Chapter 126: Lord Kalayn is dead

There was some silence for a while.

“You're going to go off.” Sam went on. “Emma and Laurelen are happy together and more power to them but...It feels like the family is shattering under outside stresses. We're all going off on our separate ways.”

“We're growing up.” I told him. “Getting older. That's what happens.”

“Maybe, but I don't have to like it.”

He sighed again looking at the castle walls. “It sounds crazy,” he told me. “But I kind of wanna stay here. I know there's a history and that the villagers don't trust me and possibly never will, but I wanna stay here. I want a place that I can make my own. Not father's or whatever.”

“What about Coulthard castle?”

“That's Emma's castle and we both know it. When Mark dies, long may he live yet, I know that I inherit but let's be honest with each other. I would be a fool to try and live there all the time. It's the centre of a business empire and Emma runs that. The first rule of leadership is to never try and do someone's job when they are better at it than you are.”

I considered this.

“I should point out.” I began carefully, “That that's about the seventh “First rule of Leadership” that I've ever heard.”

Sam sniggered. “You're probably right, but that doesn't change the fact that Emma runs the business stuff. I would be lost if I tried to take charge, so she needs to be at the centre of it which means Castle Coulthard. So I kind of want somewhere else that I can call my own. A land that I can make mine and put my own stamp on. You will always have your books but me? Sooner or later I'm not going to be good at this swordwork stuff. I'm twenty two now and I'm already....

“I can already feel that I've lost the hunger for it. When we were younger I was so hungry for it all. I wanted to be better at everything, better with the lance and spear, better with the sword and mace. Now, I just don't care as much. I no longer have that....that drive to compete, to get better than I am now. I am content. When I met Kerrass I wanted to test myself against him. Even though I knew that he would eat me alive, I wanted to see. I wanted to learn that lesson. I've lost that somewhere.

“I'm as fast, and as strong and as durable as I will ever be. Wearing all this armour is already heavier now than it was when I was nineteen. How heavy will it be when I'm twenty five, or even thirty should I live that long.”

“Of course you'll live that long, don't be silly.”

“Sometimes I wonder though. The luck our family has been having recently.” He shook his head. “That was a bit maudlin, sorry.”

“Don't be. It's this place. You know what they say about being in sunshine making you happier. Well it's been misty, damp and overcast since I got here. When the sun comes out, it's going to be something else entirely. That and the castle is so dark and miserable. Get some light in there, get some singing and dancing going on.”

“After Kerrass has cleared out the ghosts you mean.”

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“After that yes.”

“But it's not just the castle is it?” It was a question that Sam asked me but at the same time, the way he said it felt more like a statement. “There's something else going on here isn't there?”

“I think so yes. These people are afraid and it's not just of you or us. There is something else that they're afraid of.”

“These “things” that that priest was talking about?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think they are?”

“I don't know, but I mean to find out.”

“Well, start with talking to that priest again would you?”

“That will, indeed, be my first port of call. I'm gonna try and see if I can talk to him without Father Danzig being present this time. Maybe he'll open up a bit more.”

“Good idea. Are the bastards gonna go with you?” Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

“They are, technically, my escort.”

“True.”

“But also, with a bit of luck. The locals might talk to one of the bastards before they talk to us, or one of the priests.”

Sam was nodding. “In the meantime, I think the Inquisition is going to be here for a while, burying bodies and going through evidence.”

“Are they still looking to see if the cult might be wider spread than just here?”

“Oh, we know it's wider spread, but it would be helpful if we had some ideas where to look. Papers and that kind of thing. Unfortunately, we're guessing that the remaining servants were well briefed and destroyed anything incriminating when Uncle Kalayn left here.”

I nodded.

“Well, we thought that might happen.” I agreed.

“Yes. If the boys come up with anything though. We'll send word.”

We'd found the priest that Sam was talking about on the way back from seeing Aunt Kalayn.

It had begun to rain as we left the dower house. Sam had been disguising his discomfort from his little confrontation with Aunt Kalayn by making an inspection of the dower house. As well as the Elven maid it turned out that there was also a grounds-keeper who seemed to do little else other than to smoke his home-grown tobacco and grow vegetables in a large patch of land that was noticeably separate from the herb-garden. He also kept the chickens and a pair of pigs. Sam also told me that there was a cook. All three servants, not just the maid were still there because they so obviously had nowhere to go.

Sam promised them that as soon as it could be arranged, the dower house would be fully staffed and maintained, he had taken notes about several small but important repairs that needed doing around the place and the maid and grounds-keeper nodded and smiled but it was plain that they didn't believe him. Not that they thought he was lying, it was more that they just thought that he would get distracted by other things that might be more important. They had been used to serial and repeated neglect by their Lords and saw no reason that such things would change now.

I sincerely hope that Sam is able to prove them wrong. On the way back he was conferring, or rather trying to confer, with me about how much help he could feasibly ask for from Emma. I told him that he needed to write to Emma directly as I'm ever more determined to keep my nose out of family business than ever. I can dimly feel, in the future, that there may come a time where I need to become involved and take an interest in the family business. But it is not this day and I remain forever grateful that Emma is the one who has taken charge of those matters. Out of all of us, she is the one that has the head for it.

We were on our way back to Castle Kalayn, or rather the camp at the base of Castle Kalayn when I saw it. A small church, some distance from the side of the road. If anything, calling it a church was actually a little ambitious really. A chapel would have been closer to the truth.

It was old, very old. Possibly even older than Castle Kalayn itself. Grey stone blocks piled up on top of each other in a way that suggested that it had been done with hands rather than any of the modern crane techniques. I imagined villagers climbing up and passing the stone, hand over hand to get to the upper parts of the building. It seemed to be made up of a short, stubby tower with a small hall attached to it. I suspect that, in total, my family chapel would possibly give it a run for it's money in terms of square footage. It was surrounded by a perimeter made from a drystone wall that was well covered in Ivy and other lichens. I saw the odd headstone peering over the top of the wall which was what gave it away to me.

It was well hidden amongst the trees and I wondered if it was actually the fact that it was raining that seemed to be beating down the trees that meant that I saw it. Or it just might have been kept out of sight due to the direction of travel on the way out to the dower house.

Knight Father Danzig was doing his best to keep a conversation going by himself. The man was terminally cheerful about everything. I had liked him upon first meeting him but there was something about his enforced cheerfulness that was beginning to grate on me. Sam was still grave, upset and hurt by his treatment at the hands of Aunt Kalayn. I was surprised but also thoughtful and I think that both Sam and I would have felt a lot better about everything if we had just been left to our own thoughts.

But Knight Father Danzig was determined.

Bless him.

His topic of conversation could have been better as well.

“There is something about this place.” He said. “I don't know what it is but there is something about this place.”

I sighed audibly, Sam was lost in a world of his own and I couldn't let that go. My scholar's thinking was that Danzig might have something to add that might shed light on the whole affair, but I was also thinking that it would be rude if we just ignored him.

“What is it that's bothering you?” I asked him.

He flashed me an almost puppy-dog like look of gratitude, despite his seniority of rank and age he sometimes seemed very young. “I don't know,” he said. “I feel as though I am being pushed down upon. I am on edge and feel the need to check that my sword is loose in my scabbard.”

“This place has known some horrible things in the past.” I told him, privately hoping that this would be the end of the conversation but, as I say, Dnazig was determined to keep things light and breezy.

“This is true but I feel that there is something more at work here. I feel....nervous but also I find that I am struggling to fight off an incredible melancholy. As though the land itself is saddened by what is happening here.”

I felt my interest pique. Almost reluctantly.

“Well, Kerrass did point out that there was a strong magical field in this area. That it started when we crossed the border into Kalayn lands.”

“Interesting. I wonder if he would be willing to map it out for us.”

I shook my head. “I can already tell you what he would say. He would tell you that you would be much better served by hiring a proper magic user. I can all but here him. “It will be quicker, easier and will waste less time,” he would say,”

My Kerrass impression is improving but not quite there.

Father Danzig took it with good grace.

“It is interesting to me,” he said with a smile, “ that for all that they seem to carp on about the dwindling monster population and the increasing difficulty in finding work, that the Witchers do tend to work remarkably hard in not taking on contracts.”

“He would say that it was a matter of ethics.” I replied. “He's right. To detect the magical field and to properly map it out, Kerrass would have to ride up and down these lands with a medallion out in front of him while making notes. Is the medallion dancing a bit, a lot, a fucking amazing amount? What's the difference on the scale. Whereas a mage could probably produce you a proper map of the currents and flow of the magic in relatively short order.”

“True, but that would mean that I would need to talk to a mage.” He made a face.

“I thought that the church of Kreve was moving towards relaxing their views on magic users.”

“We are. But there's a big difference in knowing that they're not all unnatural deviant monsters and believing it.”

“I remind you that I am marrying a Sorceress,”

“And I wish you well of the union.” He said it with an admirably straight face. “What we need to know is more of the history of this place. We need to know what happened here. Why this place? Ok, so there's a magical aura here. Why? What caused it? Is there a reason?”

“I don't know.” I said. “It's possible that there was an elven sanctuary here. Or, from what I remember my brother telling me, the constant rituals that the Kalayn's performed could have caused the magic to come here of it's own accord.”

“Mmm, I don't like that idea.”

“Unfortunately, the only way that we're going to hear about the history of this place is if we find someone willing to talk to us. Like, say, a priest. The villagers won't talk to us so who else are we going to find.”

Danzig made a face. “Without wanting to be funny, but it's almost certain that the people around these parts worship Dark and Pagan Gods.”

He made the sign of the Lightening bolt on his chest.

“Also,” he went on. “For there to be a proper priest, religion would have needed to be encouraged by the local nobility. I hardly think that the Kalayn family would have encouraged the worship of either the Eternal Flame or of Kreve.”

“I notice you left out Melitele there.”

Danzig shrugged.

“Melitele is all well and good and everything but, they also like to be seen to be doing good works.”

“Unlike the priesthood of Kreve?”

“Not an unfair comment,” he admitted. “But that doesn't make it any the less valid.”

“Well, why don't we find out.” I said, pointing at the small chapel some distance away. I had been trying to bring the conversation round to it for some time.

“Bugger me.” Danzig commented.

A quick conference was had between Sam, Danzig and I and it was agreed that Danzig and I, along with a few of the church knights that were accompanying Danzig, would go and investigate the chapel. The rest would ride on with Sam to the camp to check on Kerrass' progress. Sam was getting his energy back and seemed increasingly keen to get things started.

I don't know what I was expecting as our small party rode up to the chapel. All told, Danzig, myself and three church knights. The rest having gone with Sam.

When you think of these old churches in the middle of the countryside you kind of get these definite visions of what's going on in your head. You imagine a ruin, with maybe some birds flying out of the holes in the thatch. You imagine ruined and derelict land with neglect creeping over the gravestones. There was a bit of ivy creeping over things but otherwise the small yard was carefully kept, neat and tidy.

Also, when you imagine the priest of such a place, you kind of imagine this ancient man, bent under the weight of years. Maybe you go so far as to even imagine a hunch-back. Hood, and rotten teeth. Long, wispy droopy beard as well.

The priest that was there though, was the very opposite of this image.

Well, not quite though. He did indeed have a beard.

He was hugely muscled with a build that reminded me of the lumberjacks in Amber's crossing and down in Queen Dorn's kingdom. Very top heavy. With huge arms and massive shoulders. He was crouched over a vegetable patch as we rode up, wearing a pair of woollen trousers and a cotton shirt. His hair was more grey now than black but it was long and shaggy.

The chapel had a stone circle above the entranceway which depicted a simple thunderbolt symbol, declaring the chapel a church of Kreve. The symbol was reflected in the wooden disk that was hung around the man's neck with a bit of string.

He had a jagged scar across his face and one of his eyes was grey. He watched us without speaking as we rode up, straightening up from his work.

Suddenly he blinked, paled visibly and there was a deep inrush of breath. He almost flinched, as though he had stubbed his toe or hit his thumb with a hammer. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose for a second, his face all screwed up before his face cleared. He turned and quickly strode into the chapel.

I went to move forwards but Danzig put his hand on my chest, holding me back.

“Wait,” he said. “I know this man.”

“You're kidding.”

“No, but I thought....I thought he'd died.”

The priest came back out. He'd pulled on a breastplate and was just finishing buckling it into place. Then with one hand he pulled on a helmet before pulling the largest battle-axe that I have ever seen into view. He stood in front of the church entranceway, his legs apart and with the axe ready.

“Come on then, cunts.” He bellowed. “Come on and die.”

“Wait, what?” I managed.

“Wait,” Danzig said carefully. He took a slow step forward and carefully lifted his own helmet off.

“What's it going to be then, fuck-pigs. One at a time or all together, it makes no difference to me.”

I don't mean to make fun of the poor man but it possibly bears mentioning that I am translating from his broad accent. What it actually sounded like was “Cum on thennnnn. Khunts. Cum on an' dyyyyeeeeee. Wha's I' gonna be den fuck-pigs? One a' a time or awlll togevver, it makes neow difference to meee.” He was wild eyed enough that we could see it from here, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a rictus smile and he licked his lips several times. Danzig handed his helmet off to one of the soldiers and stepped forwards.

“Father Gardan.” He called, speaking the words carefully and clearly. “It's me. Foot soldier Danzig.”

The man swung the huge axe as though it was nothing.

“I don't care what your fucking name is,” he screamed. “I'm ready for you.”

“No,” Danzig called again. “No, we just want to talk. I'm a priest now, they made me a Knight Father. Remember, you taught me the strokes of the sword in Bann Gleann. You were my sword Father.”

The words seemed to hit the axeman in the face as though he had been slapped. He staggered backwards, blinking furiously. The axe lowered and he bent over, placed the axe on the ground flat and spent a bit of time sucking air in through his lungs with his hands on his knees.

Again I made to move forward, wondering if I could do anything to help. I'm not sure what I could do but it seemed as though the man needed something.

Danzig waved me back again, gesturing for quiet and for us to stay where we were.

The older man straightened. He looked at my companion.

“Danzig?” he asked in a small voice. He looked afraid, like a tiny child in the body of this powerfully strong man although his voice was a bit more clipped, losing the accent that had permeated it a moment ago.

“Yes Gardan, it's me.” In his place I would have stepped forward to comfort my friend and was surprised to see that Danzig didn't move.

The older man scooped the axe up from the ground, wiping the blades on his shirt as he turned away from us.

“You'd better come in then,” and abruptly, without looking back at us, walked inside the chapel.

“We will see to our horses first.” Danzig called after him but there was no response. He walked back to me.

“Melitele's sagging tits but I didn't think I'd find him out here,” Danzig was almost speaking to himself.

“Who is he?”

For a moment, Danzig looked at me as though I'd crawled out of his arse, before his face cleared.

“Sorry,” he said. “It's sometimes easy to forget that you're a Redanian Fire worshipper. Knight Father Gardan, the axeman of Kreve.”

The words sparked something.

“Oh wait, I have heard of him. That's the lightening slayer, the axe-captain?”

“The very one.” Danzig's face was troubled.

“I read stories about his adventures when I was younger.”

“We all did.” Danzig said and believe me he was just as formidable in his prime. He fought at Sodden and Brenna and led many missions to purge some of the monsters from the hills of Kaedwen, Redania, Aedirn and Lyria. As well as less savoury by more modern standards, adventures where he fought against the non-humans during the Scoia'tael raids in those parts. He was my hero when I was growing up as I came from the same quarter of the city of Ard Carriagh as he did and he is certainly the reason that I'm still alive today.”

“What happened to him?”

“Injured.”

“That is some scar.” I agreed.

“No, no. Not that, he got that early in his career and for some reason it even seemed to make him stronger. Also his eye going grey isn't because of that no.... It was more....Well....I'll let him tell you the story if he will first before I try and tell it. But in a brief overview it's like this. Just while we give him a moment or two to collect himself.

“I've read your works. You spent some time commenting about how ill you were after your adventure at Amber's crossing.”

I felt the hairs on my neck stiffen as he said it.

“Yes.” I said. “And how... ill I still get, sometimes.”

He nodded. “Please believe me when I say that I mean no offence when I say this but you were lucky. He was injured in a similar way. But he never recovered.”

I felt my mouth hang open in horror. I didn't know what to say to that, or even if there was anything that I could say.

“Please,” Danzig went on, “I beg of you. Be gentle with him.”

I nodded.

Danzig gestured to our remaining escort and they stayed outside the ring of stone walls and I followed him into the church.

It was definitely still chapel but it looked as though it had been adapted a little. There were no pews as I would understand them and instead there was a large fire-bowl in the middle of the floor where the smoke would feed up and leave the church through a hole in the rood. Now that I was inside I could see where there had been some efforts to make the chimney a little more permanent. There was an alter at one end of the room with a lectern nearby. I could also see stone steps which once may have led up to what might have been a pulpit but it looked as though the wooden pulpit had been torn down, along with the wooden prayer rail. It was definitely a place of worship though. It still had that feel about the place. As though there was still a reverence, a holiness, about it.

There were chairs though and in the back, somewhere near the alter I could see another door which led out to what would later turn out to be a living area for the priest. It didn't have much more than a bed though.

The axe that I had seen in the man's hands, rested in a sheath on the alter.

The priest, Gardan came out, he was wearing the blue robe of Kreve now. There was a dampness about his face and I guessed that he had taken some time to splash some water on his face.

“Well Danzig,” he said stomping up and grasping the other man by the wrist to wrist grip of warriors. “You've grown.”

“Only because of what you taught me Knight Father.”

“None of that,” Gardan waved him off. “If you really must insist on giving me a title then, at best, it should be Father.” he shuddered hugely. “I no longer deserve the title of knight.”

Danzig smiled, a little sadly. “Such things are not yours to decide however.”

I turned away, feeling, more than a little, as though I was intruding.

“No they are not.” Father Gardan boomed, his voice really was large and expressive. “If they were I would have been cast out, as I deserve.”

“I will not argue the point with you now.”

“No, I suppose not. Who's this?”

I took that as my cue. “Allow me to present myself. My name is Lord Frederick von Coulthard.”

The man took me in, inspecting me from head to foot. Appraising me in the same way that Kerrass or I would assess another warrior.

Then he started to shake.

“Forgive me.” He said. “Curse me for a fool.”

“It's quite alright.” I told him. “Take your time. I have some experience with injuries such as the one that Knight Father Danzig tells me that you received.”

Danzig was helping the poor man over to a chair.

“Injury?” He spat, bitterly. “There is no injury. It's damn cowardice is what it is.” His teeth were chattering.

“No sir,” I said. “I don't think so, but I will not argue the point.”

“Really?” He turned to Danzig. “There's some water in a rain catcher out back. Tea is in the copper pot, over there on the shelf.”

“Yes Father.” Danzig bowed and went off to do his chores.

Gardan turned back to me.

“Coulthard eh?”

“Yes Father Gardan.”

“Any relation to the Merchant Baron?”

“My father, sir.” It was easier to think of him as a soldier rather than a priest.

“I heard he died.”

“Yes sir. Just under....Flame, just under a year ago now. So much has happened since then that it seems longer.”

“Have I heard of you?”

“I doubt it sir, unless you get the Oxenfurt gazette up here.”

He gazed at me through his bushy eyebrows. “I do not.”

“Well sir, I'm a scholar of Oxenfurt university. I follow a Witcher around and take notes of his adventures while also taking part in them on occasion. I record what I see and publish it accordingly.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why that topic of study?”

“It began because no-one had done it before.”

“I seem to recall the tales of a bard of some kind.”

“Yes, the tales of Dandelion the Bard. But those are hardly historical records. I wanted to write something to record the Witchers themselves. So that they will be remembered.”

He gazed at me for a while.

“How long have you been following him around?”

“I dunno, two and a bit years.”

“But you still do it?”

“I do.”

“How much more is there to tell?”

“I do not know.”

He nodded.

“A Witcher eh?” He stroked his beard for a moment and I saw an odd kind of hunger in his eyes.

I have seen this kind of hunger before. I've mentioned that a friend of mine is a recovering drug addict. He gets that look sometimes. I saw the same look in Kerrass' eyes when we were going out to wake Princess Dorn and he was telling me about his past with that lady. I'd seen the same hunger in the eyes of starving men and women and the lust of a man when surveying the women in a decent whorehouse.

I strongly suspect that I've worn that expression more than a few times myself.

But Father Gardan got that look as he contemplated Kerrass' presence.

Then he started to shake again.

He gritted his teeth against the spasms, scrunching up his eyes against it and sweat stood out on his forehead. He looked as though he was in pain but that pain was not physical.

It was a few moments before the spasm passed and he gasped for air.

“Damn me.” He said. “Damn me.”

“I'm afraid.” I said carefully. “I'm not inclined to do so.”

A sudden smile split his bearded face.

“No, I suppose it's a bit to much to ask from a complete stranger.”

“What happened to you?” I asked carefully.

He waved it off.

“A life on campaign.” He said. “From the age of fourteen when I took up my Grandfather's axe to slay the witch that was terrorising our village. Through two wars with the south. Always I stood at the front of the line and no-one could stand before me.

“Then they sent me to clear out a shrine of the Lionhead.” He shook his head. “There wasn't even anyone there.”

“My understanding of such places is that that's when they're at their most dangerous.”

“You are probably right there. But it un-manned me. Me. A seasoned veteran and I couldn't move over the threshold. I was shivering, sobbing and pissing my pants with fear. Never been able to....”

A tear formed and ran down his cheek.

“Curse me for a cowardly fool.” He snarled but he brushed the tears away with the back of his hand.

Danzig brought us both a cup of tea over. It was brewed strong and sweet, the way that soldiers like it.

“So what brings you two fine gentlemen to my door. It's been a while since I've seen anyone of your....calibre.”

He sketched out a mocking imitation of a bow.

“We have questions.” Danzig said. “So many questions.”

“I bet,”

“You know that Lord Kalayn is dead?”

“Yes, and the puppy that was supposed to inherit.”

“Well my older brother stood to inherit but we have come across some problems and we can't get any straight answers.”

“You want to know if I knew about the cult that went on up there?”

“Yes, among other things.”

“I heard. But I could not investigate.” He spread his hands in an expression of helplessness. “We had heard that things were....going on up there.”

“Well it's over now. But at the same time. The villagers are afraid. Not just the villagers, too there is a palpable....fear and oppression to the countryside.”

Gardan nodded and leant forward. He took an iron poker out from a stand and poked the fire back into life.

“Yes.” He said. “Yes there is. There has been for a long time.”

“Do you know why?”

“Yes.” He sighed. “Look. Danzig can tell you my story and believe me it's a long story. There is more than a little bit of a suggestion that I might be utterly mad and it's something that I might have considered but there are clear signs that.....that something hangs over these people. That hangs over this place and the people that live in it.

“Including me.

“Danzig will tell you, but I left the official church of Kreve back before the third war with Nilfgaard and I wandered until I found this place. It's pretty much unchanged since then. I tried to convert the heathen people that live here as best as I could. They're good folk mostly despite their pagan ways but they won't come to me. They are so afraid but they daren't leave. They think they deserve this scourge you see.”

“What scourge?” I asked. The way that he was talking reminded me of people of Amber's crossing and I wondered if we were biting off more than we could chew here.

“I don't know what they are. They come in the mist, dawn or dusk. You won't see them for a week or a fortnight but then they come again.

“What... who come?” I asked but the poor man was lost.

“I've never seen them.”He said after a while, his eyes staring into the flames. “I keep a circle of salt around my bed and I sleep inside that circle from nightfall to daybreak. But I've heard them, howling like demons from my nightmares. I huddle in my bed when I hear them, the ground shaking with their passing as I just lay there whimpering.”

He snarled that last with a grimace of self-disgust.

“What are you talking about?” I asked him. “I travel with a Witcher and if there's a problem then maybe we can help.”

“I'm not sure you can.” He said. “The locals call them “The Hounds of Kreve”.”