Chapter 129: You make that sound like the ultimate insult

My mind was still puzzling over the riddle of Father Gardan's death when we came to the village. So much so that Sir Rickard had to poke me in the ribs when we finally came up to it.

It wasn't a big place.

Sheltered on one side by a rise in the land that formed an almost, cliff face, presumably as part of the mountain range further to the east. On all other sides it was surrounded by wood and meadow land, a place of small fields and tiny little paddocks. This was the kind of farm-land that poets talk about and artists paint. Small patches of vegetables were attached to each house with ivy crawling up the wall and as we watched there were people working them.

That's not to say that there weren't fields that grew the wheat and barley that are essential to the running of places like this, but they were odd shapes. Fitting round the trees and the bits of streams. This was a place that was still lacking the three field system or the more new-fangled crop rotation.

They had a windmill and a couple of large barns. There was also cattle at some distance, a hardier, hairier and more lean kind of mountain cow as well as goats and a few paddocks full of sheep.

I could hear the ring of a blacksmiths hammer and also felt that I could detect the faint aroma of a tannery. It looked....quaint, industrious and gentle. The only thing it lacked was a village shrine or chapel but I suppose that that was to be expected given what we knew about the local practices.

“Right,” Rickard mused, picking at his lower lip as he looked out over the quiet, peaceful scene. “Sergeant?”

“Sir?” the Huge Sergeant of the bastards was a man of enormous strength and astonishing stealth. Skelligan originally he grew up on one of the smaller islands where life is a bit harder than it is on the larger islands.

He's full of stories about his brothers and sisters but is a little shy on specifics so I always assumed that he came from a large family. From a rough overview of what he was saying, I think he ran away from home for one reason or the other and found himself in Temeria where he signed up with the Temerian harriers. He was far too large and independently minded to fight in the battle line, swinging a huge sword that he claimed was once carried by an ancient Skelligan hero named Roary Mac'Ferghus O'Flanagan who had fought against the Temerians and Redanians in ancient times.

He had a vast store of stories that he would tell with relish regarding the wars of the Skellige against the mainland. It seemed that he had no problems in the fact that he often fought alongside those self-same people though. He would often throw out insults the way the rest of us throw out nick-names but he was an absolute professional. As well as his huge sword, he carried a mace and the largest crossbow that I've ever seen carried by a man who walked on his own two feet.

He was indomitable and was always ready with a laugh or a joke, even when the elements were against the men and they were cold, tired and hungry he would exhort the other men onto greater effort and they would always, always rise to the occasion.

“Let's go in careful,” Sir Rickard told him. “Lord Frederick and I with no more than five other men. In the meantime, take the rest of the men and have a look around. See what the surroundings can tell us. Assume that we will have to fight here and that we're going to have to defend this place.”

The Sergeant nodded and started barking orders. Rickard and I were joined by the two youngsters Perkins and Pendleton, presumably on the grounds that as they were younger, they would be less threatening. Also joining us was a man called Taylor. He was Redanian originally and didn't bother hiding the fact that he was on the run from....something. He was a charming man who I suspected to be some kind of nobleman's bastard because of his use of proper speech and his obvious education. He was the best swordsman in the unit and would often be leading the training drills including giving pointers to Sir Rickard on how he could improve his technique. Fiercely charming, handsome and intelligent. He also had a reputation for being something of a ladies man which didn't surprise me in the least.

The twins were the last two that accompanied us into the village. Absolutely inseparable, they did everything together and the only way you could tell them apart was by their equipment. They shared everything, food, drink and some of the other men claimed that they even shared women. A thought that made me shudder with fascination although I couldn't bring myself to ask them more about it.

They didn't talk much but Sir Rickard told me that they joined the army because their father was a patriot and that they had been told to. But after the war, they had gone home to find that their home was one of the places that had been eaten up by one army or the other and their father was nowhere to be found. With their mother long dead and their elder sister married to another man in another village, the twins had decided to return to the army and to the only things that they were good at.

If I had had my head in the game I would have approved of the choices. As five men go, they were more likely to put the villagers at their ease. None of them were among the more dangerous of the bastards. All of them were well-spoken and did as they were told. The only slight danger was that Pendleton and Perkins would need to be held upside down and shaken until anything that they might have stolen fell out of their pockets.

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But I didn't want to take my head out of Gardan's death yet. I was still too tied into that. Too many questions to be answered, The big ones, obviously being, Who? And Why? Along with the almost as important, why now?”

“Self-recrimination doesn't work like that,” Sir Rickard told me as we dismounted to lead our horses down towards the village. We had decided to walk on the grounds that it would look less intimidating than if we rode. I still had my dagger in my belt and Sir Rickard wore his sword but the rest of our weapons were strapped to the sides of our horses in an effort to put people at their ease.

“I know,” I told him, “And I will get there. It's just that right now, all I can think about is that I should have brought him up to the castle with us the day before yesterday. He would have been safe then.”

“Would he?” Sir Rickard commented. “Look, your brother strikes me as a fine man despite the fact that he sometimes makes me uncomfortable but for the rest of them? I don't trust them, they all seem a little too...political to me.”

“You make that sound like the ultimate insult.”

“I'm a soldier. It is the ultimate insult. Think about it though. What do you know about these other churchmen that turned up. Two Inquisitors that are bound to have a different view on heresy than Danzig or Gardan would have. Trent seems like a decent fellow but you also have to be ruthless to be as good a diplomat as he is, given that he is balancing those other two egos and as for Danzig....”

He sucked his teeth for a moment.

“He's a militant warrior priest from a militant church full of militant warrior priests. To rise in that kind of environment you have to show that you're just as ruthless and militant as the next guy. Sure he seems like a nice guy but how much of that is a practised mask that he's hiding behind knowing that he would have to work with members of another religion.

“You have a suspicious mind.” I told him.

“True, but I could tell you stories about the number of times that being a suspicious bastard has saved the lives of me and my men.” He hawked and spat by the side of the road. “Where the hell is everyone?” Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

He was right. The sound of the smith's hammer had stopped as we had begun our journey from the tree-line into the village.

“Must have been your face Taylor,” joked Pendleton. “Scared 'em off.”

The older Taylor cuffed the younger soldier round the ear with a grin.

“Hiding.” I said. “They saw us coming and are scurrying for cover.”

“Why though?”

“Wouldn't you? A village that's lived in fear for it's entire existence who know that they worship a pagan God, they hear there's a new Lord in the area who's brought a load of churchmen with him. I would hide as well. I should have thought this through a bit better really.”

Sir Rickard looked at me in surprise.

“Personally,” he said after a moment, going back to scanning the surrounding area. “I would be sharpening my knives or stringing my longbow. Then I could kill the stupid fucker that comes towards my village and threatens me and mine.”

“That would certainly bring some consequences.”

“Yes, but at the time and the place, thinking in those kind of long term stakes is a luxury that I don't really have.”

We walked into the centre of the little village. More the area where a couple of tracks came together to form a small triangle with a well off to one side. There was a large pole standing in the middle of it so that I could easily believe that this was a place where ribbons could be tied on before the pole would be danced around.

The village looked deserted now. We hadn't heard a signal but one must have been given. I fought an overwhelming urge to march up to a house and kick in the door and shout “BOO!” in the faces of some surprised village.

I mean really, did they honestly thing that we would all just turn around and walk away now that it seemed as though no-one was there?

I could smell bread baking.

We walked through the village to the well, leaving Pendleton and Perkins to look after the horses before drawing a bucket of water and taking a drink.

“Ok, so what now?”

Rickard looked at me before shrugging. “I dunno, tell me to sack it, attack it or defend it. That I know how to do. This bit's on you.”

“Thanks for that.”

“You are quite welcome.”

I sighed and took a breath. “Hello?” I called to the village in my best “oratory” voice, support the diaphragm, take a deep breath and.... “I know that people are there. We're not here to loot, or steal or anything. We want to talk.”

No response.

“My name is Frederick von Coulthard of Redania and with me is Sir Rickard of Temeria. I promise that he's not a demon or anything. The other men with him are his soldiers. But I promise, I promise that they won't steal anything or kill anyone.”

Perkins sniggered and got a cuff round the ear for his trouble.

Movement out of the corner of my eye. I shifted slowly so as not to frighten, whatever it was off. “I just want to talk. I have news of the new Lord Ka...” I realised that the name “Kalayn” might not be the best received mid speech, “....the new lord up at the castle. He's my big brother and a good man.”

The movement was a small girl of about eight, she had long wild hair, skinny but not painfully so. She had a jagged scar down the side of her cheek and the huge eyes of the very small. She wore a formless dress that looked as though it was made out of cheap wool and was clutching a doll made from straw.

I held my hands out from my side in what I hoped was a decent equivalent of “I'm not going to hurt you” and walked towards her slowly.

“Hello.” I attempted. Talking to children is not a skill that I've managed to acquire from my association with Kerrass. I know all the tricks, I know about lowering myself to their eye-level and to not talk to down to them. I know about not being condescending and things but somehow I always seem to upset children and make them angry. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is because they can smell fear.

“Are you a demon?” She asked me.

She did this thing as she spoke. I've seen it before but I've never heard it talked about in any other place. She was holding her dolly in front of her and she was twisting her body on the spot from left to right. Feet and head not moving as she stared at me unblinkingly, body always moving, twisting side to side.

“Nope,” I responded beckoning Taylor over and gesturing for him to turn around. “See,” I said, “Not a tail or pair of horns between us.” Taylor smiled his best and most charming smile and bent down so that the little girl could examine the top of his head gravely.

“Is your mother home?” I asked when I assumed that she had taken enough time to be able to properly examine the soldier.

“Yes,” Part of the problem I have in this situation is that she seemed so serious but I can never tell if they are teasing me or having a laugh at my expense. There's always that suspicion though, deep down, where I suspect that the child is laughing at me.

Probably tells you more than you need to know about my childhood.

“Can I speak to her?”

“No,” and she shut the door. I could hear people talking inside in the way that people do when they want to express how angry they are while also making as little noise as possible.

I sighed and moved away, raising my voice again as I tried a different tactic.

“Does anyone know the priest from the chapel a little way to the East? He told me that he had friends here.”

“Aye, we know him.” Came a voice, from the end of the village. A man stood there and walked into the open area between houses. “Good man that priest.” His hair was long and shaggy, along with a beard that was unkempt. He didn't look especially dirty as some villagers sometimes do, it was more that he looked as though he was a man that worked hard and was beaten down by too much hard work and the requirement to make hard decisions that affected those people around him. He wore a pair of leather trousers and boots that looked well, if simply, made as well as a long tunic that was belted in at the waist by a broad, brown leather belt. He had a woodsman's hatchet that swung from a loop at his waist. As Kerrass had trained me I examined him for details.

His clothes were simple, roughly made but they were built to last. Un-dyed they looked simple. The hatchet looked well used and the way it was carried on the belt suggested that he could get to if quickly and easily. I put him as the kind of man who could fight and would fight if it meant that he had to save someone weaker than himself but that he would rather hide from confrontation. He was a man that faced his responsibilities keenly and felt them pressing down on him.

“Yes, Father Gardan asked me to talk to a man called Edward?”

“That's me.” I saw him relax a little as he visibly decided that I wasn't lying. He didn't trust me yet but at the same time, he was prepared to listen.

“I have bad news,” I told him. “Can we go off somewhere private and talk?”

“You're asking me?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

He scratched his chin as he took some steps towards us.

“Begging your Lordship's pardon but....normally.....uh.....”

I thought over what I had said and felt a small realisation strike me.

“I'm not that kind of man.” I told him. “This is your home, not mine. If you really want me to leave, I will after I've delivered my news. I also have some questions that I would like answering if at all possible and then we'll go.”

“Who's we?” He asked, still not ready to let go of his suspicions. “Just the seven of you or those other men in the woods?”

I pegged him then. The man was cleverer than most and that was why he was in charge. He thought a bit beyond where the next meal was coming from or what to do about things. Where the fences and the walls needed to be built and trees planted.

It is always a mistake, always a mistake to assume that, just because someone hasn't been educated, that they are stupid.

“Those men mean no harm.” I said. “We didn't want all of us to come down and startle you any more than I knew you would already be startled.

He finally allowed a small smile to creep across his bearded face. “We know our little chunk of woodland mi'lord.” He told me, “Anything changes in it and we know immediately.”

“I bet.” I wanted to tell him that he didn't need to call me “mi'lord” but I knew, also from experience, that this would never happen.

The man considered me some more. “So there's a new Lord Kalayn is there?”

“You mean you didn't know?”

“There's always rumour. Always. But, begging your pardon m'lord, if the rumours were always true and wishes were magic then the village would be a lot better fed.”

“Well, hopefully, my brother will be able to help with that. Our family owns some good land from the south and we can show you some modern farming methods that will help you grow more and more reliably too.”

I could see it warring in his face. On the one hand, he was curious and excited by the prospect of being able to raise more food but he was also resistant and distrusting of change.

“You'd better come inside then.” He said, wearily. “We might not be able to provide as good a welcome as we would like but we can still give you something to eat.”

I nodded and moved where he was gesturing. Sir Rickard came with me.

“If I may?” He asked, he'd let some of the newer “rank” fall out of his voice and let his thicker accent shine through. “Where I come from, guests bring something to help with the meal. We can't offer much but.....”

“We won't take charity.” The man snapped.

“Not charity.” Rickard responded. “It's just one of my people's things.”

Edward considered this. “Where you from?”

“Temeria.” Rickard responded quickly.

“You're a long way from home then.”

“I am. And I miss it sometimes. But for now I work with Lord Frederick here, he's a good man.”

Edward nodded.

“Can I bring the rest of my men in?”

Edward thought again. “They won't.......They won't....”

“No, My Sergeant'll keep them in line.”

Edward thought about this a bit more before nodding. Rickard took the horn from his belt and blew the signal that I recognised as “Close up.”

“I'll wait here.” He told me.

I nodded and followed Edward into the larger building that seemed to double as a meeting hall for the village where things got decided.

It was not a large building. A small pit for a fire in the middle of the floor with a metal frame over the top of it to hang a cauldron from. For the uninitiated, this is called “The communal pot.” How it works is that there is always some form of stew bubbling away in the pot attended by the older parts of the village community who stand nearby to make sure that the flames don't get out of control and to make sure that the stew itself doesn't boil dry. Periodically they will call and a new load of vegetables, salt and occasionally meat will go into the pot and be stirred for a bit until the old person attending it decides that the stuff is fit for human consumption again and allows people to go to it.

There is always a small pile of wooden bowls that you sup from directly and you are expected to clean up after yourself before returning the bowls to the stack.

It always, always smells better than it tastes but sometimes, the village has nothing else to go on and it's a good way, especially during winter, for a village to make sure that everyone has a hot meal inside them even if, what it mostly is, is soup.

You can tell a lot about a village from the state of the common pot. In poorer villages, you can find old shoes and bits of belt as well as weeds and leaves and things. The more meat there is in there, the richer the villagers and if a village is particularly swanky then you might get a loaf of bread to go with your stew.

This place seemed to be a middle of the ground kind of village. There was no bread offered but there weren't any major roads for tax-collectors and things so I suspected that the village had a separate store space to hide from the noble Lords Kalayn and their inspections.

We needn't worry though, Edward was seen talking to the older woman who later turned out to be his mother and she nodded appreciatively. This was aided by the fact that Perkins and Pendleton came into the building after a few minutes laden down with what looked to be a substantial amount of the units day rations.

The older woman rose to the occasion and called for some assistants who were set to cutting up the bread, cheese, meat and vegetables that the lads had brought with them. They were still living off the land so the stuff they brought in was mostly the results from the hunting that the Bastards had managed to do in the meantime.

Edward and I settled down to one side.

“So,” He began, taking a pair of cups from a nearby shelf and sneaking a bottle out from under the watchful eyes of his mother. Thus proving that it doesn't matter how old you get, you still live in fear of your mother. He gave me a cup and poured a small measure from the bottle into both cups. “What news do you have for me?”

I sniffed at the cup cautiously. Another game that villagers sometimes like to play is to see what kind of eye-wateringly strong alcohol they can get the visiting noble to drink. My tolerance is a LOT higher than it used to be but even so, I resolved to not drink that much.

“It's made from apples.” He told me, “well, mostly apples.” He hid a smile behind his own cup.

“I take it that you're supposed to sip it?”

“Take it slow, yes.”

I took a sip. Not the strongest village hooch that I've come across but it was still potent. I saw myself visibly achieve some extra status in the village man's eyes when I drank without wincing and did NOT cough.

“Nice,” I told him. “A friend of mine up at the castle would appreciate this. Can I buy a bottle or three?”

“Not your brother?” he asked.

I laughed at the thought.

“He would be mortally offended if he heard me say this but My brother Samuel, the new Lord Kalayn as is,” I was very good, I only put a slight emphasis on the word “new,” “would like to think that he is a rough and ready man of action that drinks with his troops. However he's more of a wuss than he would like to think and this would make him choke.”

“I will remember that.”

“He likes beer.” I told the Village headman. “So if you're looking to butter him up then that's a good start. This is probably a little too sweet for him.”

“I will remember that too. Now, have we gossiped enough?”

I looked him in the eye. “I wasn't coming here today. I came down to see Father Gardan and to continue our conversation from a couple of days ago.” I watched the man carefully. I didn't think he was involved in Gardan's death but it pays to be cautious and to never assume anything. “We found him hanging by his neck from the chapel tower.”

I was further convinced that the villagers were as innocent as you can be given the circumstances. Edward winced in sympathy.

“Poor man, poor, poor man.” He topped our cups up. “We tried to help him you know. We really tried, took him firewood and food and stuff. He set traps and things around the church but you have to move the traps occasionally other wise the wildlife realise what's going on and simply avoid the place. He couldn't go further than that though so we did our best but....”

He sighed and took another drink.

“We tried to get him to come and move into the village. Even told him we'd build him a little shrine to Kreve if that would help him but he refused. Poor man. Wouldn't leave his church you see.”

He nodded to himself.

“Well thanks for telling me. It's a shame and I feel for the man but at the same time, I would be lying if I said that I hadn't seen this coming for a number of years. He was no longer a well man.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, he hung himself didn't he?”

“No,” I said shaking my head. “No he didn't.”

There was no way that Edward could have faked his reaction.

“But who could have....? Why would anyone....? He was just a harmless old man.”

“I was hoping that you might be able to help me out with some of those answers.” I told him. I wondered if it was lost on him that my drinking cup was in my left hand ready to throw the liquid into his face while my right hand had drifted towards my dagger. When Kerrass had taught me this trick I had wondered if that was why, when we hold cutlery we hold our knives in our right hands, traditionally the weapon hand, and our forks in our off hands. He laughed and told me that no, that was ridiculous but he did insist that I learn how to drink with my left hand until it was a habit. So many tricks to learn how to keep my weapon hand free.

That was the dangerous question. And it's the most.... risky proposition. Sooner or later you have to ask someone a question which tells them, implicitly, that you suspect that they might have had something to do with the crime. That moment is often the crux of an investigation. The moment when you confront the person with the suspicion that they have summoned a spirit or cursed someone or otherwise caused events to happen in a way that would lead to... death. You build up these moments in your mind, making them larger than they actually are until you get to the point where it becomes this kind of pressure, you feel it behind your eyes wanting to surge out of you. You can almost taste it the questions on your tongue but your carefully constructed line of questioning becomes clumsy and ungainly when you actually come to speak it aloud to the person that you are talking to.

As an example for those people that don't have to accuse people of crimes or investigate hauntings or interview subjects. Imagine that feeling that you had when you were just beginning to realise that you had a crush on another person and you wanted to ask them out for a drink or to see a play or something. You know, the first time that you started doing this in that period before you get used to the probability that the other person will, at best, turn you down or, at worst, not know who you are.

That feeling.... Not the one about talking to a stranger at a bar or asking a stranger for a drink. Your crush. Your childhood or teenaged crush. You go away and you think about how you are going to set about setting up some kind of situation where you can help them out and ask for them to come for a walk with you. You think of all the things that you can say and all the things that you can do. You probably sound quite witty in your head along with being charming and debonair and things but when it actually comes down to it and you're standing in front of the, to you, most beautiful and wonderful person in the world and suddenly, the words come out in the wrong order.

That's what it's like.

Edward looked appalled, his mouth working in silence. “You don't think....You can't think......I swear we didn't....”

I held my hand up to stop his flow of words. “If I did, I don't now. No, it doesn't make sense. You've lived with him for many years now I understand and despite his world view, he lived with you in peace.” I did see that Edward shot me a sidelong glance as I said that. “So instead, the question would no longer be about....why would you kill him but why haven't you killed him before now?”

I sighed and pointedly took a drink. I was still watching him carefully out of the corner of my eye in case he decided to just kill me on the grounds that one fewer noblemen is a positive step into the new world, but I flattered him that he was a lot cleverer than that. He was the kind of man that would weigh the consequences of his actions.

“Before I do ask any more questions though.” I put in. “I think it's important to say that although my brother is in charge up at the castle and it's the people that used to live up in the castle that are being investigated for heresy. There are two Inquisitors up there along with another Knight Father of Kreve who is seeing to Father Gardan's body as we speak.”

Edward nodded. “I need to....I have to....”

“Take care of a couple of things?”

He nodded.

“Ok,” I told him. “As I say though, I bear you no ill will. I'm trying to solve a puzzle and I don't have all the pieces yet. Father Gardan told me that you could provide more answers or, at least, help me make the questions a little easier. Please don't make a liar out of him.”

He looked me in the eyes and I, again, got the feeling that I was being weighed and measured.

“I won't. I will come back. I just need to.....”

“Take care of a couple of things.” I finished for him. “Don't worry. I will be here.”

He fled.

I offered my services to the old woman preparing the food, boasting that I was a dab hand with a peeling blade. She took my jest the way it was meant and I bent to chopping onions and bits of turnip. It seemed that I wasn't trusted with any of the fresh meat that the The Bastards had managed to procure through fair means or foul.

Edward came back after about an hour but still with enough time that the old woman in charge of the pot was fending off enquiring minds with the aid of a large wooden spoon in the same way that a soldier would defend the breach in the city walls. He did seem a little calmer though so I thought that that was a good sign. He sat back down, picked up his cup, drained the contents before pouring himself another. I declined a top up. I had a feeling that I would need to be thinking with the entirety of my head rather than just one, small, alcohol soaked portion.

“Ask your questions.” He told me after another long drink. Like so many people from his walk of life, his capacity for his villages own alcohol was frightening but at the same time, lacking in the wine front, they need something to drink to purify the drinking water so it's a very real possibility that this village had been drinking their alcohol made from apples since they were being weaned off their mothers milk.

“But I have so many,” I protested. I got the laugh that I was looking for and decided that Edward had visibly relaxed.

“Right,” I began, “let's start with who could have killed Father Gardan and why.” I started. “He was telling us about the local scourge called “The Hounds of Kreve,” now....” I was still watching Edward carefully.

Although I had decided that he wasn't just going to try and kill me out of hand, he still didn't trust me so there was nothing to stop him from obscuring the truth. Edward smiled sadly, almost resignedly when I mentioned the Hounds. “..... this is not my first time trying to figure out who murdered someone.” I went on. “So one of the major possibilities here is that he had more information at his disposal and, given time, he would have told me everything.”

Edward nodded, listening carefully. Once again I reminded myself that this man was not stupid. Probably just uneducated. His lack of vocabulary was not a sign of his lack of understanding.

“The things that he was talking about where you and yours.” I pointed at him. “The Hounds of Kreve, or the heresy that the dead lord Kalayn used to practice.”

Edward nodded again.

“I have to work on the possibility that whoever killed him was preventing me from learning more. Therefore the killer needs to be someone who knew that I had visited, knew that I was going to go back and talk to Father Gardan again. But one of the main things that I'm lacking about this entire situation is context. I don't mean to insult you but do you know what I mean by that?”

I genuinely wasn't trying to insult him. What I was trying to do was to get into the habit of talking to me. Into the habit of answering my questions as once you've started doing those kinds of things, it's a lot more difficult to stop.

“Not really.” He answered.

“What it means is that this area of the world seems to operate on a series of rules and laws that I simply don't understand. For example. I know that my cousins, the former Lords Kalayn were unspeakable shits that I wouldn't piss on if they were on fire and I passed them in the road.”

Another slight smile.

“I know this. I also know that they were heretics and that they followed a very specific religion that any decent person would frown upon....”

Here comes another one of those moments that I was speaking about earlier. “I only spoke to one of those heretics, my direct cousin as it happened and he described the heresy as worshipping something called Crom Cruarch.”

As I expected, Edward's mouth twisted in distaste. Good, I was beginning to get a grip on how this man worked now.

“Since speaking to him I have learned a bit more about Crom Cruarch and have learned quite a bit about his worship that goes against the heresy that I witnessed being practised by my cousin.”

As I watched, Edward subsided a little, it was as though all of his muscles relaxed at once.

“Indeed,” I went on. “Father Gardan himself, someone who reacted violently to what had happened up at the castle,” a small lie on my part, “said that the worship of Crom Cruarch was nothing to do with what we had found and, indeed, what we are still finding up at the castle. He called the worship of Crom Cruarch, and I quote, “a relatively harmless little heresy”.”

Edward's mouth jerked towards a smile which he had to hide in his cup of alcohol.

“So, there are two things. On the one hand, we have a noble family that have abused this area, their populace and each other to the point of destruction and it still remains to be seen whether the area can be saved in this generation. So far, all of this confirms the thought that the nobles had....” I reached for the right word, “adopted the local religion, or heresy if you prefer, of Crom worship with their own sick rites given that they came here, did their established rites and saw results. They thought they were accessing a local power, found out that the local power was called Crom Cruarch and assumed that that was what it was.

“So far so good. Sam has every intention of sorting out the problems up at the castle and helping out with the agriculture in the area before gently bringing in some Melitele worship and a few, more liberal priests of the Eternal Fire.”

I leant towards him as though I was including him in some kind of secret, “Again, I should mention that my brother and I come from a family of followers of the Eternal Flame.” I leant back. If the village did have a history of distrust towards Kreve then I wanted to paint Sam and I as being a little more fluffy and relaxed.

“So that was the plan. But that doesn't reflect what we find. It's as though there is a weight on the countryside. It's a beautiful place that you have here. I don't know much about farming but as I've seen plenty of wild creatures as well as your small herds, I can't think of any reason why the land can't produce food. The Lords who must have inflicted a lot of the pain and misery that might contribute to the kind of weight that I'm talking about but surely that should have lifted since the Lord's Kalayn died nearly a year ago now. Yes, I suppose people could be thinking that the new Lord will be worse but there is, at least, the possibility of positive change. But over and over again I am told that this area is cursed and that I should just ride away and I couldn't figure out why.”

“Then I meet Father Gardan and he tells me something that I did not expect. He tells me about the Hounds of Kreve, both as though this explained everything and also as though this was the answer to all my questions. He himself admits that he knows little about the Hounds and that he questions his own perception of them given his illnesses.”

I turned back to him as though I had been thinking aloud and all but ignoring him. I had actually been watching him closely though, drawing him into my thinking patterns.

“So that's the context of the area. I don't know about the things that you take for granted and I don't know why you think or behave the way that you do. I need to know that if I'm going to unravel this problem. I should also say that if you are afflicted by supernatural problems then, as well as Inquisitors and priests, there is also a Witcher up at the castle who is a good friend of mine.” It is often amazing how much even isolated settlements, like this one, still know of Witchers.

I took care to stare straight into his eyes. “We can help you.” I told him. “But I need to know more.”

He took another deep breath.

“What do you want to know about?” he asked finally, just after I had begun to believe that he was holding his breath until he suffocated to spite me.

“What can you tell me about the stuff that happened up at Kalayn castle?”

“Their heresies?”

I nodded.

“I don't know. They had little to do with us all if I'm honest, as though they didn't really care. They would come round to us and demand their taxes. They would always express disbelief that we didn't ave any more physical money when we tried to pay in skins, metalwork and grain and the like. We don't have money, what would we spend it on?”

He sniffed. I sensed the disdain of a working man for those who clearly don't know that they're born.

“They get cross at our.....what was the word they used?....Insolence, that was it. They search the village a bit but when they fail to find anything of value, they take the taxes that we offer along with a load of food that we didn't offer and ride away, telling each other how clever they are.”

He snorted again.

“If I'm honest, I couldn't tell you what Lord Kalayn looked like. For all I know, you could be Lord Kalayn come down here to play a big prank on us.”

“That's a horrible thought.” I said with a smirk.

He grinned at me.

“Nah,” he said after a while. “Gardan would know the difference and he wouldn't have sent you on if he didn't believe you. Also, I can't see any of Lord Kalayn's men giving us some rabbits for the pot.”

I nodded. “So what they did up there was nothing to do with Crom Cruarch.”

“What did they do up there?”

I told him about the cannibalism, ritualistic sexual assaults.

“No, That's nothing to do with the Crooked Man of the mound.”

“So, that's the next question? You and your village worship and old deity called Crom Cruarch?”

“Not just us, but most of the villages in this part of the world do.” He sniffed again. “At least, the ones that we occasionally hear from and do some trading with. There's a village further north that has some good clay in the ground that they've been making tiles out of and they occasionally trade us some in return for some grain and apples. They have a form of the worship of Crom although it's kind of different to ours. Not by much but they celebrate on a different day. Not that it makes that much difference. They tell us that there are similar villages to theirs that follow the same rites further north and that they have even more contact.

“It's not a small thing. It is not a cult that can easily be snuffed out. Even if your Inquisition comes here and starts burning people, Crom will prevail.”

“Not that I think you are wrong, but why do you think that?”

“I know that.”