work. We will learn more and I want to tell you more but for two things. The first is that this is still a public place and…"

THere was a brief scuffle somewhere in the crowd where a pair of guardsmen were taking some nobleman into custody. Syanna broke off to watch it with relish.

"What was the other reason?" I wondered.

"Because you look like death?" Syanna grinned at me. "You should get some rest now that this is all over. Or nearly over as I should say. And I would like some help with the interrogations if you are up to it."

"I can't rest." I told her. "I need to know what's happening."

"That curiosity of yours is going to get you killed one day." Said Kerrass.

I turned on him as he limped towards us, Ariadne was supporting him as she held one hand and Kerrass grinned at me.

A pale greenish, purple light was dancing around him. As though he was encased in an extra shield that surrounded him and encased him a shell. Points of light danced in that shell. It was a strange sight to see his injuries knitting themselves back together as we watched.

"If we're talking about idiotic character flaws that are going to get one or other of us killed," I snarled at him. "Then how about your romantic sense of honour? And your stubborn refusal to…"

"I'm sorry Freddie." He told me.

"Flame dammit Kerrass..." I felt anger, frustration, fear and relief warring at the back of my throat to threaten tears.

He hugged me.

"I'm so sorry." He said again.

"You got him." I told him.

The crowd cheered us. Another one of those situations where the romantic nature of Toussaint overwhelmed everything else and as the two of us, repressed Northerners both, broke apart I was gratified in seeing Mark wipe a sneaky tear from his eyes. Emma was hugging Laurelen.

"Dusty places these mausoleums." Mark commented as he hugged the Witcher that had once been his enemy.

I turned to Ariande who was watching all this with her outsiders gaze. She was smiling.

So I hugged her, it seemed like the least thing I could do.

"Thank you." I said into her ear. "I'm not sure what I would have done if he had died."

"He is your brother." She whispered back. "And you love him, so I love him. And truth be told, it was no real difficulty."

"Do not put yourself down." I said. "You saved his life and that is not something that should be made little of."

She looked chastised. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." I told her. "Be proud. I love you so much and I am so lucky to have you here with me."

She pulled back a little. "I am the lucky one." She said. I could feel her trembling a little which is normally a sign of some suppressed emotion. I decided that kissing her was the best route forward before we hugged again.

"Witcher Kerrass." Syanna called into the cheering. "I am afraid I must take your victim from you." She was speaking in that loud and formal cadence again. The kind of voice that reminds people that there is something happening that needs to be witnessed. "We are well aware that your victory means that his life is yours. However, the throne has precedence and I am here to arrest Lord Moineau for treason."

The crowd gasped. I mean, obviously they all already knew that but at the same time, hearing such a declaration said aloud is something else.

"Therefore, the throne's demands take precedence." She said.

I pulled apart from Ariadne who refused to completely let go and ensured that she still had a grip on my hand.

"I understand." Kerrass was leaning on Mark slightly, but even as I watched, it was clear that his strength was visibly returning. "I understand and applaud."

"The throne will of course recompense you…"

"I need no recompense." Kerrass said loudly and forcefully, showing that he knows how to play the game when he puts his mind to it. The crowd cheered him. "I ask only for leave to speak with him before you take him away as I have things I want to say."

Syanna made a show of considering the request, but the answer was already obvious.

"I think we can allow that. Although I must bear witness and I expect him to be able to face charges."

Kerrass nodded. "Freddie?" He asked, beckoning me forward. I departed from Ariadne, reluctantly, and went to take Mark's place as Kerrass' support as we approached Alain who was still looking around as though he expected to wake up from a nightmare at any moment.

"First." Kerrass said in the same formal voice. "To Lord D'Alambourd. You are known to me sir, as others have spoken of you. I would have you know that I bear you no ill will as I understand that your representation of my enemy is a matter of honour."

D'Alambourd bowed his acknowledgement of this.

"But I won." Alain said. "You cheated, you used magic."

"According to the terms of the duel that you set." D'Alambourd said, with no small amount of relish, "the actions of your opponent were perfectly legal. The Ducal adjudicator agrees."

Kerrass ignored this.

"I have two things to say." He said. "The first is that I agree with my opponent. He had me beaten. I was on the floor, out of ideas, injured and bleeding. He had me. And if he had just ended it there, he would have won. But instead, he chose to gloat, he chose to showboat. He chose to kill me slowly. All it would have taken for him to be the victor now, although I understand that he would not have gone completely free, was to pull his blade free from my gut. To have struck at my neck, or cut the artery in my groin. I would be dead and he would be the victor. Instead, I leave the field as the winner."

"I won." Alain whimpered.

"My second thing that I want to say is this." Kerrass shifted his weight and let go of my support.

"Thank you." The Witcher said to his beaten foe. "You have taught me a lesson that I could not have met elsewhere. I have become complacent in recent years. I was of the opinion that the only swordsmen that were better than I, were friends of mine. My arrogance has led me to slacken off my training. To take my skills and victories for granted and as such, I am not at my peak. You have reminded me about that oldest lesson of the sword, that there is always a better man. You were my better man. Thank you for my lesson, you have given me much to think about."

"But I won." Alain whispered.

Kerrass bowed, ignoring Alain's protest.

"I would have liked to see you face Vesemir." Kerrass told him as he straightened stiffly. "That would have been a bout to watch. We will not speak again. Farewell."

The bout between the Witcher and the Knight in Toussaint is going to be a famous duel. As I write this, there are essays, manual entries and discussions being had in duelling schools all over the continent about what happened when a Witcher met a duellist. People are discussing the psychology involved, what happened, the moves, the exchanges.

The analysis is going to go on and on and on. And it might even be true that the duel will outlast the events that were taking place around it. In much the same way that Francesca is now a saint rather than being my sister.

There are conflicts as to what happened, arguments about who should have won. The tactics involved, the movements, the techniques, the use of stamina, the tricks and ruses. All of it well above my head.

But there is one thing that they come back to. One thing that every discussion agrees on. Which is that Alain won. The Witcher was beaten. But a Witcher's determination carried the day. His refusal to die meant that he lived on. And that the lesson that future duellists and fighters should take from that, would be to always kill your man. Ensure victory before enjoying the fruits of it.

There is still some debate on what to call this mistake. Some people want to call it "THe Knightly Error" but I don't like that. Because to me, Alain was anything but Knightly. I prefer to call it, "The poor Knight's folly."

This is my account of that duel and what was going on around it. I consign it to history in order to let future historians be the judge. As is my duty.

After Kerrass' speech, we went up to the palace to await news of what we hoped was the conclusion of the Jack affair and so that I could get some rest.

There is a point to be made here about the best laid plans of men though.

(A/N: You should all know that there was nearly a version of this chapter that ended on the cliffhanger of Kerrass lying at Freddie's feet dying after Freddie had told Kerrass that he had won. Specifically, the chapter would end with the line "Kerrass nodded and closed his eyes". But I decided that that cliffhanger was a little cheap and too cruel. Because obviously the story isn't over yet. I already knew that Laurelen and Ariadne were going to heal him so… And with my work rate seeming to be a little slower recently, people might have to wait for a while to get that payoff.

Which would have been far too cheap anyway.

See you all next time. Thanks for reading.)