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

152. Chapter 152

(A/N: Thank you for your patience guys. A period of non-covid, brain goblin-related illness, an unexpected holiday in order to recover from illness, and the festive season have conspired to delay this chapter. Thank you for reading.)

(Warning: Described scenes of someone being eaten alive by animals. Also of someone being burned to death. Both recounted by a person as memory.)

It is quite something else to actually be hunting a monster, to reading about it in the textbooks.

To actually be there, among the people that have lived with it, worked around it, survived encounters with it and pray, on a daily basis to whichever God they worship, that they will be delivered from the clutches of the beast that Kerrass is being paid to hunt.

It is quite different, reading about the thing in the halls of Oxenfurt university, well lit, smelling faintly of unwashed bodies and tobacco smoke, safe from monsters and harm. Or reading about it in the cozy surrounds of Corvo Bianco, the weight of a good meal in your belly and the gentle buzz of fine wines and laughter at the anecdotes of friends.

It is quite different when you are sat around a campfire, faces flickering in the firelight as someone who you like, or dislike, tells you stories that chill your soul down to the bone. Where the musical accompaniment of creaking branches, wittering horses, and the occasional cry of some distant wildfowl serves only to make you jump in concern.

It is quite different.

It took me a few days to start to mesh in with the group. Henrik was a friendly, genial older man. He had no idea who I was, but he was dimly aware that I was some kind of nobleman. Despite his apparent friendliness, he took care to make sure that he was always sat between myself and his daughter and if, by the accident of traveling and making camp, I found myself riding next to his daughter or working near her…. If I was sitting on the same log or building the fire while she was nearby, he would turn up and loudly push one of us away.

More than once, I heard him chastising his daughter for being anywhere near me on the grounds that she should know what young nobles were like. He warned her, in my presence, that if her belly swelled with some lord's bastard, then she would never be able to settle down with a nice husband and raise a family. Her response was always short, brutal, and to the point involving her father having to go off and perform a certain impossible obscene anatomical act.

"Men like Virgins when they get married." Henrik would insist and then his daughter would, inevitably just storm off in an understandable huff.

But other than that, Henrik was friendly enough. A quiet chuckle in his voice. He was the kind of man that is largely self-educated in the ways of the particular parts of the world that he is part of and then doesn't see the point in knowing anything about anything else. For his part, he was a woodcutter and hunter. He knew more about different kinds of wood and what their uses were for and how they would be applied in different scenarios than any other person that I have ever met. He was also a skilled archer, although not as good as his daughter, and it was he and his daughter that provided enough food for the small group to eat and eat well.

His daughter, Trayka, was of a slightly different cast. She was angry and it seemed that the entire world was responsible for it. She was better with a bow than her father was, better at tracking and hunting and moving through the trees as well. Part of that was due to her relative youth as I would put her somewhere in her late teens or early twenties. My age, or a bit younger. She was not pretty to look at but I would be lying if I said that she wasn't attractive in some ways. She was a hard woman and she didn't really warm up to me during our time spent traveling together so I don't have much to offer other than second-hand information.

Like her father, she was a hunter, but she had made her money by hunting men. She was a Bounty Hunter by trade and from Kerrass' suggestion, he had actually wanted her to come with him, but her father had insisted on coming with her as well. Her skills with a bow and at tracking were vastly superior to her Father's, her equipment was clearly home-made. Not for Trayka the impressive curved wooden bows with layered woods of different kinds providing the tension in the spring. She reminded me a little of old Dan the Poacher with his different bows for different jobs. Although she lacked Dan's huge Warbow on the grounds that she never intended to go to war.

The one moment that she was remotely interested in me, or that I could seem to offer any companionship, was when she heard that I had met and knew "Sun-shot Dan" and she questioned me in detail about how Dan had made that shot in the North of Redania. She also told me that she intended to travel north and take part in Emma's regular archery competition that is held in honor of Dan and the men that lost their lives. She wanted to see if she could make the SunShot.

I do know that her father was worried about a horse that had already left the stable. I don't know if she was pregnant but I caught her and the Sword and Buckler fighter in a small clearing near the camp when I went looking for firewood. If you set store by such things and think that there is much psychology involved in how it works, she was on top and she had her hand over his mouth. I hadn't been looking for them and it was purely by accident that I saw what I did. He was muffled and she was silent with gritted teeth and clenched jaw so…

I left and went the other way. There was no intimacy between the two figures otherwise either before or after so I have no idea if it was a regular thing or what. I certainly didn't ask as it was none of my business.

The man in question was called Piotr and he didn't like me very much, which was ok because I didn't like him very much either. He was dismissive of me and my skills on any level and sneered when he watched me training. I would dearly have liked to show him exactly what I was capable of, but he didn't take part in any of the training exercises that Kerrass, Stefan, and I did with each other. This, despite his habit of sitting and watching all of our movements like a hawk.

Why didn't he like me? I didn't bother asking. Why didn't I like him? It was one of those self-defeating circles of thought. You just see someone and you know that you don't like them so what's the point in trying to get around the matter.

Kerrass would tell me that he was a local guide of sorts. He knew the area that we were heading to and could set our feet on the right paths. When I looked for it, he would certainly lead our small procession of travelers and it would be he that chose which forks in the road we would be taking.

He did his part in camp chores but that is about the best that could be said of him. I got the feeling that he was in a similar line of work to Trayka although, as I say, I had no idea if there was any kind of history between them. If I was being particularly mean and unpleasant, I might suggest that he was an ex-bandit or a military deserter of some kind.

He was very angry and would snap at different people if they tried to engage them in conversation. Mostly that was Henrik who bound the injury that I had given Piotr in our first encounter which was little more than a scratch and Stefan. Both Henrik and Stefan seemed to just let the insults and the snarled comments roll of them.

For his part, Kerrass ignored him while being relatively friendly with the other people.

Stefan was the odd one out. He was a warrior monk. A slightly more pious version of the various Knightly orders that live in the North. He was nearly as good with a sword as Kerrass was although not as acrobatic, he smiled a lot, laughed easily, and was genuinely fun to be around. He would always take the early morning watch on the grounds that he would need to be up early anyway in order to perform his prayers. I know for a fact that he would also get up in the middle of the night in order to perform a small midnight prayer and he would insist on stopping when he saw the sun going down, even if we started again afterward.

He was one of those people that makes you think differently about the religions that you encounter in the world. He was a Nilfgaardian, follower of the Great and Sacred Sun and he laughed when I asked him about it.

"Worshipping the sun just makes sense." He told me. "Regardless of whether or not you believe in the actual divinity of the sun, or if you believe in only what the Mages and scientists say. That the Sun is just a giant flaming ball of… something that I can't remember. It provides us with light during the day. It provides us with warmth. It is the sun that allows the crops to grow and for those monsters that I have heard so much about, the vast majority of them that friend Witcher over there tells me about, only come out at night when the Sun has sunk beneath the horizon."

"The hunter in me," Trayka argued. "Would point out that for those creatures for whom it is easier to see at night, which is most monsters, then it makes sense to come out at night when the rest of us are disadvantaged."

She couldn't resist needling the monk, especially as she couldn't get him to react to what she was saying with any kind of anger.

"Perfectly possible and logical," he said. "But that does not deny the point that they only come out at night, that their eyes are the best night and they must turn away from the glare of the sun during the day. And even if all of that was not true, we would still not have daylight, warmth, or life if it were not for the sun."

Stefan was a good-looking man, again, roughly my age although maybe a bit older. He rarely took his armor off except to sleep and to maintain it. He had the common features of the South in that he was Blonde, pale, and had blue eyes. I didn't ask him about his history but if I had to guess, then I would say that he was some younger son of a noble or a bastard that needed somewhere to be put out of the way so that he wouldn't be involved in any kind of dynastic nonsense.

And it was him that gave me my first real account of the Schatenmann.

It was maybe, three days into my joining the group that I finally asked why everyone was along for the road. We had started off, after the brief fight, by retracing our steps to the nearest town with a horse-trader for me to buy a new horse. It was a considerable step down from the one that I had bought in Beauclair and I was sad for that, but I also cannot deny that the giant horse steaks that Henrik cut from the flanks of my dead horse were absolutely delicious with some wild garlic, onions, and mushrooms.

After that, we set off South again and Kerrass gave his first sign that he was pleased to see me on the grounds that he declared to the group that I would be cooking from now on on the grounds that I was better at it than anyone else.

Henrik wordlessly handed me the steaks and after some foraging for the associated wold ingredients, I would admit to being quite proud of the meal that I produced. Even Trayka thanked me gravely for the meal.

Piotr just scowled.

Looking back, I wonder if he was a frustrated cook and was offended that his role had been taken off him.

After that, Kerrass, Stefan, and I trained while Trayka, later joined by her father, spent time sending arrow after arrow into targets that only they could see and understand.

Watches were divided and we slept.

That went on for a couple of days and I certainly had begun to feel accepted by Stefan and Henrik. Trayka couldn't give a damn, although I noticed that she was always near the front of the queue for my cooking, and I resigned myself that Piotr and I would never be friends.

We were sat around the fire, eating the last remains of our horse as well as some rabbit stew that Trayka had caught for us with some carrots and turnips that I finally asked the question.

"So what are the rest of you doing here?"

There was some uncomfortable shifting of weight.

"I mean, I know what I'm doing here. And Kerrass too." I went on. "But you all know what you're doing here right?"

"We hunt the Schattenmann," Henrik said in a low voice.

"Why?" I wondered.

"Well," Stefan grinned. "The money is good."

"Really?" I said to him, answering his grin with one of my own. "Really, you're going to lie to my face like that. A mercenary monk?"

"It's not so uncommon as you might think." He retorted. I might need money for a church roof, or to build an orphanage or something."

There was some laughter.

"Those orphans do need to eat." Trayka let one of her rare smiles out. "You should teach them how to hunt."

"I'm not so good at hunting," Stefan admitted. "It's a rare rabbit that will stand still for long enough to get to them, draw my sword, and get a good swing in."

He mimed the surprise of the rabbit, his cautious approach, the sword drawn, and then the rabbit scampering off. It was genuinely funny and we all laughed, including Kerrass and Trayka.

"Tell Freddie," Kerrass said. "I mean, we all know, but Freddie should know as well as to what we are all dealing with. And it is worth reminding ourselves of the danger we face."

There was some nodding, although Henrik hung his head.

"Then I shall begin," Stefan said. "The short version of my tale is that the Schatenmann is an evil creature of darkness and needs to be destroyed in the full light of the sun." He said it with a smile that slowly faded. "The real reason?"

He sighed and leaned forwards.

(Freddie: As close as I can, this tale is taken straight from Stefan's words. I was able to note it down as best as I could, but the conditions were far from perfect. He was a talented storyteller. He smiled, laughed, and scowled along with his story. He also talks with his hands quite a lot, waving and clenching his fist theatrically and appropriately as the story carried on.)

You people of the North do not understand the Sun. I mean, I can't blame you really. Dynastic squabbles between nations mean that you have been taught to fear the appearance of the golden sun painted on black armor. But that is unfair. Those of us that follow the religion closely are anything but the figures that you Northern folk fear.

To my mind, we are what the Northern religion of the Eternal Flame should be. The Northern Eternal Flame is about guidance. It's like a beacon to draw the people home to it so that they can settle into a place of safety. But beyond that, it does absolutely nothing to guarantee the safety of the people once it gets there. The Eternal Flame stays still, unmoving. It is cruel in its indifference to those people that are stuck out in the darkness, unable to find their way or to proceed further. They have not grasped the simple truth that, in remaining stationary, first in Novigrad and later in the different places that they have carried that flame to, they end up creating more shadows than they dispel.

The sun, however, the sun moves and in doing so, it shines its light into the darkest of places.

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The Sun is many things to us. Everything I said earlier is true. Everything. It provides quantifiable… sorry for the big words... Definite benefits. Crops wouldn't grow without the sun. We would all freeze without the warmth that the sun provides. It is well known that the world will end in the cold and the ice of the Eternal Frost, so in turn, I ask you, how do you banish frost?

I will answer my own question. You banish it in the light of the sun. You would need a lot of flame to do the same thing and that flame would be as destructive, even more so than the frost.

Take that, followers of the Eternal Flame.

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But I didn't come here to preach. If you want to, or feel called to the worship of the Great Sun or something else for that matter, then you will come to it and there is nothing that I can do, or anyone else can do to force you one way or another.

I have lost the purpose of this tale. Where was I?

Ah yes. The lighting of places of darkness.

I belong to an order of warrior monks… Sorry… Sorry… I have to point out another way that worshipping the Sun is better than worshipping the flame. You will notice that I did not call myself a Knight. Calling yourself a Knight places you above others, it is a feudal title meant to exert authority and dominance. I am a monk. Therefore, I pray and serve.

Do you see the difference?

But, the places of darkness.

I belong to an order of warrior monks. We believe that, despite our own best efforts, there are still plenty of places in the world that are shrouded in darkness. Creatures hide and skulk in the shadows, shaking their fists and glaring at the Sun as it passes overhead. When that happens, we, as a priesthood and as an order, believe that it is our duty to either bring the hidden thing into the light of the Sun or show the thing that life in sunlight is not so bad.

Examples? Off the top of my head, the Cave Troll that acts as a stonemason in helping construct the city walls. The Powerful Vampire Queen that falls in love with a certain person sitting not very far away from me at the moment and helps her particular corner of society to improve and better itself. I will admit that I would rather she converted to the Worship of the Sun rather than the Eternal Flame but… hey… it could be a lot worse.

And Witchers. I don't think I would offend our friend Kerrass if I said that they were created through laziness and evil. But they took the shit and the straw that they were given and, in their own way, they strive to make the world a brighter, sunnier place. I will not condemn them, unlike the Eternal Flame, for demanding coin for their services. Even Witchers have to eat and they don't have a helpful state to pay their way as I do.

But unfortunately, sometimes there are things… people, creatures and beings, that refuse to come into the light. That even… re-emphasize their commitment to darkness and evil.

That is where the warrior monks come in. If it's races or nations, then the Emperor, the head of our church, has an army to deal with that and I will admit, I will, I will hold my hands up and admit that sometimes, worldly concerns and politics mean that such things have been abused. But when it is a single being or a smaller area, then they send Warrior monks like me.

Which brings us to the Schatenmann.

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We have known about the Schatenmann for years. Or rather, we knew about his rumored existence. There was no, nor has there ever been, any kind of serious scholarly work on the matter. Maybe my new friend Lord Coulthard will be able to provide the first, should we survive the attempt of course. Our religion has been well spread for a long time. Being the state religion of an Empire will do that. But we were a wide cast net with many large holes in it. As we grew, and yes, as the Empire expanded, we would slowly shrink those holes and allow fewer and fewer gaps for these places of darkness to slip through.

It soon became clear that there was a significant hole in the area of the Southern Empire that is now called the Black Forest.

In truth, there were several holes. Some of which were there for knowable and definable reasons. The magical phenomenon of the sleeping sickness of Dorne caused there to be a large area of open Wilderness that we could do nothing about for obvious reasons.

As an aside, that was an interesting case. The way those villagers treated Sleepin Beauty was like they worshipped her as a Goddess. They knew that she was a normal person, but they treated her like a Goddess. But if you tried to suggest that they were treating her like a Goddess, they would get offended. It was my order that was at the root of a number of attempts to wake the princess up and no, not one of us are any of the people that Witcher Kerrass later took his vengeance upon. Our people were better than that.

But I'm getting off-topic again.

There were several holes in the net in the Southern Empire. Sending missionaries was often catastrophic as they would go astray, offend some local cult or piece of pagan worship before getting murdered for their trouble. There were natural problems of course in that time period, as friend Kerrass would say, there are always monsters on the roads of the Empire and that is true today, even if more and more of them are wearing human skin.

But as our net became tighter and tighter, we started to realize that there was one particularly large hole that we knew nothing about and that was the hole that exists where the Black Forest is.

It took us a while to find out what the problem was. We had learned to make polite inquiries of the locals before we blundered in.

Another mistake that the Northern Religions make. It is easier to make headway with a slow and steady approach. People react to kind words and gentle offerings far more than they do to the condemning blaze, torturers, and burning stakes.

So as we started to map the roads and talk to the locals. We eventually, inevitably, found out about the presence of the Schatenmann.

We made a mistake then. Not our last. We assumed that the term "Schattenmann" which, I'm sure you know, translates roughly to "Shadow Man", although some of the locals have different corruptions, dialects, and translations that are unique to their areas. Things like "Man of scissors" and "Man of blades". It was this last that led to us making our mistake.

In short, we made an assumption about what we were dealing with. It is always a mistake to make any kind of assumption as I'm sure many of you will appreciate. In this case, we assumed that the Shadowman, the Man of Blades was a bandit warlord, a robber baron, or some other person that was using all the rumors and tales of horror in order to prey on the fears of those more superstitious than himself.

So we sent in an armed force that promptly vanished.

Yes, it is funny when you say it like that. Twenty good and well-equipped soldiers and armored warriors for the time. I have no doubt that they would look quite primitive to our modern eyes but they were well-led, well equipped, well provisioned. They were hardened, experienced fighting men who had been involved in dealing with the many cults that the countryside naturally throw up.

They rode into that dead area of the map and just never came out. No sign of them was ever discovered.

The church of the Sun was still spreading itself at that point so we did the same thing we did every time when we came across something that we were not in a position to deal with right there and right then. We put a note in the maps to deal with the area when we had more power and more influence and we moved on to easier targets. We figured that we would be able to build up to dealing with the Schattenmann.

There is some evidence to suggest that we didn't entirely rest on our ankles. We hired a mage to look into the matter although I haven't been able to find any record of what happened to the person before or afterward, certainly no record of any reports regarding what the mage found.

We sent some surveyors to look at the borders of the Schattenmann's influence, which is actually really easy to map. He has a central core of woodland which is impossible to cross. By the maps estimation, it would take you a week to travel across the thinnest point, presuming you didn't get turned around and that there were no other obstacles in the way. And no one who has ever tried to cross it has ever come back. And those that go in and survive… well… things happen to them. They come out… changed in some way.

So we watched and we waited and in doing so, we made our second mistake.

I have been rather unfair to the churches of the North so far so I will now be nice to them and point out something that they do better than we in the South.

If you give the people, and the religious scholars of the south, enough time. Then sooner or later, they will convince themselves that supernatural creatures don't exist. They start to believe that magic is a hoax, that curses don't work and that monsters are inventions of the nobility to keep the lower classes in line.

Partially, this is the fault of the Witchers who did their jobs too well in the South, eradicating the dangerous creatures for us before moving where the work is. The state keeps magic tightly controlled in a stranglehold which, in turn, denies magical progression which, further to that, means that the Northern Mages are, or were, far more advanced in their understandings of how the world works than Southern Mages.

The Eternal Flame and your Radovid the Mad did us a favor there… But I'm digressing again.

So rogue magical phenomenon, rarely occur. Monsters and magical creatures that ARE in some of these areas are dismissed as a hoax, or are intelligent enough to hide, or portrayed as being a normal part of life.

For example, the Kikkimores and centipedes in Toussaint.

I was very interested to read the tales of the Bard Dandelion where a powerful Vampire declared that he would hide in the South where people don't believe in Vampires anymore. I remember reading that point and laughing before I became serious on the grounds that it is rather more true and accurate than I am entirely comfortable with.

My point being, that eventually, we convinced ourselves that "The Schattenmann" was just a peasant superstition without taking into account the fact that sometimes, as the Witcher will tell you, peasant superstitions exist for a reason.

So this will have been about forty years ago, maybe a little bit more. There was a new priest of the Great Sun. By all accounts, he was a good, if ambitious, man. Everything that you really want to look for in a priest. He was handsome, charming, and personable. According to some records he lived an ascetic life but others claim that if he had a weakness it was that he was hopeless in the face of a beautiful face, male or female, but he loved the Sun with a fierceness that denied earthly ties. He was one of those that believed that the body has needs but that the mind and soul should be free to worship. Make of that what you will.

Certainly, neither I nor any of the people that have looked since could find any evidence of bastard children or anything that might hint of something being covered up which normally accompanies such things.

I can see friend Freddie nodding in agreement.

He was a younger son of a nobleman, left to join the church as he was the most suited to the effort. He was working his way up the ranks and had his eyes on high office within the church hierarchy…

Such as it is….

Anyway.

But he was young and he didn't have the patience needed to be able to sit still and allow the plaudits to come. He went seeking out opportunities rather than waiting for those opportunities to come to him.

And it… well… It didn't kill him.

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Before anyone asks, we weren't related, or at least I don't think so, so I'm not here for vengeance.

But he wanted to climb higher and faster so that he could institute some real change, or so he thought. Such people rarely think of the fact that things are the way they are for a reason and that change, if it comes at all, needs to come slowly so as not to cause more harm than it creates.

Me and my tangents.

He would spend hours looking for something to do in order to prove himself and eventually, as I'm sure you must have guessed, he found it in the figure of the Schattenmann.

He had convinced himself that the Schattenmann was just a peasant superstition. At best it was a spirit of some kind that could be fought off and destroyed. He was sensible enough to realize that military action was not going to get the job done so instead, he reasoned that a slow and steady approach would be better.

His plan was that he would found a village. He would gather a group of settlers and they would move relatively deep into the Schattenmann's territory where they would clear the land as they went before establishing a village. They would build a church, at which he would be the priest, and gradually, over time, the religious nature of the settlement would dismiss the fear of the Schattenmann and the fear would be defeated. Therefore, if the Schattenmann existed at all, that would be how he was vanquished.

In theory, it was a good plan and other such areas have been conquered and converted in the same way.

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I'm sure you know where this is going.

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The church had convinced itself that the old expeditions into The Black Forest were led by cretins and incompetents. That with modern technologies and knowledge, this later effort would be better achieved. The expedition was co-financed by the church and donations of the nobility and the expedition set out, praising the sun as they went.

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It must have been a stirring sight. A dozen families loaded up their wagons and followed the marching priest, chanting and singing hymns as they went. Speaking as a religious man, the image conjures something in my soul. Even while I know that such expeditions are often misguided and lead to disaster.

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Their plan was that they would go out and establish their colony. Houses would be built and land would be cleared. That first party was made up of woodcutters, hunters, and builders. Their families went with them before there would be a follow-up group that would join the first. This would be sent when the funding had been completed…

Remember that our boy was ambitious and he wanted to get started as soon as possible rather than wait for everything to be ready.

… And then the farmers, the bakers, and the beer-makers would be sent afterward along with livestock seed and so on.

At first, the news that came back was good. The first messages that came spoke of land being cleared, roads and pathways being established, the second group was put together and set out.

I have read those letters and reports. They are kept in a file at my monastery labeled "The dangers of ignorance".

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The second group set out. When there weren't familial bonds between them and the families of the first group, there were certainly bonds of friendship. We have many more records about what happened to the second expedition.

They set off in good spirits. Young adults looking forward to seeing sweethearts. Brothers looking forward to seeing sisters. Mothers looking forward to seeing sons.

They made good time as there is nothing that triggers fast movement quite so much as enthusiasm.

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I've never actually talked about this with anyone before. To say that I am a fan of Witchers and the various works regarding Witchers, whether they be from the Bard himself or the Scholar sat over there, cooking my dinner for me, I am not a fan. Not really. I think that there are many flaws in the system that Witchers can't help but perpetuate. That is not their fault and it is my sincerest hope that those problems are eradicated when the Empress' new versions of Witchers and Witchering are produced.

But one thing that I do agree on is that studying the thing that you are going to be interacting with is vitally important. Knowing the situation that you are moving towards is one of those things… No one actually teaches you that. People didn't actually sit me down and say, you need to know what's going on with the… society that you're moving towards, the people that you are going to…

But unfortunately, when you go looking for something, there is sometimes a chance that you might find it.

I know a lot of what happened on that second journey because there was a girl in that party who was studying. She had learned her letters which was, and still is, an important skill, and given that the expedition was a religious one, it was not an isolated skill.

Say what you like about religion, but you are forced to admit that the reason for a lot of the education on the continent is because the religions that live here have put it there. Not everyone can go to the Universities and it is only by uplifting EVERYONE that we can find all the talent and the knowledge that is….

Yes, I know. It's far too easy to go off on these little tangents. This is not a pleasant topic of conversation after all.

But there was a girl in the group, a daughter of a baker and she was in love with the son of one of the carpenters that had gone with the first part of the expedition. It was a sweet little juvenile romance and the parents of the two were just waiting for the pair of them to be a little older before they agreed to allow the two to be married. The girl was… maybe… fourteen and the expeditions were not so backward to believe that marriage that young was beneficial.

How do I know this?

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My order has her diary.

It was her way of practicing her letters. To make sure that she still had the knowledge and the skills to keep up with her reading and her writing. She had some, silly little thought that if her beau declined her attention then she would run away to the convent. Silly, juvenile stuff. But she was worried that she wasn't as pretty as some girl called Karella and that "he" was besotted with this redhead and that she would steal him away from her.

But still…

Yes. My mother always warned me about redheads as well.

But we know about this all because of what was written in her diary.

No, I don't have it with me. The book and the paper itself were relatively cheap and so my order doesn't lend it out anymore. A few copies were made and sent to some of the Nilfgaardian places of learning but…

The first part of the diary is mostly about parental grievances and about how this boy that she was obsessed with just seemed to be painfully immune to her charms. The entries around the departure of the first group were very flowery and longingly romantic. Purple prose enough that it left me feeling somewhat uncomfortable at reading a young lady's private thoughts.

What? No. She survived. She's a townswoman now. Married a candlemaker in Angren. She has three grandchildren of her own but refuses to talk to anyone about this particular part of her history. To the point that she gets quite angry and has been known to call the watch on anyone that tries to talk to her about it.

I didn't want to read those early parts. But as I'm sure my new friend, Scholar Frederick will tell you, clues and knowledge can be found in the strangest places and my tutors would have been disgusted with me if I had avoided looking.

The second group departed several months after the first, driving livestock and things to help establish the farms and things that would be needed in the first year of the colony.

Why were there so many settlers?

Remember, this was before even the first intercontinental war, the time of the usurper. The church and people, in general, had fallen on hard times as the noble houses were full of the delinquents and impious scions of various houses. There were plenty of settlers that wanted to get away from the more populace places and so, a patch of wilderness, among friends, where they could worship what and who they liked without being accosted and attacked by entitled… I'm sure you get the idea.

But they departed and they made good time. The girl wrote about looking forward to seeing her love and to destroying her rivals. She wrote to him on a regular basis and at first, the news was good.

The ground had been broken, the first trees had been cut down and the church had been built. Personally speaking, I would have made sure there was enough shelter to survive the rains of spring, but that's just me. As I say, the priest that led the expedition was an ambitious man and wanted to stamp his authority on what was going on.

So they had built the church, other houses had been built and there were promises of a good little settlement going on. People worked hard, worshipped harder, and still had some little time left over to have some fun.

We even know what the sermons were about in the little community. It was about banishing fear from the hearts and minds. About carrying the light of the Sun into the dark places and about how people should not, ever, allow that fear to overcome them.

The colony had seen no sight or sound of The Schattenmann and as such, they were becoming more and more confident. Despite the fact that their nearest neighbors would warn them to be careful and wouldn't go near them as soon as they discovered what the colony was actually about. They didn't want to change and they resented the priest's efforts to try and forcibly educate them.

The colony was not concerned though. They knew that if they just continued as they were, living the best lives that they could as an example as to how life could work without the fear of the Schattenmann. Then the locals would eventually come around and the fear of the local superstitions would gradually recede.

.

It would seem that the Schattenmann objected to this intrusion.

He waited a little while according to the diary. You might even suggest that he gave the colony plenty of warning about what was going to happen to them. Rumors of people going missing in the woods, strange noises and the like didn't disturb the colony. They were confident that there were always going to be people that allowed their fears to rule them and as a result, would flee, or imagine things that weren't there. They weren't worried.

But then the letters stopped. Nothing came of it. The girl's beau was just not writing to her anymore. You might think that this would cause more alarm than it should have done. Unfortunately not. Why? It's tricky to say. Certainly, the girl's parents thought that her beau had simply lost interest in her. They were disappointed on her behalf, certainly, but they weren't too distraught about it. There were plenty of other reasons as to why the letters might not be getting through. Mail carrying is a rare thing and sometimes letters go astray. This was still before the Emperor had returned and the Imperial postal service was not yet set in stone.

There were any number of people trying to rebel against tyrannical feudal Lords and the countryside was forever changing with raiding between noble houses and the rest. So there was no reason for anyone to be concerned.

And the colony believed that the most basic explanation was probably the truth. The chances were good that people were just too tired, working too hard in order to found a new colony in the depths of the, let's face it, wooded wilderness to be doing something so boring as to answer the letters of a lovesick young woman.

What?

No, we don't know the answer to that.

Whether there were any other letters traveling to and fro from one party to the next, we just don't know. I can see the argument in either direction if I'm honest. The simple fact of the matter is that the argument that people were too busy is a good one. The two colonies absolutely believed that they would be seeing each other shortly, so why write when you could be building houses or making preparations for the journey.

Then the second expedition set out and it wasn't long before it was clear that something was very wrong.

The first sign that the girl recorded was that the locals shunned the wagon train as it moved. Other friendly travellers would politely enquire as to where the wagon train was going before they would find out and the people would be left. The merchants that tried to repair pots and pans to the train for a few small coins, would just pack up their belongings and walk away. Specifically, the girl remembered a wagon losing a wheel, a nearby set of farm-hands stopped to try and help the stricken wagon and lift the wheel back into place before they found out where the wagon was going and literally dropped the wheel and the wagon and left, warning off the other nearby people for fear of getting their stink all over each other.

The wagon train still didn't think anything of this because there is no willful ignorance like religious willful ignorance. And I say that as an extremely religious man. They had faith that the sun would see them safe and so they ignored all of these warnings.

They had been given detailed maps and I can remember some of these passages by heart.

'We left the road at midmorning and we traveled along a pleasant track. The path is not well-traveled but we can see where the wagons are meant to go. Father is complaining. He says that we will need to put some effort into these roads or what are currently small ruts will become vast holes and pools of mud that nothing can travel through.

'Mother tried to calm him by saying that we wanted to be self-sufficient anyway, so why would we worry about the travel.

'Father grunted something about Grandchildren while making sure that he didn't look at me. I tried not to choke with laughter.

'The line came to a stop in the early part of the afternoon without warning and we began to cluster up. Father is furious and left to see what the matter is. He wasn't gone long before he came back and fetched our wood ax and hatchet, telling my mother that there was a problem in the road and that we should expect to camp here for the night.

'Mother is worried. I can see why, this is not a place to camp, we are all stretched out, and although I fear no nightly noises and am secure in the knowledge that the sun will come in the morning. There are still bandits to contend with and we will not be able to form a proper watch.

'Father frowned before shrugging and setting off towards the front again.

'Father has come back. He is frightened. I can always tell as he becomes angry easily but the anger blows out of him like the wind blowing out a candle. He told Mother that the path was overgrown and impassible, that work parties were working to clear it.

'Mother got confused. She said that the paths were going to be well maintained that this was part of the plan. Father snapped that he knew. Mother shrank back from him but Father was already sorry. He looked at me and told me to go to bed as he took mother outside to speak privately.

'I am afraid.'

'I cannot sleep, the trees are too quiet. I am normally lulled to sleep by the sound of swaying branches. But now it feels frightening. As though the branches hate me.'

'Mother has just come through the wagon waking me. She has seen that I have my diary out and snapped at me that I should be getting some rest. I don't think she's really angry. She was getting our crossbow out. I don't know why. But we were warned that bandits could see our procession as a target for loot. We've never needed it before.

'We are moving again. The sun came up, grey and cold, obscured by cloud, leaving just a circle of brighter grey. It is very cold. But we are moving again. The fear of last night has not left me. Father is not in sight but the word has come down that we are to move again. Mother steers the wagon and her eyes are hollow.

'I don't think she slept last night.

'We are moving slowly. Very slowly, painfully slowly. I can hear some of the wagon leaders muttering and complaining. The horses and the oxen that are pulling the wagons are restless and weary. There are hands now at the head of every team, keeping them calm.

'There is the sound of ax blows on the air. I don't understand. It will stop for a while and then it will start up again. Every time it stops, I can feel it as though my ears are in a tunnel, trying to find the sound, hoping that there will be no more, but there is always more.'

'We have just passed the line where the lead wagon stopped. The bushes and the undergrowth by the side of the road look as though it's been freshly cut. There's a lot of wood debris, broken branches, and things. I went to go and get some as we always need firewood. Mother told me not to and shouted at me to come back to the wagon.

'Father still hasn't returned.'

'We have stopped again. This time we made a proper camp and everyone feels better for it. We stopped in the middle of the afternoon, hours before we would normally stop. Mother says that we have traveled less than two miles. She is scared.

'Father has come back. He looks old, older than he has in a while. He spent some time hugging me and Mother before he went out. He has blisters on his hands and Mother had to put some ointment on them. He looked at the crossbow that Mother is carrying with her everywhere now. He didn't say anything. Normally, he gets upset when she carries it because she is a better shot with it than he is.

'This time he said nothing.

'There is to be a proper watch set tonight. Proper and doubled.

'Father is stupid. He tells me that I don't need to be afraid. He never understands that this is precisely the thing that makes me afraid.

'I am sleeping beneath the wagon tonight in my proper place. Every man and more than a few women are on the sides of wagons and watching out into the trees. We have more than one veteran in our group and although we were told that we would be a peaceful colony, I can see the torchlight glinting off spears, swords, and armor. No one has said anything. I can see to write with all the torchlight.

'I can't sleep again. The trees are still now but somehow this seems worse. There is a feeling of menace in the air.

'I want to go home.

'We made worse time today. I am driving the horses now as Mother rides with the crossbow at the ready. There was a commotion in the early hours of the morning. The adults found something in the cold light of day but I have no idea what it was. They won't tell me. I don't know if that makes it worse.

'There was another proper camp tonight. It's getting to mother. I can tell because she didn't argue when I made her give me the crossbow and get some sleep. It feels heavy and ugly in my hands. Father tried to be angry that I was carrying it but he wasn't really. He is scared.'

'Night has fallen I am not the only "child" that has volunteered to stand a bit of the watch. I am oddly grateful that I am watching the back trail.'

'I have been sent to bed. That was awful. I could feel something watching me. Every movement, every small sound, every cough from the people near me made me jump. I had to put the crossbow down in case my jumping made me fire it by accident. Makin did fire his crossbow, luckily he was aiming into the woods when he fired.

'I could hear something too. I don't know what it was. I would think it was the wind, or that I might be going mad from everything that has happened, but Karis and Enaya both heard it too. It sounded like a man's voice. A man, screaming in pain.

'We are getting ready to move again. I asked Mother about the voice. I'm pretty sure she could hear it. She went all pale. She didn't tell me I was imagining things this time although I could tell she wanted to. I want to go home. I finally plucked up the courage to tell her that and I think she agrees with me. Apparently, I missed father last night, he came back when I was on watch from a meeting of the Elders.'

(Freddie's note: I checked and this seems to be the equivalent of a town council. Stefan tells me that it's occasionally used in certain parts of Nilfgaard as a religious thing where there are elders that run the bureaucratic side of the church leaving the priests to get on with the spiritual side of things. Given the context, this could have gone either way I think.)

'I wonder if they were talking about turning around and going home. I want to see "him" again but this whole thing feels cursed somehow. Enaya whispered the thing that I know we're all thinking. She did it in the porridge line and her mother slapped her hard enough to knock her over.

'"What if the Schattenmann is real?" she said. Great Sun but I hope not.

'We are moving again. Mother says we should get to the village today, even at our slower pace. I hope so. I want to see "him" again. I want to hear him laugh, even if he has run off with that red-headed slut.'

'I am scared'

(Freddie's note: As he recounted what was written in the diary that I would dearly love to read, Stefan had shrunk in on himself, staring into the fire. It was a long time before he spoke again. He was torn from his reverie by the sound of a pheasant crying in the distance.)

The diaries end there. That is the last entry. We know she survived, as did the rest of her wagon train barring a couple of incidents of sickness and accident which, I understand, is usual for such an undertaking. They were found by a cavalry patrol and their leaders were taken to the nearby temples to the sun in order to recount what they found.

That day, the day that the girl…

(Freddie: Of course, Stefan knew her name, and he used it as well. But I am obscuring it here to protect her identity. As has been pointed out, she is still alive.)

… That day, they reached the village.

'The term "Ghost Town" is often misused. Same as anyone, we all know about towns and villages that have been abandoned due to various reasons. Economic reasons, nearby wars and bandits, loads of reasons. But this was different. It was as though the settlers had simply put down everything that they had been using and walked away. I have never been there myself. But people who have been there since, tell tales of stews that are still bubbling away, logs that are in the process of being split, houses half-built, books and toys left where they had been set. There is no disturbance, no sign that they were attacked. It was just as though the people had gotten up and walked away. And no one has ever seen any of them since.

'

With one exception.

'The priest is still there

'Church-funded scholars have been there, Witchers have been hired and mages have been sent to investigate and no-one can figure out what happened. But they have been able to figure out a couple of things. They know that the first thing that was done was that logs were cut in order to build a church. Not unusual with this kind of Colony that goes off into the wilds to worship the way that they want to worship. They take care of the soul first and trust that the body will come after. Personally speaking, I think that the soul will be fine to wait while the body eats and sleeps. A person can't worship or take care of their soul if they're starving to death.

'But we know that the church was built first and the priest hangs from it. I have not seen it myself, but it looks as though vines have grown from the split logs that make up the church. And the priest hangs from these vines by his wrists.'

(Stefan sighed)

He is still alive if you call it living. He doesn't appear to have aged, looking like a man in his late twenties early thirties. The last expedition there described him as being emaciated and skeletally thin now. And I know, I know all the things that should have happened. The weight of his body should have pulled the arms out of their sockets. But he is still there, still swinging. He begs to be killed, for his pain to be lessened. He is quite mad. He tells people that he was wrong, he weeps and tells people that he killed all of those people but won't explain what that means. My order believes that it was his wailing voice that the girl heard floating on the wind.

'The only thing that he will say is that "The Schattenmann came for us."

'And he can't die. Or rather he can, but he always comes back. There are accounts of him being shot, stabbed, disemboweled, poisoned, strangled, burnt, frozen. They burnt the church down once, covered it in oil, and set fire to it with him included. That seemed to do the trick for a while but then they found him the following morning, hanging from the burnt ruins and screaming in agony from his melted face.

'The vines around his wrist cannot be cut or harmed. Not with blade, saw, acid or fire. The priest can be fed and watered although more than one person who has tried to look after the priest has gone mad or has vanished themselves.

A carpenter built a platform once to take the priest's weight and the vines shrunk, pulling the priest up and stretching his arms…

'As far as I know, he's still there along with the village.'

"He is still there," Piotr said after a moment. "He is still there, as is the village."

"What does it mean," I asked. "What happened there?"

Piotr shrugged. "Who knows what the Schattenmann is thinking. Not I."

"I think it's a warning," Stefan said. "It is a warning to others, an example. The Schattenmann is saying "Do not fuck with me, see what happens to those who challenge me, or words to that effect."

"We will find out." Kerrass said the first words he had said in a while, "as that is where we are going and from where we will strike out into the Black Forest itself. Get some rest everyone. We will need it. Freddie? Yours is the first watch."

I didn't get much sleep that night.

I was not alone in that, Trayka looked pale the following morning and her father watched her carefully throughout the course of the day. Piotr was subdued but soon returned to being a condescending asshole so I didn't worry too much about him. I did collar Kerrass for a chat the following night.

"What was that about?" I demanded.

"What was what?"

"The thing with Stefan. What was that about? You trying to scare me off?"

Kerrass frowned. He had his alchemy set out again and was mixing up some more potions, I didn't recognise these though. "Freddie, I don't know…"

"Stefan's little horror story. Are you trying to get me to chicken out and go home?"

Kerrass carefully put his mortar and pestle aside and took a deep breath before checking to see where the others were. Stefan was building a fire, Henrik was preparing a pair of rabbits for my cooking pot later while his daughter was off hunting. Piotr was doing some weapons maintenance on his sword and buckler with the obsessive care and concentration of a man who knows that his life depends on his equipment. I well know what that feels like.

"Nothing," Kerrass said quietly. "Freddie, nothing in this continent would make me happier than if you turned around and headed north. If I wake up one morning to find that your stuff is gone, that your horse has vanished, and that you've left me a note, I will whoop for joy. I mean that."

He took a deep breath.

"But I'm glad you're here." He admitted. "Piotr's a man of rage that I do not comprehend. I have not seen it's like and I worry that I might have to kill him. Or that you might have to or that he is going to lose his temper with one of us. But he's the best guide for that bit of the world that we are going to, no one knows these woods as he does and if we are going to make it out alive, then we do so at his guidance. Henrik and Trayka will cheerfully sacrifice both of us in order to make sure that the other survives. And Stefan?"

"I like Stefan," I said.

"So do I, he's very likable. But make no mistake. He too is here for his own reasons. He is a warrior but he is driven by holy orders. And although Compassion is a part of those orders, make no mistake, it is low down on the list and there are other priorities that come first. Men like him? They are big-picture men. He would sacrifice anyone for what he sees as being the greater good and he will not hesitate to act on that. He will smile at you one moment and then slit your throat the next if he thinks it will serve his 'greater good."

Kerrass grimaced.

"When I saw that it was you that was following us, I was angry. But the reason that I was angry was that I was angry with myself for being so pleased to see you. You can be a rock that I can rely on. I have come to depend on that far too much but the closer and closer we get to the Black Forest and this particular thing that we are hunting. The more and more concerned I get.

"He is old, this Schattenmann. Old, powerful, and angry."

"Are you telling me to go home?" I wondered.

"Yes," he admitted. "But I don't want you to. You and I have done impossible things in the past. We rescued her, we stopped the Skeleton Ship and no one is going to claim that cult of the First-Born was easy. Fuck, we took on the kind of beast that Witcher are taught to ride away from at Amber's Crossing."

He sighed.

"You make me feel invincible Freddie. And that frightens me."

"Then I will stay," I told him.

He nodded a little sadly.

That night I asked Henrik as to why he had joined this expedition to go and speak to the Schattenmann. He looked at me through bushy eyebrows and I felt as though I was being weighed in some way. He was asking himself how much he could trust me.

Then he took a slow rumbling breath and looked over at his daughter who was staring into the flame, the firelight making the shadows on her face dance unpleasantly.

"That is not my story to tell." he rumbled as he went back to work.

I turned away and wondered if I was imagining the tears in his eyes.

Something happened that night. Nothing sinister, spooky or terrifying. But an argument was had between father and daughter, causing a distance to grow between them. It was sad to see and painful to watch. But pointedly, she turned her back on him and would walk away whenever the two of them would drift together as part of camp and travelling life. Henrik seemed to take it in his stride but the old man would get a mournful look about himself whenever he was watching his daughter.

This didn't stop him fruitlessly chaperoning his daughter though. He would still ask for my advice or call me over on some pretext when Trayka and I were physically near each other.

One time that he did this, I am pretty sure that Trayka took Kerrass off into the woods judging by Piotr's black looks when I returned to my equipment from checking the seasoning in the stew pot and telling Henrik that the Wild onions that he had provided would, of course, be welcome.

We traveled like this for a couple of weeks. I knew from looking at the maps that we were moving around the Black Forest itself while maintaining a good distance from it. Kerrass had warned us all that the locals may become hostile if they found out that we meant to contact or hunt the Schattenmann.

So we took the long way around telling people that I had hired the Witcher to help me dismiss the curse on my newly rewarded lands that I had been given in return for some service to the court. After that, the other things fell into place. Piotr was still my guide as I had never been to my new estates and Henrik and Trayka were traveling with me to help me settle the place. We chose an area far enough away and the locals accepted it with a few weary chuckles and comments of "Well, you've got your work cut out for you."

Kerrass was right about our companions and I started to see it more as we traveled together. Trayka's relationship with her father improved a little over time but there was history there. History and a lot of pain. History that had taken root in Trayka's soul and soured her. I had thought that when we got into a town, that it would be Piotr that would make trouble for us but in the end, it was Trayka.

With our being in town rather than on the trail, she found it much easier to avoid her father's gaze and her choice for bed partner was a young man. I have no idea what her criteria for choosing were and it is more than likely that he was there, pleasant to her eye, and was faintly polite.

As we found out later, the town braggart had decided that he was going to have his way with the traveling huntress and was most annoyed when Trayka passed him over in favor of someone who, the braggart, decided, was considered inferior. When Trayka was leading her choice for partner away and into the spring night, the Braggart called her a whore and asked how much her partner had paid.

Trayka hit the braggart with all the force that her practiced bow arm could muster. Which is a lot. Anyone who shoots at things for a living will have broad shoulders and strong arms with a punch that will hit you like a catapult. She broke Braggart's jaw in three places and caused him to bite the end of his tongue off.

Personally speaking, I think he had it coming.

Trayka turned and took the now slightly terrified object of her affections into the stable hayloft where she had her way with him. I know this because that was where the village watch found her and dragged her out to be tried and sentenced for assaulting the eldest son of the town mayor.

Henrik flew into a rage at having his daughter called out in such a way, tried to assault the watchman who had refused to allow Trayka to dress, a thing that Trayka herself didn't seem to care about, and had to be pulled away by Kerrass and Stefan.

We got the story out of the, now, utterly terrified younger bed partner and I pointed out that the young man should consider himself lucky that he only had his jaw broken.

"My friend, Warrior Monk Stefan here," I began, gesturing to the armed and armored warrior monk.

Stefan flexed on cue,

"Would normally be more than happy to defend the honor of his friend and companion, wouldn't you Stefan?"

Stefan proceeded to go off on a long and flowery rant about how a man should not question a lady's honor when his own is in question.

In the end, I had to pay for the treatment and the herbs that the local healer lady required as well as a sum of money that I negotiated in advance… I was not going to leave it open-ended… that would pay for the injured young man to stay at the local church hospital in order to heal.

We were a sullen and angry party that rode away from the village. Trayka was furious about the accusation as she, correctly, thought that she had just been defending herself from the intended insult. Henrik was furious at the fact that his daughter had been paraded through the village naked and when he had attempted to defend his daughter's honor, he had been accused of further crime. He seemed to have a blind spot about his daughter's promiscuity. He literally refused or was unable, to see it.

Piotr was jealous of the fact that Trayka clearly preferred variety in her diet and was sullen, even though he had spent the evening staring into his ale cup.

Stefan was angry at the village's concept of justice and keeping law and order. He had wanted to pursue the matter legally on the grounds that he agreed with me that Trayka had been quite correct in punching the little shit's jaw into pieces and that we should have stood our ground. Despite the fact that it would have taken days.

Kerrass and I had to sneak off to train so that we could both confess that we found the entire thing more than a little bit funny.

To be clear on my stance on the matter. Being a whore is not something to be ashamed of. It is a profession like any other although I would agree that there are better names for that particular line of work. However, intent and context are kings here. The lad had meant it as an insult and Trayka responded correctly. I will admit that my life might have been easier if she had just ignored the young fool, but all told…

Some people might be wondering if Trayka ever propositioned me. I would say that such an answer is none of your business but for two reasons. The first is that Ariadne asked and the second was about what came later. The truth is that Trayka never got the chance. She kept her thoughts to herself and displayed little emotion in that regard. For whatever reason, Henrik's paternal… whatever it was that kept him from seeing his daughter's preferences regarding physical satisfaction, also meant that he would go out of his way to keep Trayka and me from being remotely close to each other geographically speaking. So even if she was interested, then it never had the chance to come up.

For my part, I have no regrets about that score. I liked Trayka in that she was the truest version of herself that she could be without compromise in any way. She was a good-looking woman in the way that people, in general, are good-looking if they are young, fit, and healthy. But there was no attraction there for me.

Make of that what you will.

We traveled in that way. It was not a fun journey but I would be lying if I tried to claim that there weren't moments of enjoyment.

I enjoyed the simple living and time on the road considerably more than I was expecting. The reaffirming of my relationship with Kerrass was also well spent and I enjoyed debating Stefan more than I thought I would. Henrik was a good man and I liked Trayka as well despite her otherwise ignoring me.

The sour point in the matter was Piotr. As I say, I simply didn't like him. Nor he, me.

Sometimes, it is worth saying, people are just like that. They can't help themselves. They are nasty, angry, unpleasant people that resent the people around them whenever they smile or laugh or otherwise have a good time. I dismissed Piotr as being one of those people for the longest time.

Was I right? Maybe

But sometimes, people are made that way.

After Stefan's story, I did my best to ask the others why they were coming with Kerrass and me. It was obviously a dangerous journey. It wasn't just superstition that meant that people were afraid of the Schattenmann, there was definitely something there. And more as a matter of something to talk about than anything else, I wondered what people's motivation was for coming with us.

Henrik maintained that the matter was his daughter's story to tell and she would just ignore the question. Piotr would just claim that he was in it for the money before finding some excuse to leave the conversation. In the end, I didn't find out his story from him.

We were traveling well and making a relatively good time. Although the camp was never as relaxed as I might have liked, we were eating well and traveling easily. But I missed the camaraderie that had been there when traveling with Rickard's bastards and the crew of the Wave-Serpent.

The roads that Piotr was choosing were leading us through heavy woodland. We would be traveling through thick, dense woodland when suddenly, the trees would vanish on either side and we would find ourselves traveling through a small area of farmland. Often idyllic, idealized farmland. Not Toussaint storybook, but still. The people were friendly enough, there was no end of small, minor monsters that Kerrass could hunt that would keep us in stores and supplies, to the point that he probably didn't need to hunt, but the atmosphere in the camp was not ideal and he seemed to relish the opportunity to go off by himself, or with me.

We were still traveling generally south, southeast and it gradually became clear that Piotr was known in these villages.

And in turn, that meant that it was known as to what we were all there for.

We were staying in a village at one point, I can't remember the name of it, and I had wandered off to have a chat with Ariadne. We were doing this almost nightly, me because I missed her and her because she wanted to make sure that I was ok. And that she missed me of course.

But we had finished and I was on my way back to the inn when a woman in middle years came towards me.

"Don't go." She said. "Whatever you're hoping to get out of it, it's not worth it. Return to the woman that you love and don't let go of her, instead."

"What?"

She looked sad. "I saw you, standing next to the hog pen, staring into space. No one does that who isn't in love with someone who is far away. Go to her. It is better to do that than to go where you are going."

"And where am I going?" I asked, I think I was faintly bemused. She must have seen it because I saw her frown.

"You big noble types, thinking that the rest of us weren't born with the sense that the Sun gave the common dog. You are traveling with Piotr in that direction. People don't travel with Piotr in these parts unless they're going…"

She stopped speaking suddenly and sighed sadly.

"I don't know why I bother." She turned and left.

I told Kerrass the following morning when he surfaced from wherever he had been the previous night. He had not come back to the room that we had shared but that was not unusual for him. It seemed that he was in a promiscuous mood as well.

"He is the best," Kerrass said. "I asked around for a guide to take us towards the Black Forest and into the heart of the lair of the Schattenmann. Every person that I asked said that Piotr was the man I wanted. This isn't his first trip and he had a better, more honest reputation than some of the others."

"There were others?" I wondered. I had not heard this part of the story. Kerrass is a little more private around the other members of our group but he would speak more in private.

"Oh yes. It would seem that there is a certain amount of Schattenmann tourism. The same way that there are guides and things to the battlefields at Brenna and Sodden and the rest. There are guides about the Schattenmann. Most were obviously charlatans and hoaxes though. I wanted the real deal and when it became clear that I was willing to pay properly and not fuck about, Piotr approached me."

"I'm still intrigued by these Charlatans though," I said.

Kerrass grinned. "They work their hoaxes well outside of the Schattenmann's area of influence. But people have taken over formerly deserted villages and decorated them in false fetishes and totems, claiming that the Schattenmann took them away. It's apparently clear to everyone that has an ounce of sense that there are groups of people that maintain the properly haunted look of the place."

"I think I'd like to see one of them." I declared. "It might be informative."

"You would." Kerrass grinned and sneered at the same time. I don't know how he does it. One of those Witcher secrets I suspect.

This happened a couple more times. One of the villages had a friendly friar of some kind. He blessed me in the name of the Sun and told me that he would pray for my soul. He was reassuring me that the Schattenmann might have my body but that the Sun would shine on my soul.

I don't think he was aware that he was not as reassuring as he wanted to be.

Another man who I was engaged in buying some horse feed from saw Piotr walking nearby and shook his head sadly. A woman warned me that the Man of Shadows was not one to be trifled with and that I needed to return home.

Stefan also commented on things about people warning him off. His responses to such things were rather more brutal and religion-oriented. If anyone talked to Trayka and her father then I didn't see it although I suspect that Trayka, being Trayka, would have simply ignored the matter.

Piotr was becoming more and more withdrawn and angrier and angrier. It was increasingly clear that it wasn't just jealousy at Trayka's lack of attention that was getting to him, it was something else.

He started to give instructions. They seemed strange to me but long years on the road with Kerrass had trained me that when you travel with an experienced person that knows the area and knows the road, then you listen to what they have to say and don't ask too many questions.

He ordered us to buy firewood at the villages that we passed through. He forbade Henrik and Trayka from hunting, fishing, or setting traps. We carried drinking water with us in the huge skins and bags that he had previously insisted that Kerrass buy for the group and when it came down to it, he was choosing very specific campsites. Often we were camping right in the middle of the road.

Trayka did not take the instructions well and it almost came to blows between the two of them. Any hope that Piotr might have had about returning to her bed vanished that day. All he would say in his own defence was that if he had hired her as his guide through territory that she knew well, then he would expect to be instructed on matters of safety.

She demanded as to how, not living off the land, made her safer and he wouldn't respond. Saying that he wasn't being paid to answer questions.

She went to hit him, he jumped back, daggers were drawn before Kerrass, Stefan and Henrik stepped in. Henrik tried to appeal to sense as he saw it and Piotr refused. Kerrass took Piotr's side on the grounds that Piotr was the guide and he would expect nothing less.

The night camps started to become sullen, uncomfortable times.

The only benefit was that Kerrass' rock heating trick meant that we didn't need that much firewood and the nights were far from cold.

Piotr's mood darkened, almost visibly before our eyes as we watched the miles roll away under our feet. He stopped speaking except to occasionally say please and thank you when we passed him food or drink. He would gesture when he wanted us to leave the road and take a different path. And when it came time to rest, he would just dismount and start about the camp chores.

The solution to the riddle came suddenly, out of the blue. We were riding along, minding our own business when there was a horse in the road. An older man was sitting nearby, smoking a pipe and when he saw us, he smiled unhappily, in the way that it becomes quite clear that he is forcing that smile to his face. He knocked the ash from his pipe aside on the palm of his hand and turned to face us.

"Greetings." He called. "Hello and Welcome." There was a brittle sense to the words although I sensed that the welcome itself was well-meant.

Kerrass would later tell me that Piotr had gotten really pale.

We dismounted and approached the older man. He was not that old as things go, certainly still powerful in his movements. He had white hair that was cut in the manner of a man who does it with a knife in order to keep the hair out of his eyes which gave it an odd bowl like look. His beard was closely cut but well maintained. He was obviously a man that worked outside with the colour of his skin but he looked good despite it. His clothing was well made and hard-wearing.

When we had all dismounted, he stepped forwards.

"Greetings my son." He said to Piotr, holding his hands wide as if to embrace the younger man. "Welcome home."

Piotr took two quick steps forward and punched the man in the jaw, hard enough to send the older man sprawling.

"Don't call me that." Piotr hissed, "You don't… You never." He grimaced and turned his head to spit before turning back to the older man, his face a rictus of hate and loathing. "You don't get to call me that. You try every time, but you don't get to call me that."

The old man rolled over from where he had fallen and stared up at Piotr sadly. The rest of us were frozen in shock.

"Come home, Piotr." He said. "There are people here that love you."

Piotr shook his head and spun on the rest of us.

"Buy as many supplies as you can." He snarled at us. "Food, water, the usual stuff. There is no guarantee that we can get travelling goods after this. Come and find me afterwards." He stalked past us as he talked and climbed back on his horse which he rode past the older man and his horse, at a gallop. Only just missing the older man.

There was a long moment before Kerrass moved to help the old man back to his feet.

"I have to try," the old man said, rubbing at his eyes. "I know what he will do, but I have to try." He rubbed his jaw a bit before smiling at the rest of us sadly although I noticed that his face stiffened when he saw Stefan's holy symbol.

"You are not welcome here priest." He growled before his face softened in resignation. "Not that I can stop you I suppose. Come on." He took his horse's reins from where they had been wrapped around a branch and led us along the road.

"I have so many questions." I moaned.

Of all people, Trayka laughed.

We were led into the small town. Too big for a village but the word "town" sits a little uneasily on my tongue. Several nice houses of varying sizes, whitewashed walls that looked to be a mixture of stone and wood. Thatched roofs with tiled outhouses. The fields were small and there were small patches of trees that I could see in the small to middle distance. One of them clearly had pigs roaming around in it.

I could hear a woman weeping gently.

As we moved into the village, more of the character of the place seemed to reveal itself. I could hear the sounds of a stream and as we turned a corner a bridge came into view along with the signs of a watermill. The sound I could hear was the more exaggerated sound of water falling on wood. One of those homely sounds. The bridge itself was ancient and I suspected that it might once have been Elven or Dwarven in nature.

The village was formed in a cross, just off the straight ninety degrees. One arm of the cross was formed around the bridge and the other was formed as part of the road. It was a nice place, not as hectic as some of the towns that I have been through, this was an old place, an old town where the same families had lived here for decades, centuries even.

The same families who had intermarried and knew each other. My imagination flowered at the thought, this network of old towns that only communicated with each other. Occasional people would wander out into the world for news or to try and make their way in the world, inevitably to be called back by some tie of longing. Longing for familiar buildings and fields, family maybe.

They would come back with wives and husbands, maybe a child or two in the saddle as well and they would take over an old cottage, near enough to the grandparents of the children so that there could be some help with raising the children to the tasks that needed doing around the place. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone else.

Everyone knew the chores that needed doing and therefore, everyone helped. There was no time for long-lasting grudges in a place like this. The person that you might be angry with might be the person that you needed to help you fix your roof or help you to look after the children when they were sick.

We walked into the town, leading our horses.

The fences turned into loose stone walls of ancient, grey stone that was covered in lichens and moss. Neat rows of flowers were placed in carefully tended beds at the foot of the walls. I recognised some of them and as well as being pretty to look at, more than one of them would have uses in various types of medicine.

As well as the Watermill, I could hear the sounds of a hammer striking metal, someone was sawing some wood and there were some light sounds of children playing, although a little quieter than I expected.

We came into the town square, such as it was. As was typical of places like this, a huge, ancient oak tree sat in the middle of the square, festooned with ribbons, charms, and small pieces of decoration. There is sometimes a risk that such extra weights can damage the tree, but this seemed to be a little more subdued than most. The offerings, because that's what they are, were carefully curated.

Next to the green was a building that I expected and one that I did not. The building that I expected was referred to as an inn although really it was more of a tavern. There were wooden tables and chairs out on the green where men and women would stop and have something to eat and drink. The tables were served by a large, fat man who wore an apron and a permanent smile. His nose was large and florid which spoke well of the quality of his beer, and his voice was booming. He had the lines around the corners of his eyes that spoke of loud, regular laughter.

When he saw us coming he took a handbell from his bell and rang it before redundantly bellowing a pair of names which turned out to belong to two children in their early teenage years, certainly no older than fourteen.

Their gender was indeterminate as they both had long hair, were slender, lightning-quick, and worked with quick smiles. I thought that the older of the pair was a boy and that the younger was a girl but I would not have been surprised if it turned out to be the other way round.

The two children took our horses, handling them expertly and in exchange for a couple of coins, promised to take care of them properly. The old man that had led us into town seemed to trust them so it seemed rude to do anything else.

The building that I did not expect was the church. Like the bridge before it, it was clearly an ancient building and what its original purpose might have been, it had been repurposed to being a church. There are ways that you can tell these things after you get to know the signs. In this care, the wooden symbol that was wedged into place on the front of the building gave it away. Churches built for the purpose of being a church would have had the symbol built into it rather than tied on or propped in some way.

It looked friendly enough, the doors were open which is always a good sign for a village place of worship. It was also in the middle of town which suggested that it was a part of the community and remained in good repair which says that the people respected what was happening there.

There was an old nun sitting in the doorway on a carved rocking chair. She was knitting something smoothly and easily which spoke of much practice as she watched the comings and goings of the town. A younger woman that was dressed similarly to the older nun but without the headdress brought the old woman a cup of something steaming.

They both looked up as we came into the square. The older woman grimaced when she had done searching our faces and said something to the younger who approached us and stepped in front of Stefan.

"Welcome Brother." She said. "You will stay with us in the chapel. Bring your goods while your horse is being looked after."

"Of course but…" Stefan began.

"Best to go with her son." Said the old man that had led us in. "Male priests aren't welcome here."

"Why?" Stefan demanded, the first signs of anger in his face.

"Survival." The old man said.

"I would never…"

"We're not concerned about our survival." The old man said and something in his attitude shifted. Kerrass saw it too. I no longer need to look at his hands to see whether he was getting ready for a fight.

Henrik defused the situation, placing his large hand on the warrior monk's arm. "Let it go lad," he rumbled. "There is a history here, I don't think they're insulting you."

"We are not." Our guide told us.

Stefan sighed and nodded, pulling his gear up from the floor and following the young apprentice nun into the chapel. The nun followed him and closed the doors.

"There is a story there," I said, turning back to our guide.

"There is." The older man agreed. "But now is not the time for it. You will want some cold beer I expect, to wash the road from your throat, baths maybe, and something to eat."

"That would be pleasant," Kerrass said, reaching for his coin pouch.

"No need for that Witcher." The old man said. "Your money is no good here. Companions of Piotr can stay, eat and drink until they are ready to go. We do need you to pay for the supplies though, certain things cannot simply be thrown away, I hope you understand."

"We do." I jumped in before anyone else could say anything.

"My name is Hugo," The older man said. "Eat, drink and be merry with our hospitality. You are all welcome here. This is Jan." He gestured at the innkeeper who was coming out with a tray of tankards.

I took one, as did Kerrass and Trayka. Henrik went to take one but his daughter cleared her throat, the older man sighed.

"Do you have any milk?" He asked, "or fruit juice of some kind?"

The innkeeper and Hugo exchanged glances before Jan, the innkeeper shrugged and drank the tankard that had been meant for Henrik himself. "I will see what I can do." He said, returning into the building.

"My suggestion is that we get the four of you settled and then see where the day takes us," Hugo told us. The inn only has one room so Miss? When you have finished your drink, go inside and we can get you settled. In the meantime gentlemen, enjoy the air and the beer while I fetch the people that you will be lodging with."

He bowed and left.

Kerrass palmed his Witcher's symbol into his hand and examined it. Then he sniffed the beer and took a sip before nodding to me.

He didn't think it was poisoned.

Which was a good thing because it really was excellent.

We sat in wooden chairs that felt far too comfortable to not be enchanted in some way. The sun was shining, the breeze was gentle and I could hear birdsong mixing in with the distant sounds of children playing.

A wiry, middle-aged man who I took to be the smith from his scorched and pitted heavy leather apron. He greeted the innkeeper and accepted a mug of beer. Hugo walked up with a boy of about eight and smiled at us.

"Forgive me, my friend," he said to me, "but the person putting you up is delayed and will be along shortly."

"Hold on," I said. "Why do I feel like I'm being fattened up?"

"Why would we do that?" Hugo looked at me curiously.

"For sacrifice," Trayka said, she had drunk her ale a little slower than the rest of us and she smacked her lips. "You hear stories."

Hugo stared at us, then he laughed. "No. No that's not it." Then he sighed, the melancholy had returned to his face. "It is true that we owe some of our good fortunes to him that you fear. The man of shadows, the one who waits. But that agreement has been in balance for as long as the town has been here and it has been here for a long time. We buy it with a certain amount of reverence and a lot of hard work. Our lives are simple and we follow the rules, there is nothing more complicated to the… nature of our home than that. As to how we treat you…"

His gaze took on a vacant look. "There we do owe a debt."

"To Piotr," I guessed."And to another."

I opened my mouth for more questions and he held his hands up with a smile. "You are the kind of man who wants to know the full story and I completely respect that. I will tell you all when we eat this evening as I trust that the four of you will be my guests here at the inn this evening?"

We all exchanged glances and Kerrass nodded. "That would be pleasant." He said again. I don't know where he gets that phrase from but it seems to be a new favorite saying of his.

"In which case Master Witcher, this is Halros our village smith and he has agreed to put you up in his apprentice's quarters while his apprentice is off getting his guild accreditation."

Kerrass picked up his bags, shook the Smith's hand and the two strode off. Kerrass was already unslinging his sword for the Smith to examine.

"And you, sir…?"

"Henrik," The older man introduced himself.

"This is Nikolas. He will take you to his mother's farm where you will be staying."

Henrik heaved himself to his feet and followed the chattering young man. Trayka ignored the exit, leaning back in her chair, cradling her beer in her hand, and enjoying the sun. I was reminded of a cat, stretching after a nap.

"The person looking after you will be along shortly," Hugo told me, turning to leave.

I wasn't waiting for very long. A tall woman approached, coming from further down the lane. She had long, dark hair with a few streaks of silver at the temples. The hair was curly, heading towards frizzy, and tied back at the nape of the neck, presumably to keep it out of the way.

After a while, you can tell who the village healer or herbwoman is. It's more than the grass-stained boots and skirts. It's more than the sharp knife that is used to cut the herbs and the large, misshapen bags full of glass phials to contain those herb samples. It is slightly more than the odd smells that accompany them everywhere and the stained, callused fingers that come from holding heating equipment and dealing with caustic things that shouldn't really be applied to skin.

There is an upright posture to these women and occasional men who perform these tasks. As a matter of fact, it is common to a lot of people in the medical profession. Dr Shani is another prime example of this. The fact is that medical people know how to look after themselves. They know what food to eat and what herbs to take. They know that being out in the sun for too long is harmful and that the proper application of creams can protect the skin. They know that proper cleanliness can maintain a healthy body. There is a bloom of health about them that makes them more attractive than the next person.

This is another reason why such people often find themselves being accused of Witchcraft. People know about the connection between attractiveness and magic and therefore, they assume that the reason that the local herbwoman is magical in nature. The fact that all the stories seem to agree with that, meaning that they feed into that prejudice.

This one was a handsome woman. I would have put her in her early to mid-thirties, a little older than Emma. She moved easily with the gait that comes with spending a lot of time in the forest. There is a lift to it that is otherwise missing in a normal person's walking.

And when she got closer, it was clear that she had been crying.

"You must be Lord Frederick." She said, holding her hand out to be shaken.

"I must be." I stood and shook the offered hand.

"Then if you'll follow me please." She tried for a smile, failed, and sighed. I pretended that I didn't notice and picked up my gear. "I am called Rose." She told me.

I introduced myself like a proper gentleman.

"It's not much I'm afraid." She said as she led me towards the end of the village. "But I have a bed that is often reserved for sick people so that I can keep an eye on them. It's not being used at the moment."

"I guarantee that I've slept in worse places," I told her.

I got the laugh that I wanted.

"Tell me." I said, "you were expecting us?"

"We were. We knew that… Piotr was bringing a new group in."

"How did you know?" Again, I pretended not to notice that she had paused before saying the name.

"Gossip travels fast in these parts. He likes to keep to the roads when he brings people through and there are other shortcuts that locals use to…." She smiled, "It's not that exciting I'm afraid. Were you expecting some kind of supernatural messaging service? A magical bond among people in this part of the world."

"Not really," I admitted. "But that would have made for a more interesting story."

I got another laugh for my efforts.

"No." I went on. "My travels have shown me that the simplest answer to the conundrum is often the easiest and best answer. I still have questions of course."

"I have no doubt." Her face stiffened for a moment before relaxing.

"This is where Piotr's from?"

"Yes, he was born a few houses down the road from mine… Please don't ask me any more about him?"

There was a hint of pleading in the request that I resolved to respect unless there was no other choice.

"Father… Hugo will tell you the rest. It's not a secret, it's just…" She shook her head. "Here we are." She gestured at the little cottage at the end of the row. Not as far away from the middle of the town as some healing houses have been. But close enough to be included properly.

Again, that's not always a matter of intentional isolation. The image of the healer's cottage in the middle of the woods or on the edge of town is a thing. But as well as the herb people wanting to be closer to the herbs that they are gathering, there is also the factor that some people want to be more private when they are being healed. And sometimes, healing is painful and the rest of the community doesn't want to listen to all the screaming.

The things you learn when you are on the road.

This house was nice, well maintained, and instead of the storage, the barrels and crates of things that take up a lot of the yard and garden space that are taken up in a town like this, here there were rows upon rows of herbs.

"You approve?" She wondered.

I smiled at her as we went inside.

I was shown to a little cot at one side of the main area where I lay my bags down.

"My room is through there." She said, gesturing at a doorway. "You don't look the type, but I sleep with a long sharp knife under the pillow."

I held my hands up to placate her. "I am due to be married in the autumn, to a woman I love, you have nothing to fear from me."

She looked appalled. "Then what the fuck are you doing here?" She snarled, sudden fury pouring from her. "Get on your horse and ride back the way you came. Go fast, take her to your bed and never let her go. If you…" She snapped her mouth shut, the rage draining from her eyes as fast as it came, leaving her looking tired and too full of sorrow.

"Why?" I asked as gently as I could. "Why so urgent?"

She shook her head and took a deep, shuddering breath. "The Chamberpot is under the bed. As you are neither sick nor injured. I would thank you to take it and empty it in the outhouse round the back of the house when you've used it. There is Fresh water in the barrel outside under the eaves that can be used for drinking. Observe the hearth. The pot on the left is kept warm for hot water, the one on the right is kept for a soothing tea which I find cures most ills. Although I warn you that I brew it strong so that it has a more medicinal effect. If that is too bitter for you, there is honey in the earthenware pot with the daisy drawn on the front. Cups are there nearby."

The hearth had a central gulf that I assumed was for cooking.

"Refill the teapot, or the hot water if you use either,"

"Rainwater, bucket." I guessed.

"Quite so. For a suicidal man, you're not that stupid."

I felt myself bridle a little bit as the bitterness behind what she was saying was easy to see.

"What happened here?" I said. "Why is everyone so sad?"

She took a deep juddering breath before a calm, professional mask settled over her face. "Tea?"

"Yes please, I will be brave and only ask for a single spoonful of honey, I like it on the bitter side."

"A man after my own heart."

She bustled with a professional air. I recognized this as well. I've seen it on so many hunts now that I could almost tell her what was going to happen next. She was taking solace in chores.

"Father will go into proper detail." She said as she ladled the liquid into cups. "That is his penance and his punishment."

I nodded acceptance of that and went to fetch a bucket of water which she accepted with a nod.

"Piotr only comes through here when he's going to make another attempt to go into the heart of the Black Forest." She said as she poured some honey into my cup. "Nobody comes back from there. Nobody. Piotr knows this so the only reason is because he is making another attempt to kill himself. He won't tell you that of course."

I nodded.

"When was the last time he was here?" I wondered.

"Four years ago." She said. He went with a group of soldiers, a young noble, not unlike yourself and a group of monks. He came back, they didn't. He rode off as he always does. It had been so long that we thought he'd died, or that he had decided not to come back at all. We hear news of him of course, no-one knows the lands around here better than him. The roads and the little paths."

She smiled as she spoke. I had a sudden insight that I promised myself I wouldn't articulate. Again, not until it was absolutely necessary.

"What happened?" I asked. "Why does he hate this place? Why is he so angry?"

She sighed and stood up. "The town lynched his wife." She said brutally. "My sister. She was dragged from her bed, beaten, and hung from the tree in the middle of the town. They nearly killed him because he fought them of course. Why are we so sad?"

She shook her head.

"We deserve his anger and his hate." Her own tears were back. "Don't go with him." She said. "Return to your lady and make sure you never leave her."

I nodded. I was right. This woman loved Piotr.

"Did you see the Witcher?" I wondered.

"It was hard to miss him." There was a humor in her voice again.

"That man has saved my life more times than I can easily tell you. He is the reason that I am getting married and I love him more than I love my own brothers. He goes to the black forest to make contact with the Schattenmann and I would not desert him in this. We do not intend to attack or destroy him, or it or whatever he is."

Her face darkened. "Piotr will want to kill him. He hates the Schattenmann where the rest of us have learned to live with him," She said. "It is the smallest part of why he doesn't want to stay here."

"We will bear that in mind," I told her.

I diverted the conversation around to other things before she begged off as she had some other people to see. As far as I could tell, it was a genuine concern as she packed some of her various medicines into a bag and walked off. I went with her, having arranged my sleeping area to my satisfaction. She frowned when I took my weapons with me.

"There is nothing to worry about here." She said.

"I have no doubt," I told her. "But after three years on the road, traveling with a Witcher, experience has told me that the day I leave them behind is the day that I need them."

"You will not need them." She insisted.

"I know that," I answered her insistence with one of my own. "But I would feel naked without them now." She looked at me for a long time.

"I feel sorry for you." She declared before leading me out of the house.

"Yeah, I know," I said. "And you are not wrong."

But that didn't stop me from slinging my spear over my shoulder and tucking my dagger in my belt.

She left me a bit further down the lane, walking into another one of the houses while I carried on to the tavern where I found Kerrass and Henrik waiting for me. We exchanged a bit of gossip about where we were staying while the innkeeper brought us some more of the excellent beer. I went to make use of the bathhouse and we whiled away the afternoon enjoying ourselves. Kerrass and I trained in a small paddock behind the inn but otherwise, time free from chores and tensions was well spent and that evening, the village started to fill the inn.

It was a grand old time to be had by all. Hugo turned up at one point to tell us that getting our goods together for the journey was going to take a bit longer than expected and we would not be able to leave until the day after. He expressed regret on the grounds that it would mean that we were delayed but that it couldn't be helped.

We had a grand old time. There was a small group of musicians. I don't think it was anything formal. Just a group of shepherds that had nothing else to do while they passed the time and watched the sheep. As I have found with that kind of thing, they turned out to actually be quite good. There is more talent in the small villages and towns along the deserted tracks than even Professor Dandelion would care to admit.

They also changed around a bit. There were occasionally, awful periods of embarrassment when the smaller child or young person was pushed onto the stage by overly proud parents in order to play the piece of music that they had clearly been working on for ages. It wasn't always terrible but you could tell that there was more than one child there that plainly didn't want to be on stage in front of the entire town, let alone the group of visitors.

But the food was good, the atmosphere was convivial. I dare say that we would have had our choice of sexual partners if we had wanted to. Kerrass was being cautious and careful. I was back into a mindset that I was saving myself for Ariadne, Henrik turned down a couple of the middle-aged women on the grounds that he was too old for that kind of thing, which I knew to be a lie. It was more that he wanted to keep an eye on his daughter.

For her part, Trayka had as good a time as she could. She danced with anyone who asked including boys that were far too young for her and more than one woman. She also drank freely despite her father's objections and whenever he challenged her on her behavior, she told him to fuck off in no uncertain terms.

The interesting thing during this bit was when the Novice from the chapel turned up and took delivery of a small steaming pot from the innkeeper and a basket of bread. I watched her leave. There was no hostility between her and the rest of the village. A couple of people made jokes with her while she waited for the innkeeper to fetch the pot out of the back and she clearly knew everyone by name.

But she left before I could ask her any real substantive questions.

As is the way with these rural towns, they work hard and they party hard, but then the fact that they all had to get up again for the dawn started to creep into the middle of everyone's mind and the place emptied with blinding speed. In Oxenfurt, as with any of the major taverns and inns that I've been to in cities and larger towns, there is a build-up to the end of the night. The band will work up to a climax and then there will be an announcement that the bar will be closing soon and that people need to drink up and go home.

That didn't happen here and it doesn't happen generally in those places where people make their living according to the sun.

So suddenly, we turned around to find that there was a man playing an ancient harp in the corner, he was old from the look of him and he was head bowed, just plucking at the strings gently, playing along with a song that only he could hear.

The innkeeper topped up our drinks and went through to help his wife in the kitchen to clear up after the evening's meals. I have seen people break the stereotype of the fat jolly innkeeper with the fat and jolly wife. But this was not one of those places. I don't think that they were old but they clearly loved each other. I would later enquire and it turned out that they had children that worked in the fields and the vegetable garden. It was two of their many children that had come and taken our horses away to be looked after.

Hugo, the old man that had first come to greet us, stayed with us too. Sipping from a tankard of a spiced cider that seemed to be popular in the local area. It was good and warming enough that Kerrass asked for the recipe which appalled the innkeeper, much to the amusement of the locals. "If I tell you that," the innkeeper had said, "then why would you ever come back."

Kerrass was left flabbergasted by this. A fact that I took great delight in teasing him for.

I had not drunk a lot and what I had drunk was nowhere near enough to impact my senses. Living in Toussaint where the finest wines in the world are brewed, is enough to raise your tolerance to anything. So I checked around to make sure that we weren't going to be overheard.

"So," I said to Hugo. "The town doesn't like priests. You don't have problems with nuns or priestesses, but you don't like priests. That and I'm told that the reason that Piotr hates you all is that you lynched his wife."

Hugo set his tankard down and stared at the floor.

"I'm going to guess." I went on. "That these two factors are not a coincidence. I think that there was a priest here some time ago and he whipped the town into a religious frenzy and as a result, for reasons that I'm sure you will tell me. The town committed that awful, unforgivable act."

Henrik flinched, looked angry for a second before sighing and rising to his feet.

"I don't think I want to be here for this part of the conversation." He rumbled. "I will see you gentlemen in the morning."

He looked around for his daughter but when not seeing her, he shook his head sadly and left. Trayka had gone off earlier without any of us noticing. She does that quite regularly and there's no apparent rime or reason to it. It was just as likely that she had chosen a young man and gone off with him as it was that she might have just decided to have an early night.

Hugo took a deep breath and looked up at me. "There is more to it than that."

"There would have to be," I answered, possibly a little hotter than I intended it to be. "I have problems with religious fuelled, summary executions. I have lost friends to the fires of the North and I had always hoped that the South would be better than that."

"People always find excuses, Freddie," Kerrass told me, pouring into his own cup from the jug that was on the table. "I would have thought that you knew that by now."

"

I do," I admitted. "But you always hope for the better."

We stopped talking then and turned towards Hugo.

"This is all the business of the town." Kerrass told him, "And normally, I would not get involved in such matters. But this concerns one of my companions and I would like to know if he is going to just lose his temper at somebody."

"I doubt that," Hugo said. "He is a man of contained fury."

"He punched you in the face," I argued.

"And I deserved it." The old man said. He rose and went behind the bar to help himself to another tankard.

"Your daughter also said that Piotr only comes here when he's going to try and kill himself," I said. "What does that mean?"

Hugo finished his tankard and poured himself another one, returning to the tale.

"It is about the Schattenmann," he said. "It's always about the Schattenmann in these parts."

Kerrass and I looked at each other. "Then I think." Kerrass began. "We're going to have to insist on hearing the story."

Hugo sighed. "It's a long story."

Kerrass' face stiffened. "As you have explained about the goods, it wouldn't seem as though I have anywhere to go tomorrow."

Hugo grimaced before he sighed again.

What he told us had the feeling of a story that had been told many times. Not least to himself in the small hours of the morning.

"You have to understand." He began slowly, "that everything in this part of the world revolves around the Schattenmann."

"I thought he only lived in The Black Forest," I commented.

Hugo laughed. "Young man, you have been traveling through the Black Forest for some time to get as far as this village. And the Schattenmann's influence is all around you, all around us really. I know who you are Lord Frederick and I have read your works on the matter of Amber's Crossing. You wrote that people try to leave but that they struggle and find themselves drawn back over time.

"Life here is a lot like that but less cruel. We live in the shadow of the Schattenmann. Sometimes he is an angry presence and when he rages, we hide in our homes and pray that the sun will shine again. Sometimes he is a benign presence and we find ourselves being led to caches of wild mushrooms and truffles by forest creatures. What causes the one and not the other? I couldn't tell you. But that is what life is like in the Black Forest.

"What is the Schattenmann?" He went on, pouring Kerrass and me a drink each. "I don't know. The closest theories that I have heard were that he is some kind of Leshen or Spriggan. But those people that theorized have also suggested that if this was the case, then he was the oldest and most powerful incarnation of something like that than they, the speaker, had ever seen.

"I tell you this because you need to know that life in these parts is just… like that. It is an important piece of context. So… onto who Piotr is. He never told you anything about himself?"

"No," Kerrass responded, taking another mouthful of his spiced cider. "I wanted a guide and according to the people that I spoke to, Piotr is the best for this part of the world."

"He is at that," Hugo said with some kind of pride. "Does he know where you are going?"

"He does," Kerrass told him. "He knows that I go to speak to the Schattenmann, to try and make contact with him because there are certain things that we need to know that he might know the answer to."

Hugo shivered. "That is an awful thought. What could he know that you might need to know the answer to."

"Many, many things," I said slowly.

Hugo nodded.

"Piotr was the best woodsman that we had ever produced. That's not a boast, nor is it too low a boast. He was a prodigy in the woodland. Able to move in apparent silence from the age of four, a crack shot with a bow from the age of eight. He was funny, charming, and good-looking and everyone loved him. Including me, my wife, and my two daughters.

"The village was much the same then as it is now. I think we have managed to put tiles on the rooves of some of our more important buildings and we have pulled down one or two of the more dangerous sheds that needed pulling down. Piotr's parents were typical, both dead now alas. Not for any sinister reason, it was just that, they were already old when Piotr was born and life out here can be hard on occasion. His mother died in childbirth and his father died in a building accident.

"Piotr grew up around my daughters and there was a firm friendship that grew there. My wife and I, may the light of the sun fall gently on her face, only had the worry as to which of the two Piotr would choose to marry and would it sour the relationship between the two sisters.

"It is important, telling you of my family. You, Lord Frederick, will have met my eldest daughter. The two of them were as opposite as any could be. Rose, my eldest, was always tall, tomboyish, and would run around the woods after Piotr, chasing him down and hitting him with sticks. Then they would come back and my younger daughter would care for their injuries. Tulip was short where Rose is tall, plump, and soft whereas Rose is slim and hard.

"The father in me would say that both were beautiful but in different ways. Rose was handsome rather than pretty and even she would say that it was her shape that attracted the eyes of the other boys in the village. Tulip was pretty and had kind eyes. Of the two, not only was Rose the older but there was little doubt as to which of the two was seen as the most desirable to the younger males of the village.

"My wife was the town healer and devoted her time to being that. Tulip took after her in most ways, following her around and asking questions. Tulip was kind-hearted and looked after everyone. She was the kind of girl that brought home injured animals and nursed them back to health whereas Rose wanted to be a hunter. She was a fair woodsman herself and a decent shot. Looking back, I think she enjoyed the solitude of being out in the woods."

He paused there for a long moment and stared in space at his memories. Then he shook himself.

"Piotr was restless though and resistant to settling down. He was good with his bow, skilled with a quarterstaff and as a result, when the Emperor called for men, Piotr answered and went to fight. He joined the Imperial Scouting Legions and as I understand it, he served with honor until his unit was disgraced at the battle of Brenna. He was nowhere near the place where the mistake happened, but the entire unit took the blame as the officer in charge didn't survive.

"Piotr told us all the story when he returned and described the man as an imbecile anyway."

(Freddie's note: Famously, the Nilfgaardians lost the battle at Brenna because an officer and Knight who was given the responsibility of checking behind a hill for enemy reinforcements got cold feet and chickened out of exposing himself to the enemy. Therefore, the open flank was not checked properly and Marshall Coehoorn made his strategy based on poor information.)

So Piotr came home. He had his sword, his buckler, and his bow. He had a commendation for bravery, a few scars, and the same haunted look in his eyes that my father had when he came home from war. We are not unused to such things in the village. We are all proud followers of the Sun, even as we do not permit priests in the village and that means that we are all proud people of Nilfgaard. When The Emperor calls, we answer and when it becomes clear that whichever person in question is not coming home, then the village takes pride in coming together to look after those people that are left behind.

"No widow, nor child nor any other person has ever been made destitute because someone was a patriot. In harder times, it has even been known for people to go out to the wars in order to ensure that their wives and children are able to be looked after.

"So he had that look in his eyes. That look. I look around the table and I see that both of you have that look yourselves. The look of men that have seen horrible, terrible things. Men that will make jokes in the presence of horror that the rest of us cannot comprehend in order to make it more bearable. Men who know to take their comfort when they can take it and to not complain when things don't go their way."

I wanted to make a joke here. Something self-deprecating about how I am more than capable of complaining at all times when things don't go my way. But I didn't. It seemed rude somehow.

I think Kerrass had the same thought but he didn't look at me.

"So Piotr came home. A little older in body, much older in mind and soul and he moved into his Father's old cottage, found out what gaps needed filling in in the community, and got on with it."

"Wait." I held up a hand. "What do you mean by that? Gaps needing filling?"

"What does that have to do with…?" Hugo frowned.

"Context is important in this kind of thing," I said promptly and Kerrass nodded.

Hugo shrugged.

"The village grows and shrinks according to the needs of the community. If we need a new hunter then we train up one of the children that shows some aptitude for the task. When our Blacksmith starts to show signs that his strength is beginning to fail then we ensure that he finds an apprentice that can take over. If we need a… I don't know… A Cooper for whatever reason, then we either invite a neighbor to come and join us, making sure that there is a house available, and then that is how it works. Some people leave and when someone vital to the community leaves, then another person is found to take over."

I nodded. "I see, what happens when you have a surplus of any particular kind of thing?"

"What does Surplus mean?" Hugo asked.

"Too many or too much of something," Kerrass said. "When you grow too much wheat for the village to consume then you have surplus wheat."

"I see," Hugo said, nodding his understanding while Kerrass poured him another drink. "It is rare that we have… Surplus of anything. The land and the woodland around us tend to give us what we need. No more and no less. And if it does give us more than whatever it is that we need, then it inevitably means that there is some greater need elsewhere. If we have more than one Cooper then our neighbors will turn out to need one. Or if we have too much wheat, then we know there will be a famine the next year, or again, the neighbors will have a problem."

I nodded and exchanged glances with Kerrass.

"So Piotr came back." Kerrass prompted.

"Yes, he did. We think he was suffering from some kind of injury. My Tulip had taken over from her mother by this stage and was the town healer…."

"What was Rose doing at this point?" I wondered.

Hugo frowned at the interruption. "She had joined the town hunters. She worked with her sister. Helping to gather the herbs and make the potions and things. But primarily, she worked as a hunter and another one of the town guides. There are always people in this part of the world that seem to get lost and need to be guided back to the road. We actually make a surprisingly large amount of money from these people in our town."

I nodded. Hugo's point had been well made, although I don't think he was entirely comfortable with what I was asking.

"Piotr was one of those guides. He resumed a lot of his old relationships and friendships. A couple of his friendships had soured, especially those boys who pretended to military prowess. He had no time for fire-side soldiers or generals and one of our few inter-village arguments happened when Piotr told young Canis that if he had behaved as Canis had suggested then he would be dead. And worse than that, he would have got all his friends killed as well.

"As I recall, Canis didn't enjoy being told he was stupid. And then he didn't enjoy being shown the difference between proper military combat experience and training and that gained in the village wrestling ring during festival times."

Hugo smiled at the memory for a moment.

"So yes, Piotr came back. He was a guide and a hunter, he roamed a little bit further afield than some of the other people in our village but at the same time, he would always find his way home. He resumed his friendship with my two daughters and when he came up the path to my house with his best clothes on, a bottle of spirits, and a bunch of flowers in order to ask for my permission to begin courting one of them. I was unsurprised.

"But you could have knocked me down with a feather when he asked for my permission to begin courting Tulip rather than Rose.

"I loved both my daughters…"

He had to stop and take a moment.

"I still love both my daughters but Tulip would not be angry with me when I say that Rose had grown into the better-looking woman by far. She was not classically beautiful by any means but there was something about the way that she held herself that made her beautiful. Rose had turned down suitor after suitor and was clearly besotted with Piotr so my wife and I thought that the deal was done. That all I had to do was to get out of their way and pay for a suitable party at the inn on the wedding night. That Piotr might choose the shorter, plumper… and let's be honest with each other here, less intelligent daughter, simply never occurred."

"Less intelligent?" I wondered.

"She had… bless her… She had a prodigious memory for herbs and things. But she was… slow I suppose. She would eventually turn up at the right answer, but the way that she got there was sometimes painfully slow. As a healer, she made up for this by being kind. My wife, Sun rest easy on her, said that any faults that my daughter had as a healer were countered by the gentle nature and kind heart behind it. That she had a knack for being able to hold up more dangerous symptoms with something simple before being able to realize the exact, specific thing that she needed to make the cure sick. But sometimes, talking with her was a chore. She knew this too and she became shy as a result.

"The entire family was stunned when Piotr asked for my permission to court Tulip instead of Rose. Certainly, Tulip was astonished, overjoyed, but astonished and I was even more overjoyed when the first person to congratulate Tulip after Piotr had left was Rose herself. Who forced a laugh of joy before she fled to have some quiet tears. But never was there a sister happier for the happiness of her rival.

"To this day, I don't know why Piotr chose Tulip over Rose."

Hugo shook his head at the memory.

"Love?" I said. "Who can tell the heart what it wants. Not I."

"I think it's simpler than that," Kerrass said. "When returning from horror, men want their mothers. I have been across battlefields when men cry out for many things. Water, the release of a swift, sharp blade. But I am always surprised about how many strong grown men scream out for their mothers at that moment."

For a moment, I wondered about that relationship between my own mother and Ariadne. I wondered if that was what I had done. My mother, a cold, remote presence only interested in her religion. And just as quickly as that, I dismissed it. My mother wanted to retreat from everything, whereas Ariadne wants to get closer to everything. To get in the middle of things and absorb them.

I nodded, feeling reassured.

"Piotr became the son that I never had." Hugo went on. "I had heard about how the other women in the village had been courted from my friends who were also the fathers of daughters. Indeed," he grinned, a little unpleasantly, "I remember how I was when I was courting my wife. But Piotr was never like that. He didn't treat my daughter mean in order to make her keen. He arrived on time and waited patiently if she was running late. He never complained when she was called away to deal with one of the many healing emergencies that ladies in her profession often have to put up with.

"Both she and my wife would say that stupidity doesn't know what time it is."

Kerrass and I both laughed at that. It's true as well. People can behave stupidly as easily as first thing in the morning or last thing at night.

"Piotr would drop Tulip off promptly at curfew. Not that she needed to, or wanted one. But they were never late and she was home whenever he promised.

"And as far as I know, she was still a virgin on her wedding night. I wish I could take pride in that achievement as a father but that was all Piotr. Tulip had insisted and although I have never met a soldier who was a virgin much after their first fight… According to my wife, Piotr never pushed Tulip further than she was prepared to go. Tulip wanted to save herself for her wedding night, more power to her."

Piotr looked a little bashful.

"Also according to my wife, Piotr took that responsibility seriously."

Their wedding was a joyous occasion. Rose stood with her sister as a woman should, and if she was jealous then that jealousy was carefully hidden and I didn't see it. And the couple settled down to live happily."

Hugo's face went still.

"Tulip was pregnant when she died." He whispered before he hung his head. Both Kerrass and I pretended to look elsewhere. Kerrass went in search of more things to drink and I suddenly took great interest in the tabletop.

"So that's the context," Hugo said when he came back to himself. "So… You've been traveling through the Black Forest for some time. THe Schattenmann impacts our lives in so many minute ways that it's impossible to guess as to how much we are actually controlled by him. We do not worship him as a God, unlike some villages I could mention. But it would be foolish to deny that he has a very real presence in our lives. Sometimes he demands a sacrifice. Don't ask me how we know but suddenly we will know and we all troop into the trees where we leave the sacrifice on an old, flat stone."

"I would like to see this stone," Kerrass said. "If someone could guide me tomorrow, while we wait."

"I will find you, someone," Hugo said.

"Does he ever demand human sacrifice?" I wondered.

"He used to. He hasn't in many years. Certainly not in my lifetime, or my father's. And then, it wasn't for the firstborn or some lithe young maiden. It was…"

He took a deep breath. "Don't judge us."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said.

"Others have done far worse," Kerrass said.

"Our society is about depending on each other," Hugo said. "Everyone works, because if we don't then the entire house of cards falls apart. So… If there is someone in the village that doesn't pull their weight. If there is a drunkard who makes the women uncomfortable. Trying to force his affections on them by pressure and physical accidents."

"We know what you mean," I said. I thought of Edmund, my eldest brother.

"And if that person does not work and is just a drain on resources. Someone who gets into fights and injures those people that are actually doing their part. And when we couldn't pressure them into leaving or exile. Then we would take them for a walk into the woods as a gift for the Schattenmann. And those gifts were always accepted."

I nodded. Kerrass was right. Others have done far worse.

"So we've always lived with the Schattenmann." Hugo carried on. "We do not worship him like a deity, sometimes he is more forgiving, and sometimes he can be a harsh master. But likewise, we have always been a proper, sun-fearing town. We had a nice little chapel and the priest of the place used to have a nice cottage next to it. Whenever a priest was getting a bit too old to be able to carry on they would either retire and spend out the rest of their days in peace in the village, or they would retire to one of the nearby monasteries."

Another little suspicion began to form. "Were you one of these priests?" I wondered.

"Great sun no." He laughed. "No, I'm a shepherd by trade. I went to war, like Piotr, and I fell in with caring for the horses of the Cavalry. People claim that I have a gift with animals and when one gets sick, I can normally figure out what's wrong with them and otherwise put together something to make them feel better again. No, I'm not a priest. I get a lot of time for quiet contemplation though and it means that I'm a little bit more educated than some of the other folk in the village. The priests make an effort to ensure that we all know our letters and things and being a shepherd and being out at all hours to guard the flocks against the wolves and occasional poachers that come out of the trees, well, it leaves a lot of time for reading and thought."

"Do you not need to be watching?" I wondered. "I find reading to be quite an intensive…"

Hugo shook his head. "After a while, there's a feel to it. I would always know that there is a problem, the sheep would let me know and you would be surprised as to how much watching my hound does really."

I shrugged. It was not all that outlandish to my ears.

"You were talking about the religious needs of the village." Kerrass prompted.

"Yes, well… So we would often get young priests that needed a bit of seasoning before they went on to bigger and better things. They would be sent here to learn what it's really like to care for a group of villagers. But mostly, we got old priests. Men who had worked themselves to the bone in the cities and the more populace towns. Men who had served with the regiments or had come to the priesthood relatively late in life. We would get them as something of a quiet retirement. That was, by far, the most commonplace circumstance.

"But then we got a new man. He was not young but he was the kind of old man in which a fire burns that keeps him seeming youthful and energetic. He was very clever, incredibly charming and as older men go, he was also quite handsome, or so I'm told. But he had another quality that previous priests had never had."

Kerrass drained his cup and smacked his lips. "Let me guess." He said, frowning at the bottom of his cup as though he expected there to be more there. "He was ambitious."

Hugo nodded. "Funny that we didn't see it until it was too late. But then you don't see the horror until it's upon you do you. His name was Kwentin. And to all intents and purposes, he was a good priest. He went from house to house, spent time with the dying, his interpretations of the scriptures were not too extreme. It is easy to see now that he was getting into everyone's confidences so that he could become more extreme later. But at the time, a vigorous priest with the age to, at least appear, wise was seen as a boon.

"He was fascinated with the Schattenmann though. He would ask questions about him and watch for circumstances and manifestations. As I say, to us, the Schattenmann is not a God, but this priest almost wanted to treat him like one. As though it was some great heresy that we had been following for a long time. It wasn't, it was just a fact of life. He is like the winter storm or summer drought, just something that you have to get used to and plan around.

"But this priest was not having that. He started to complain about the Schattenmann. Just gently, turning folk around to his way of thinking. He would complain about how much time and effort was lost to the care of a creature that we knew nothing about. He would make reasonable-sounding criticisms. He would argue that days lost in order to observe, in his words, 'the rites that the Schattenmann demand.' And to be fair, his arguments were not incorrect. We lost several days of labor a year to the care of the Schattenmann. Days when we could be doing something else. It's just that, to the rest of us, those days are not wasted as, in return, the Schattenmann gives us his blessing to remain here."

"But in ones and twos, he started to find followers," I said. It was not a new story.

"As you say," Hugo said. "He even started to change the language after a while. We were no longer appeasing a powerful entity, we were seeking to worship him and offer him rites. And suddenly, the village really was worshipping the Schattenmann like a God. We didn't feed the Schattenmann, we left him offerings. We didn't calm the Schattenmann's temper with the dances. We performed rites and acts of worship. The language changed and even though the majority of us didn't think of the Schattenmann as a God, even though we found the antics of this little priest to be quite funny, to an outside observer, we were using the language of worship now. The language of a church."

I accepted the offer of a refill from Kerrass. I knew where the story was going from here. I imagine you do too. There is also an essay or a book that could be written here about the priest who led the village into heresy by changing the language that was used. But I am unsure that it would be a subject that I would want to pursue. I rather think that it would make me sick.

"How long did this go on for?" I asked instead.

"Longer than… It seemed longer than it was. It increased in pace as well. I seemed to blink and then one day, it was as though we were committing heresy and instead of asking questions about the Schattenmann, we were being screamed at from the pulpit about how we were all heretics, how we were surrounded by heretics, and about how we had fight back the darkness in our own hearts. It all happened so fast, dismayingly fast. Eventually, after the first beating where the priest and a couple of his followers beat a young man for leaving an offering on the edge of the woodland, we learned to keep things quiet. Those of us who knew that the Schattenmann was still out there, learned to keep our thoughts and opinions to ourselves. And suddenly we were a proper, Sun-fearing village, and the offerings to the Schattenmann stopped as the heresy that the priest told us they were.

"Things turned to the worse for the village. We started to see our crops failing more and more. Speaking as a shepherd and a healer of animals, more and more of our livestock began to be sick, small infections in the flocks became widespread. Sheep would start to fight each other. Undoubtedly, the Schattenmann's influence. Some of us tried to point this out, but the priest, Kwentin, had the village in his hands now. Those of us that complained that we were making our own problems worse were ridiculed, ostracised, and then at the extreme, we were beaten.

"I was one of those people. I knew that the Schattenmann was no God. He is a thing, a powerful being, an entity, a monster… I don't know.

And when I said all of that, I was clubbed into the ground with bits of fencepost and had to be nursed back to health by my own daughter. That was not a good time for either of us.

"I should have gone elsewhere. I should have taken the exile and walked away. But I looked at the animals and I heard the words of my neighbors who told me that the flocks needed me, that no one had my skills with animals and that they needed me. They pleaded with me to stay and to just say the words, even if I didn't mean them. And Great Sun forgive me, I listened and did as I was told.

"We were months like that. The priest had his little corner of the world cowed. He tried to spread his poison into nearby villages, other places that are aware of the Schattenmann's existence and who follow him or worship him to varying degrees. Most of them were like how we had been. Who saw the Schattenmann as just something else to live with. They saw what was happening to us and remembered the lesson of other places where similar things had happened. Including the village with the priest that is subject to eternal torment…

"Yes… I know where you are going. I have been to that awful place myself and have seen what the Schattenmann left of those that tried to challenge him.

"So the priest changed direction. He let it be known that he wanted to hire a Witcher."

Kerrass was appalled. "Did any come?"

"A couple did actually. I never learned their names. They heard about the job, read the notices and things, listened to the priest and what he was saying. Of the two, one of them just laughed in the priest's face, told him to fuck off, and rode on. The other, a darker-skinned man asked a few questions around the town and was a bit more polite about telling the priest to fuck off before he too went on his way.

"So the priest hired a mage and this is where things get bleak."

"It sounds like things were already a little bleak," I commented.

Hugo grunted and got out of his chair. The innkeeper had come back and was working behind the bar, just cleaning things up, wiping cups and glasses. TO be truthful he was keeping an eye on us to make sure we weren't hurting his friend or anything else as deeply stupid. The two men spoke and a clay bottle was produced which turned out to be some kind of liquor that I didn't recognize. A berry cordial, a little sharp for me, but it grew on me as I became used to it. Kerrass took a cup to be polite but it wasn't to his taste, which I found surprising.

"I have heard many things about mages in the North," Hugo said. "Do you know how mages work in Nilfgaard?"

"Assume that we don't," Kerrass said.

"Well, Mages here work for the state. The added wrinkle is that the state is also the church. So mages are often highly religious as they get educated that way. So unlike how I hear things are done in the North, the Mages and priests in the South actually get on quite well. Our priest sent the request through the proper channels and after a while, this mage turned up. He rode this big black horse that looked far dopier than it should have been, leading a mule that was laden down with scrolls and the like.

"If Kwentin the new priest was a fire-breathing fanatic, then I have no idea what this mage was. He cursed us all for heathens and heretics and strode out into the woods to confront the Schattenmann head-on. He can't have been very successful because although we saw explosions of fire and lightning rip through the night sky, he would come back to town, time after time, in a worse temper than that which he had left. He claimed to have destroyed the Schattenmann multiple times but that no matter what he tried, the thing kept coming back."

I saw Kerrass' eyes glitter in the growing darkness.

"The mage and the priest locked themselves away in the chapel along with those that were most in deep with the new way of thinking and they decided that there was someone in the village, someone that refused to submit to the light of the Great Sun. A person that still worshipped the Man of Shadows. And that all of our problems would go away if this person was destroyed. That they were evil and a source of darkness. That the land would not heal without their destruction.

"And the person that they chose to fixate on was Tulip."

Hugo sat there for a long moment as tears slid from his eyes. He got angry after a short while and scrubbed the tears from his own face.

"Apparently, the Schattenmann was anchored to this place. That he had his claws in someone, that that someone would be one who often went out into the trees for whatever reason. Why did they pick Tulip for their anger?"

Hugo shrugged.

"I doubt that we will ever know. There are various reasons that have been suggested. One of which was that Tulip really was an anchor of some kind. We have since spoken to various knowledgeable and wise people that have said that such things do exist. Do they not, Witcher?"

"They do," Kerrass told him. "And the people in question who have been chosen as anchors are almost always ignorant of the fact that they have been chosen. It is possible that this was the case."

Hugo nodded miserably.

"There are other, darker reasons. It was suggested that Tulip and, or, Rose had caught the eye of the mage, and, or, the priest. Rose was never going to fall for that kind of nonsense and she was stronger than her sister. Physically I mean. Piotr and Rose were among the minority that didn't have much time for the priest, the mage, or their opinions on the problems with the Schattenmann. The trio spent a lot of time working in the woods and as such, had more immediate opinions.

"The priest and his followers had tried to bully Piotr but it takes quite a lot to bully an ex-soldier who has fought and killed on real battlefields. Rose simply laughed in their faces and the one time someone tried to get physical with her, she produced her hunting knife and threatened to cut the man's balls off.

"Tulip was a good girl. She was a healer and she healed everyone, regardless of how she felt about the matter. The three of them were not standing in the middle of the square you understand. They were not decrying and yelling at people and calling us all foolish. They just refused to acknowledge the priest and the mage's authority and carried on regardless.

"Rose would later say that Piotr had tried to get his wife to move away with him to a nearby village. There are always needs for healers and hunters and Piotr argued that they could have made a good life for themselves elsewhere. I wish to The Sun that she had listened. Tulip insisted that their place was in this village and that these people, her people needed her. To be fair, she wasn't wrong.

"They came for her one night. I remember it was Summer. I have no idea why they wanted a summer day."

"Because it was dry," I said, a little bitterly. "It helps that the kindling is dry and can take the flame properly."

Hugo nodded miserably.

"They came for them at night. They barricaded Rose into her house, then they surrounded Piotr's and Tulip's marital home and set fire to it. I remember the flames as though it was yesterday, even though it has been, Great Sun… Nine years ago now?

"The rest of the village had no idea what was going on. There was a central core of anger and sullen resentment. Some of us hated what was happening to the spirit of our community. Others were resentful of those of us that were keeping it back. I remember stumbling out into the night to see the flames already licking at the sides of the building. I remember being surprised at the way the village watched. Some people were shouting protests and some were just shouting. People were trying to get bucket chains organized from the river but the priest and the Mage were there, scowling.

"I'm sure you can imagine what happened."

"They came out," I said. "They came out of the house that was on fire, blinded by smoke and fear."

"Straight into the arms of the mob." Kerrass finished.

"You have seen this kind of thing before," Hugo said, he sounded almost reassured. Misery loves company.

"Too often," I said.

"Similar fires have taken friends of mine, and his for that matter," Kerrass said, gesturing at me. "Why didn't you do anything?" There was a note of anger in Kerrass' voice as he spoke and I wondered who he was remembering in that moment.

"Later, Piotr would ask me that," Hugo said. "I have asked myself that many times. As has Rose. I tried, I tried to shout and argue but they pushed me back.

"I could have done more. I should have done more. Even if it meant my death. But in the end, I stood and watched as they took my daughter and the man that I thought of as my son away. Clubbing him to the floor and the point of death before using his life as a guarantee of her good behavior.

"I remember it being strange, as though I didn't believe what was happening. They were taking my daughter away and they were going to burn her at the stake. I remember thinking, over and over that it was some kind of mistake. That it wouldn't happen, that it couldn't happen. We were not some group of Northern heathens that like to torture people to death. The rite of execution is a civil matter for crimes beyond the pale of society. But this? They were going to kill my daughter because of what she might be."

I cannot condemn Hugo here although I will admit to understanding Piotr a bit better. I don't know for sure but I suspect that, at the time, Hugo was frozen in fear and shock. As he himself said, he was unable to comprehend why this was happening and that it would be his village that was doing it. He would have been terrified that he was the next for the bonfire as well as appalled to see people who he respected, admired, and liked being involved in the lynching.

There are records of this kind of thing all over the North. Of families watching while children, spouses, parents, and siblings have been led to the flames and later, when the horror began to die down and the blame started to fly around, people would say that they had no idea why they didn't do anything.

But I can also understand Piotr's anger.

Tears flowed freely down the old man's cheeks then as he described his daughter's death.

"They dragged her from the front of her house. She would have gone willingly but for no other reason than someone had a butcher's blade at her husband's throat. But they insisted on dragging her anyway. They dragged her to where they had erected their stake in the village green, just over there."

He gestured.

"They had piled up wood and doused it in oil. Then they held Piotr, broken and bleeding so that he would be forced to watch while they tied his wife to the stake and set the fires. Piotr screamed the entire time. I even think, right to the end, Tulip didn't believe what was happening to her. The only thing I can say to that is that she died quickly. Whatever expertise is needed to prolong the death of someone when they are burning at the stake, we didn't have it. I don't know if it was the smoke, or the heat or what. But it was intense and she passed out and died quickly. She screamed once and I still hear that scream in my nightmares.

"She only screamed once."

There was a long pause here. The flames in the hearth crackled.

"They had to club Piotr unconscious. He tried to get to the priest in order to strangle him. I had fallen at some point and I don't remember much of what was happening, but they tied Piotr up and left him somewhere. The priest wanted to hang him for trying to kill him, but that would have to be done properly, no summary execution there. For whatever reason, that seemed to be one step too far. I have no idea why."

"It's treason," I answered. "It is the right of the Lord, whoever that might be, to administer justice. If someone takes it into their own hands then they are depriving the lord of their… right… to choose. And an execution for treason is far less dainty than being burnt at the stake."

Hugo had plainly not considered this and he stared into space for a while.

"That's not the end of the story though is it." Kerrass prompted.

"Alas, no it's not," Hugo said.

"The following day, the village was dazed, the remains of Piotr's and my daughter's house were still smoldering gently despite the buckets of water that was thrown over it. Part of the problem was that it was the healer's cottage and therefore, all of her healing herbs and potions had either burnt, evaporated, or melted. So the air around it was… pungent. For a while there, anyone that went close to that place would become dizzy, would see things that weren't there, or would otherwise… go a bit strange for a while. So there were bits of the house that were still smoldering.

"People went about their daily trials. Working in the fields, but there was a strange… feel about the place. It was as though we were all cold and half asleep. Rose was finally let out of her home and had to be restrained from murdering people, including me and I can't say she was wrong. There was no talk in the town, a place that prides itself on being nice to our neighbors and coming together as a community. But we had shattered in the night like a hammer breaking glass.

"The priest, the Mage, and their cronies got drunk. Whether that was with wine, ale, or mead I don't know. There could even be an argument to say that they could have been drunk on their own power. Or dazed because they had been so successful with what they had accomplished. I would later find out that there was talk about them heading on to pass news of their victory in the local area.

"I remember little of that day. I remember going over the events in my mind, over and over and over again, seeing if I could find a way to… something that I could have done to fix it, could have prevented it. Good friends came and informed me that the only way I could have done differently and still been alive would be if I had known what was going to happen in advance. Which was obviously impossible. I tried to argue on Piotr's behalf but I was summarily dismissed. Your argument, Lord Frederick, strikes true to me there.

"There was no dancing that night. No music or drinking. No sense of the community coming together. We were just… There are no words for what had happened. Again, later, it would turn out that many people were already making plans to leave and I can't say that I blame them.

"But we had forgotten one of the most important factors in the entire situation. We had forgotten to take into account what the Schattenmann would think about what had happened.

"That night, he came and he told us what he thought of what had happened. And he was displeased."

Kerrass and I leaned forward as the firelight shone in the old man's eyes. There was a strange feeling in that small room as the sound seemed to leech away slowly and I started to feel as though I could feel it. This was the important part of the story. The one that Hugo tells to strangers who ask about the Schattenmann. When idiots come in from all over the continent and want to know more about the enigmatic creature at the heart of the Black Forest, this is what he tells them.

At that moment, he reminded me of a Skelligan Skald. Telling long rehearsed and practiced lines from a time long past, even if, to him, it was less than a decade. This was the important bit, the rest was just context.

It started with the storm clouds rising to our East. It was the heat of Summer and summer storms are not entirely unknown. The farmers even look forward to the extra watering that the fields get in times like these. But we could see the clouds growing to the East, from the direction of the heart of the Black Forest. Shepherds and cattle keepers looked at each other in confusion. There had been none of the signs of a storm. Nothing going on that might suggest that the storm was coming. They sniffed the air and shook their heads with confusion as they looked at the towering clouds that darkened with every moment.

Herds and flocks were driven towards shelter. Covers were put over loose crops that would not be strong enough to stand up to a proper downfall. The wind picked up and people started to realize that this wasn't just going to be a little summer downpour. This was going to be a proper storm. This was going to do some damage.

People went out into the wind, tying things down, pushing things into shelter. Old folk were taken in and looked after, we put supplies of food aside against the possibility that the storm would last for several days.

And still, those of us with noses for weather would look up at the sky and sniff. There shouldn't be a storm like this. It was the wrong time of year and it was coming from the wrong direction. Storms come from the west, not the east. Storms blow themselves out over the forest, what was it doing coming from there.

But still, it came, the towers of the storm grew ever higher, grew ever blacker. It was still early in the day for the summer but the sky grew dark and people were covering their eyes against the flying dust, the flicking bits of old leaves and twigs. The cries of Ravens could be heard on the wind and those that had the time or the courage to look up towards the heavens would be able to see the blackbirds flying around in huge flocks as they circled around the storm clouds getting closer and closer.

The mage came out and screamed that this was not a normal storm. He and the priest tried to argue that there must be another servant of the Man of Shadows in the area and that they too must be hunted out and slain so that then we would be safe. But in times like this, the people of a community band together in the name of survival. And this time was no different. We ignored them. We were too busy protecting the village from the storm that we knew was coming.

The Blacksmith even physically picked up the mage, a slender, bony man, and moved him aside.

They fled back inside the chapel when they heard the first wolf howling.

They were right of course. Not in saying that there was another hidden servant in the village for them to sacrifice to the flames, but more in the case that this was not a normal storm. I don't know when we all realized it. I don't remember a moment when I suddenly looked up and knew that it wasn't normal. The village just knew. We knew. I don't know how. There is a feeling to a storm. There is a smell in the air, a feeling of the wind echoing in your ears and that was missing. This was more like pressure.

A couple of brave shepherds took up their longbows and headed out to try and protect the flocks from the wolves but the driving wind was gathering up the small bits of dust and twig that are leftover from living near a forest, making their task all but impossible. The wind blew the debris into the eyes of the people that were out there and the wind would blow any arrow that we even attempted to fire, hopelessly off course.

We retreated.

We hid.

And just like that, the wind stopped. We waited, hiding in our houses and in our cottages. Some men, as I say, braver than me, were still with the flocks and the herds, trying to prevent a stampede. But the rest of us were indoors. Mothers cradled weeping children as the fear crept in through the cracks and the gaps in the shutters. It crept beneath doors and slunk down the chimneys. Men snapped at families before shuddering as they rushed to pile furniture in front of doors and barricaded the windows.

The wind stopped and with it, we all stopped with it. Instead, we turned our ears to the roofs and ceilings of our huts as we waited for what was to inevitably come next.

It was the quiet before the storm. Sometimes people say these things and we don't know what they mean. For me, I had always wondered at that particular saying. A storm is a storm what does it even mean to say that there is calm beforehand. Storms build slowly and steadily.

But now I know.

The wind died down, everything went silent and then the rain came like a hammer. And like the wind before it, it was not normal rain. Rain comes in flurries and gusts. It swells and dies down before swelling again. This was constant. A constant fall of raindrops that beat upon our roofs and against our walls and our shutters, causing them to clatter and crash as though struck by hammers.

I remember it being so loud. So loud that it was painful upon the ears. I remember that a child screamed. She screamed and screamed against the rain as though she could push the rain away by virtue of her voice.

As the rain fell, the wolves came.

The wolves, and the birds, and the small forest creatures.

As I say, there were people out with the flocks. Men who were huddling with the draft horses in an effort to keep them calm and keep them from rampaging through the fields and the little pathways of the village. They would tell us what they saw.

A vast cloud rose up from the treetops. A cloud as though a cloud of insects, but these were far larger than insects. Blackbirds, crows, and ravens, the kinds of birds that follow armies to take their fill of the dead when the fighting is done. They rose up and with a scream like the said army, they swept down onto the village with fluttering wings and tearing beaks and talons.

With them ran the wolves of the forest. But not just wolves. Foxes were seen alongside them. Deer came tearing through, squirrels, field mice, and ferrets came down and into the town. Peaceful creatures, prey animals running alongside predators they came, shrieking and screaming as they came.

I didn't see that. I was with my wife and daughter, huddling in fear behind them while they weaved their female magic in order to protect us from whatever was happening.

Did it work? I have no idea. Does that kind of magic ever work? I believe so but in this case, I felt as though they were spitting into the wind. But that is what I think now. At the time, it made me feel better.

I have never been more scared than I was at that moment. Listening to the bears lumbering past my door, roaring and barking as they came. Like Piotr, I have served in the armed forces. Not to the extent that he did but I have stood in the line of spears as the cavalry charged home and I have carried my sword into the breached walls of the castle. I have felt that terrible fear that becomes a terrible anger and felt that equally terrible joy that comes after all of these things.

It was the helplessness as well. I could not have put it into words at the time, but we were helpless then. We were done for, whatever it was that was controlling what was happening was far more powerful than we could conceive and if it wanted us dead, there would have been nothing we could have done to stop it.

The name of the Schattenmann had still not been said.

But I huddled and as these things happened, I saw a dormouse emerge from the corner of the cottage. We knew it was there, a tiny little thing that would long have been eaten by a cat except that Tulip had taken a liking to the small face that the creature had.

It emerged and headed for the door. Rose tried to stop it out of some leftover fondness from her sister I think and the mouse bit her. Hard. And then it scratched drawing blood until she dropped it so that the mouse could scurry out of the door.

When I looked, I could see other insects following it. Earwigs, beetles, and moths that had been nesting in the rafters. Spiders that have kept their webs in the eaves of our home against whatever else might have happened. Webs that have been there since the moment that the house was built. Webs that have kept the biting insects from coming for me in the middle of the night. I saw that spider scurrying across the floor at a speed that I would not have thought possible.

We were not alone in that. Our neighbor's daughter's pet cat, a huge ginger tom cat that we used to make jokes about the ground shaking when he moved. A cat, so spoiled that he didn't need to hunt and the girl's father had been forced to find another cat in order to keep the mouse population down. For the first time ever, the ginger cat became a feral monster, clawed at the weeping child that was clutching her cat for comfort until he could escape, and repeatedly threw himself at a weakened part of the door until it could break free, hissing, growling, red eyed and terrifying.

We huddled closer together in the cacophony as all of these creatures roared, barked, chittered, and shrieked.

And the rain fell and the wind picked up and we thought that it was the end of the world.

It was not.

There was a crash. I don't know if you have ever heard a roof beam shatter before. I had not until that day. I have heard one fall from an imperfect housing. I have heard them break as something larger and heavier falls on them. The first snaps start to tear at the thing as it proceeds to splinter. But the log that is chosen for a central roof beam is chosen very carefully. Chosen to be strong with just the right amount of give in it to prevent it from just breaking under the strain of keeping the rest of the house in one piece. And they never just break either.

I have now heard one shatter as though it burst apart from the inside. It is an awful sound and one that I hope to never hear again.

It happened once, an almighty crash that was utterly unlike a crash of thunder but I have no other way of describing what it sounded like. A wall was knocked in of a different building.

Someone screamed horribly.

Those of us that could see claim to have seen lightning in two colors. Red lightning rose from the ground and shot up into the sky and normal white lightning struck the ground. Golden glows spread up from near the church.

One of our shepherds was another soldier. As I say, many of us have a certain amount of national pride and the call to service is not entirely uncommon in our community. He described it as though an army had invaded our town. He didn't see all of what had happened, but he described things in that way. He described huge flocks of birds sweeping up and down the main road and pathways. Wolves and bears prowling between the houses and through yards, rabbits, foxes, and squirrels went this way and that like scouts, as though they were looking for something. They would stop, rear up on their hind legs and seem to sniff the air to find whatever it was that they were looking for.

Did they find it? Of course, they found it.

After the crashing noises of homes and structures that had lasted for years. Houses that had sheltered multiple generations of families were destroyed like they were so much kindling. After those sounds came the sounds of screaming.

At first, the screams were coherent, people calling for help, screaming for mercy, promising vengeance on the tormentors. We know that one of those people doing the screaming was the priest because he bellowed his prayers into the face of whatever it was that tormented him. But then the screams changed. They were no longer human sounds even as they came from human throats. They became screams of fear, of agony and sheer, desperate need for survival from the terror that was surrounding them.

And when the last scream died, it seemed that the entire thing was over. According to that shepherd that I mentioned earlier, it was as though all the birds and the animals shook themselves and woke up from a horrible dream. He laughed as he told us this story, it was horrible laughter, bitter laughter. The laughter of a man that has seen things and knows that he must either laugh or he must weep and go mad.

He described a rabbit looking over and realizing that it was standing next to a fox before fleeing with all the speed it could muster into the wreckage of a nearby house. The fox was a bit slower on the uptake and chased after the rabbit too late and spent a bit of time chasing after the rabbit before it wandered off somewhere else.

The shepherd said that the fox wasn't hungry.

The flocks of birds broke up and flew off towards the forest. The animals split up in ones and twos. Some burrowed underground and vanished, others fled for their lives, some left in herds.

The ginger cat never came home.

The rain died down and stopped. The wind fell and then all was stillness.

I was not the first person out of the door. I am not ashamed of this. And I do not know if you can guess what they found

He seemed to be waiting for a response. Kerrass and I looked at each other before Kerrass leaned forwards.

"They found the remains of the priest and the Mage. Eaten by all the wild creatures, or torn apart, trampled underfoot, or suffering some other horrific death that would involve all those animals."

"Not just those two," Hugo told us. But every single member of the lynch mob. Every man and woman that had been part of the crowd that had forced Tulip from her home in order to kill her had been torn from theirs. Pulled from the ruins of their houses by the jaws of wolves and the paws of bears. Then they were arranged in rows on the village green before they were eaten. Rose would later say that there were signs that every animal was involved. Some injuries were from beaks, some from small mouthfuls and… well… I'm sure you can imagine."

I could, all too easily. But Hugo told us anyway.

"Rose examined the bodies. She was not yet our healer, that would come later, but she had studied alongside her sister at her mother's skirts and knew more than many. Their eyes were pecked out by birds, their genitals were nibbled into mincemeat by small mouths. Insects crawled inside their rectum and started to eat. When the larger animals would eviscerate them, then the smaller animals, squirrels and the like, would crawl inside the cavities that were left and eat what they found. The lucky ones were a man who had his throat ripped out by a wolf and a woman that was trampled by deer.

"We know that some of them were alive when the feast started. Some of our hunters even claimed that a couple managed to tear themselves free from the horror before the wolves and the bears brought them down and hauled them back. I do not have to imagine the screams. I heard them. We all did. I hear them still in the darkness when I cannot sleep. Or in the depths of the storm."

None of this seemed new to Kerrass, or unexpected.

"Were there any survivors?" Kerrass asked after a moment. "Anyone that was taken from their home but not killed?"

Hugo took a breath. "THere was one." He admitted. "A young woman. I would invite you to speak to her, but she doesn't live in the village anymore. She moved away and joined an abbey as a novice, last we heard."

Kerrass nodded. "She was married and her husband was killed." It was not a question.

Hugo frowned. "He was, how did you know that she was…"

"She was pregnant, wasn't she?" Kerrass went on.

"She was." Hugo perked up. "You have seen this kind of thing before?"

"I have," Kerrass admitted. "Not on this scale or quite so many people slain, but I have seen it. What happened then? What did she say?"

Hugo took a deep breath.

"She said that 'The Schattenmann had claimed his vengeance'."

"She used those words specifically?" I wondered.

Hugo chuckled, a little bitterly. "Oh yes. To be truthful, I don't entirely think that she knew what "vengeance" meant."

"And what happened then?" Kerrass prompted.

Hugo shrugged.

"We are a farming community. Work continues if the community is going to survive. We buried the dead and surveyed the damage. The chapel was unsalvageable and we tore it down. It seemed the right thing to do. The more damaged buildings were likewise torn down so that the site could be used again. Those that were not quite as damaged were rebuilt. We got back to work.

"To her dismay, Rose discovered that she was the most qualified person to act as the village healer and took up that role. She hates it I think but she also sees it as her punishment, her penance for letting her sister, and the man she loved, down."

"She still loves him?" I wondered, checking my earlier thought.

"Probably," Hugo admitted after a while. "I certainly do. He uhh…. He made my daughter so happy."

He choked then and cleared his throat. "Would anyone like another drink?" He asked.

"Yes please," I said, giving him the excuse that he wanted to retreat from the table.

Kerrass and I exchanged glances as we carefully didn't look at the man that went behind the bar of the tavern as though he owned it, turned his back on the pair of us, and allowed his shoulders to stoop and shake for a little while.

This was not a new situation for either Kerrass or myself. Watching a person relive old memories so that we could figure out the roots of a curse. It never got easier, but it was almost nostalgic in feel.

This was interesting. The man, indeed the whole town, was acting out a punishment for an act of just a few individuals. The situation that Hugo had described was not unusual. A small and powerful group of people taking the opportunity to get rid of a few people that they disagree with. Whether for real or pretend reasons. It almost always destroys the community. The fact that it hadn't here actually spoke really well of these people.

The fear of stepping up and saying something to people that might hurt you, or throw you on the sacrificial fire along with the people that you are trying to protect.

Hugo returned to the table with a tray of tankards and reddened eyes.

"So where was I?" He wondered.

"You were explaining about how the village had changed after these events," Kerrass said.

"Ah yes. We sent a small delegation to the High Priest to explain what had happened to the priest that he had sent us. He didn't seem too unhappy at the loss if we are being truthful. Instead of a priest, we asked for a priestess instead. Despite everything, we are still proper, Sun fearing servants of Nilfgaard. But the prospect of another ambitious man trying to put his stamp on the village was more than I, at least, could bear.

"The High Priest didn't like that. The Priestesses of the Great Sun are more of the healing persuasion rather than missionary in nature. Not really there to protect the souls of the people under their care. We insisted and took our case to the nearby abbey. The Abbess was sympathetic and sent us a the older lady that resides in her chapel that we built for her out of a much older building. She is just showing her age now and a novice was sent to see to her needs and perhaps to act as her successor."

"Why did you prevent Stefan from…?" I began.

"Which one was Stefan?" Hugo asked.

"The warrior monk," Kerrass told him.

Hugo grimaced. "We have seen his like before. Men who come here and try to insist that we should have a priest. It's funny. The church argues that all folk are equal under the light of the sun but it would seem that some folk want men to catch more of the sun's light than women and…"

"It is not an uncommon argument," I said. "Even if it is wrong."

Hugo smirked at something. "Rose still out shoots every man in the village come festival time. She doesn't hunt any more, except for the herbs that are part of her trade. She thinks it's important that as the village healer, she should only heal."

"Admirable," Kerrass said. "But she doesn't have any qualms about the lives of wooden targets?"

"No." Hugo agreed. "Although they are straw, made in the shapes of men and animals. She takes great delight in shooting the men shapes between the legs."

Kerrass winced, I was not surprised and just laughed at the obvious attempt to lighten the tone.

Hugo stared into space for a while after the laughter died down. "We don't let priests into the village for fear of what happened to Tulip happening again." He told us. "It is a statement."

"To whom I wonder," I said.

"To everyone," Hugo responded. "And yes, that includes the Schattenmann and ourselves. Since that night, our weather has been good, with the right amount of rain and the right amount of sun. Our hunters do not find the hunt easy, but they manage to come in with enough food to satisfy those who need it and we live accordingly."

"And for Piotr?" I wondered.

Hugo took a deep breath. "We owe him. He lost his life when they came for Tulip. He is not the man that he was. He is lonely, angry, and bitter. He blames all of us and I do not think he is wrong to do so. We hear stories of the man he has become, the killer, the guide, and the mercenary. I do not recognize the man that I still call my son and his face twists with hatred whenever he sees me.

"He guides people to the Schattenmann. I don't know why. He takes them to that village that you will have heard about. The one with the priest that cannot die. He takes them there and he tries to go into the darkness, but then he stops and turns away in tears. It is the last remnant of the man that I recognize.

"He has a place here should he want it, we keep an empty cottage on the edge of town. There are women here that would care for him, even love him. Rose not least. But he comes, with a new group of people. We feed them, house them and supply them. Then he takes them onward. He is the only one that ever comes back."

Kerrass nodded. "Where will he be when we have to go and look for him?"

"That was the other thing we found," Hugo told us. "After the storm had left, we got back to work. It seemed churlish to do anything else. One of the hunters found a new tree on the edge of the forest boundary. Huge it was, towering above the rest of the forest canopy. The leaves are always red and although leaves fall and new leaves form, the leaves are always there throughout the seasons. To look at it, you would think that it was hundreds of years old. The bark is white and the leaves are red while the shapes of the leaves are strange. Occasionally, it blossoms with the blooms of those blossoms being blue with red centers. There is no tree like it for miles around. I have never seen another one, nor do we know what it is called."

"I have." Said Kerrass to my utter lack of surprise. "It is an Elven tree of remembrance."

Hugo nodded, looking unsurprised.

"Underneath that tree is a small garden made up of all the flowers that Tulip liked best of all. Roses, Lilies, and Tulips among them. There is a stone there, huge comes up to my chest."

Hugo gestured with his hand.

"Again," He went on. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that there is no stone like it for miles around." Piotr decided that it was a memorial to his wife. There was no body left after the flames were done with her but… He is probably not wrong. He goes there when he comes through the village. I think that Rose takes him food although I have never caught her."

We were coming to the end of the interview. I could feel it and so could Kerrass.

"I am sorry," Kerrass said. "Your village has suffered a great deal."

"There are worse off than us," the older man declared with some pride. "We walk in the light of the sun, just as anyone does. And if we also live with a being that can control the weather, then so be it."

We spoke for some more time after that but it was clear that we had been told everything that there was to hear. I retired earlier and left Kerrass and Hugo talking for some time.

The following day was a pleasant one. The village threw us a party. There was dancing and music and good food. I visited with Stefan in the chapel and he was not having as good a time of it. Holy men are sometimes funny. They talk dreamily of being able to spend days in quiet contemplation and prayer but when they get forced to do precisely that, they resent the entire thing. He raged against the injustice and swore that he would not do anything so foolish as to break the rules of the village. He had gotten a version of the story from the priestess and was as appalled as I had been.

But the priestess was implacable.

I tried to visit with Piotr. It was true that the tree of remembrance was easy to find and I soon found Piotr, camping under the leaves as he finished a meal of something that smelled familiar to me. He carefully and calmly set his bowl and spoon aside before he, just as carefully and calmly, told me to fuck off.

The following morning we all rose and departed. Trayka had not been up to her usual tricks and so departure went easily. A small mule had been provided to carry our goods and off we went. Piotr met us at the edge of town, just before we entered the trees and we journeyed on.

Two days later, I had my chance and cornered Kerrass while he was gathering herbs.

"So why is Piotr traveling with us?" I wondered.

Kerrass smiled. "I should have known that you weren't going to let that go."

"Freddie and his questions." We said at the same time.

"There are three reasons," Kerrass said. "I chose him because he is regarded as the best local guide and knows more about the local area than most of the others did and his rates were not exorbitantly expensive. His reasons. The first of the three is money. What Hugo said of him is true, he is a mercenary at heart and mercenaries need to eat. After that… the reason he told me is the reason he probably believes himself. He wants to meet the Schattenmann and ask why his wife was not protected if she was so important as to warrant that level of vengeance."

"Not an unreasonable question," I said.

"It's not." Kerrass agreed. "But the Schattenmann would not think like that. Piotr knows it too which leads us onto the third reason."

The bastard made me wait.

"The third reason?" I prompted.

"He means to die. He wants the Black Forest to kill him and the reason he turns aside every time he visits is because he knows his wife would disapprove."

I felt my jaw tighten.

"Do not talk to him about this Freddie," Kerrass warned. "He told me in confidence, we still need him and if he gets angry and punches you out or forces you to kill him, then we are without a guide."

"I could kill him?"

"Oh yes. He is a scout. A good one, but deep down, he is not really a killer. And… He wants to die. He just doesn't know that yet."

"I still don't like him," I admitted after a moment.

"Nor do I." Kerrass agreed. "He reminds me of an arrogant, self-righteous twit I used to know."

I glared at him but otherwise managed to keep from rising to the bait.

It was five days and another village later before disaster struck and we walked into the field of Echinopsae.

(AN: Season's greetings to you all. Thank you for reading.)