Chapter 132: Hounds

It was several days before we finally caught sight of our enemy.

Even then, it was in the distance, a long way off through the distortion of the rain soaked mist that was blanketing the countryside.

I had thought that I knew what to expect when it had been described to me, that mist that came off the mountain, bubbling up through the ground and the trees as it slowly spread across the countryside but I couldn't have been more wrong. Some of the people that I had spoken to had described that fog as being an almost living thing. The way it seemed to spread like some unimaginable tentacled beast that extended it's reach and touch across the land.

Mists are not unusual in that part of the world. Something about the mountains, the dampness in the air make it happen and it was a regular occurrence for us to wake up to find the world, blanketed in the damp greyness of the mist. When nothing would ever seem as though it would ever be dry again. It was a bit odd that it was still happening with frequency at that time of the year but I thought that the higher altitude might have gone quite far to explain that.

Red sunrises and sunsets were also not that uncommon. Again, I couldn't tell you how any particular sunrise or sunset would turn red rather than orange but in these cases it did so relatively frequently. It also seemed that dawn or dusk took a long time. Much longer than I had been used to, but Kerrass teased me when I commented on this, that I had been spending too much time in the south.

Nor can I tell you why it makes that much difference, how far North or South you are. Kerrass really does enjoy these bits of ignorance that I have in those fields of knowledge that I haven't studied. He keeps them and takes them out to torment me occasionally because he's like that.

We were on our way back from speaking to some people in one of the villages in Sam's realm. All told there were around four, larger villages in the local areas. As well as this there were numerous smaller farmsteads where large sprawling families would live in a collection of old buildings and work the land. Edward's village was one of the villages further to the West of Castle Kalayn.

As it turned out there was another one, much closer and to the North while the other two were further north than that. Beyond that there was a “river that ran out of the mountains that marked the Northern Border of Sam's territory, all told it was about two days ride North of Castle Kalayn. We never bothered figuring out how far to the west the lands extended and to the east of the castle, the mountains became inaccessible and the land unusable except as an area in which you could lose a herd of goats.

Since our little conference I had ridden to all four villages and spoke to numerous people. The locals seemed relatively friendly, if cautious but the stories that I got told about the Hounds of Kreve were repeated over and over again. That was the reason for the unhappiness in the land. That was why people were afraid all the time. That was why the children were always scarred in hideous ways so as to mar them should they turn into young people of beauty.

I spoke to one family of farmers who had not carried out this thing. They were relatively new to the local area having fled the wars to south back when Nilfgaard had first started showing signs of wanting to expand northwards. They had arrived, explored a bit and chatted to some of their neighbours when they found out about the practice of child scarring and had rejected it utterly. The locals had done their best to warn them but the father of the family had refused.

I ended up speaking to the son of this farmer, his father had died some years previously and was buried nearby. Apparently, some months after first settling in the local area, the red mist came and they heard howling from the trees. He had been trapped out in the stables where the family kept the draft-horses when the howling figures had come and had hid under a mountain of straw as he saw the cloaked and hooded things stalking towards the farm-house. He had watched, unmoving as they emerged from the trees and the mist. He described them vividly, about how the darkness had seemed to coalesce into the shapes that moves with their terrible purpose. Their skulls stark against the rest of the figures.

He had burrowed deep into the straw so he didn't have to see what happened after that. He hid there, soiling himself in fear as the Hounds kicked down his family door, r*** his mother, beat his father into unconsciousness and made off with his elder sister.

He had been twelve at the time. In the morning he had taken one of his fathers skinning knives to his own face before scarring the faces of his three younger siblings.

His father had never recovered and although his mother had remarried a local man in an effort to give her children a father figure as well as to learn some more about the local customs. The lad had become the head of the household when his mother moved out shortly afterwards.

They never found his sister.

The other stories that I would get told were much the same and I learned some other local terms for what was happening and what could be seen.

This work is hosted on mananovel.com

I heard more stories about people staying up at night on a dare from their friends to see how much they could see of the Hounds of Kreve. I heard of another dangerous game where children would stand out in the open in a circle of salt. It was a game where they dared each other to stand for as long as possible in the face of the encroaching red mist. The adults would often forbid the children from doing this but at the same time, who could stop them? The parents wouldn't risk going out to collect their errant offspring and it was always certain that sooner or later the child in question would break and flee indoors.

There was always rumour of the kid that stayed in the circle of salt all night. About how the Hounds ranted, raved and prowled outside the circle in an effort to provoke the children into leaving the circle so that they could be devoured but it was always the rumour of this happening, over in the next village or the next settlement. Never locally.

It took a little more careful probing but I also found the variety in the worship of Crom Cruarch. Some of the farms had a holy tree that had the sacred carvings on the trunk or on the roots of the tree, one village had a nearby body of water in which they fished and collected some of the more water based herbs. Fed by a small stream that ran out of a nearby set of rocks, they would make their offerings into the lake, the signs carved into the rocks from which the water flowed.

A couple of places had trees where I was told that the offerings were left there over night for wild creatures, birds and whatever else might be there to take away. That way, as well, the offerings became symbiotic with the God and the local area even though they didn't know what “symbiotic” meant and looked at me strangely when I used the word.

But in all other cases, the story was the same. The mist would come, particularly and notably thick and the sky would turn red as blood. The locals referred to this as being “The Blood Mist” although they couldn't tell me why they called it that.

I will be honest and say that I though this was a little melodromatic until I actually saw it in action.

But the mist would come in and the world would feel, that little bit different. Slightly unreal as though they were being transported into another world that was different from this one. Then they would hear the thunder. Thunder without Lightening, without waves thundering against the shore, but it would feel different.

Then the Howling would begin. In the distance at first but getting closer all the time. Some people claimed that they could hear words in those calls. That the Hounds were communicating through their howls in some way that man was not meant to know.

Then, the Hounds would either show themselves or they would move off. They didn't always attack, sometimes they would pass through, riding through a village as though they were on the heels of something or, indeed, as if something else was on their heels and they were the ones being hunted. Sometimes they had been seen chasing people. Regularly this was an elf of some kind but it was always someone young and attractive which was when we found something else out.

Whether or not the scarring of the children was effective, it did not make the person completely immune to the attentions of the Hounds. I spoke to a couple of families that told me that they had scarred their children only for those self-same children to be taken. Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

All it seemed to have done was to make the children part of some kind of pool that the Hounds took from at random.

Sometimes the hounds wouldn't bee seen. Just letting the populace know that they were there with the howling and the signalling.

But the fear was constant.

The Hounds would ride into the village, cause some havoc, sometimes setting fire to some out building before riding off. Sometimes torturing and killing someone who had been caught out and away from safety when the hounds attacked. In those times, when some one was caught, they would only pray that they were old and ugly so that the Hounds would take their enjoyment in other ways.

There was a reason that the villagers kept the more “comely” members of the populace at home.

“They are training the populace.” Kerrass commented one day. The day after the conference he was still tied up with just finishing off the spirits still up at the castle, just making sure that it was safe. The day after that he was still fairly exhausted and didn't want to use up his relatively small number of remaining potions and so he spent that day asleep, gently relaxing his body and resting after the exertions of the previous few days.

After that, he joined me when I went out and about on my research.

It was interesting to see how people changed when there was a Witcher present. Suddenly I was leant with that little bit more authority. They had no reason to know what kind of authority or knowledge that a random Scholar might have while he worked, spoke and wandered round but a Witcher, with both swords on his back. They knew what that was. They knew that and they respected that. I managed to keep my... disappointment out of my face when there were people that I struggled to talk to, opened up to Kerrass and suddenly he seemed overwhelmed by information tot he point that he had to tell people to slow down so that he could properly take it all in. One of the slightly, dangerous points was that I could see hope beginning to build up in their attitude.

Yes hope can be dangerous. It can carry you through dangerous times but it can also cripple you when it is taken away.

But the villagers started to have hope creeping across their eyes. They began to look relaxed and started to plan for the future. I overheard one family tell their child that they might not have to be scarred and then I had to walk away because the child promptly responded, telling their parents that they wanted to be scarred, just like their elder brother.

I would have laughed if it hadn't been so tragic.

It was late on the fourth day and we were just getting ready to mount up and head home. Sam had instituted firm commands that we all needed to be back at the castle by nightfall and we were heading in that direction. Kerrass had been out with me for a couple of days, listening to what people had been telling them, asking them a few questions of his own and examining a couple of areas that he had been pointed to. He did all of the normal Witcher tricks, sniffing the air, holding his pendant out and seeing if it shook or vibrated in the presence of anything before shaking his head and moving off.

“What do you think?” I asked as we drank some water and waited for Sir Rickard to get his people together from where they had been doing some of the odd chores that needed doing around the place, come back from hunting, fixing roofs that kind of thing.

“Honestly?” He rubbed his chin. “Freddie, if it was just me I would have turned my horse away and ridden off by now having decided that this isn't Witchers work. I would have told the villagers to either contact their local Lord about the bandits that were attacking them or to pack their belongings onto the back of a wagon and leave.”

I nodded, it was pretty much the same conclusion that I had come to.

“These people are being conditioned and educated in fear. They stay here now, they don't leave or go elsewhere they are just here. Working the land and living the same lives that they ever have. They are isolated, backwards, ignorant and very, very afraid.” Kerrass went on. “Not something I can do about that though. If the people here were a person then they would be a person who has been beaten by their spouse until she has forgotten how to live. That is what has happened here and I'm not entirely convinced that we can do anything about that.”

“What about these Hounds?” I asked him.

“It is an interesting puzzle,” he said. “But the only reason that we're still here is because they might be some kind of remnants of the cult. Otherwise we would have moved on by now.”

“What do you mean? Might be remnants.”

“Well,” he scratched his chin in thought. “It's like this. These people are afraid and they have been kept like that for a long time, several generations in fact. Why would that happen? Oh, and just for the record. There are no such things as “Hounds of Kreve,” or anything that would wear the skull of a wolf on their heads. Pure distraction that. Pure mind games.”

He took an apple from his pouch and bit into it.

“So this is what I think is happening. These hounds have been around for a long time really. Easily for as long as your Maternal Grandfather or Great Grandfather came here. We know or are fairly confident that they were active in the cult of the Inverted Ankh....”

As a note, that was what we were referring to the cult as. Calling them “The cult of Crom Cruarch” was an insult to the local religion and woefully inadequate. As was referring to them as being part of the Lion-headed spider cult so we called them “The Inverted Ankh” which summed up a lot about them. They were the “Inverse of Life” so the title was very fitting really.

“So this is what I think has happened. What the “Hounds” have done is isolate this place. No-one leaves and anyone who comes here to settle is quickly warned about the consequences of leaving. Why is this important? Because it means that no-one leaves to tell anyone on the outside what is happening in this corner of the world. Neither the church of Kreve or the Cult of the Eternal Fire, both of whom would have come here much earlier if they had known what was going on, ever heard a rumour of evil happening in this part of the world.

“The villagers trade amongst themselves but there isn't enough wealth for outside merchants to come here and if there was, I suspect that the Hounds or their agents would see to it that the merchants never left the area. You yourself commented on the presence of Endregas on the outskirts that could easily be blamed for any disappearances.”

“You agree then, that the Hounds have agents here amongst the people?”

“Oh yes. Anyone who doesn't follow the rules gets punished, anyone not marking their children will lose them. Anyone who voices derision or tries to rile people up in an effort to get some form of resistance going is soon attacked. That speaks of some kind of organisation.

“So they are keeping the land afraid and isolated, away from prying eyes and poor enough that the royal tax collectors don't really bother with it, or go to the noble class for their taxes rather than wandering around and trying to extract riches that don't exist from the populace. All of this points towards the probability that there were things going on in these parts that someone was trying to keep from the authorities. Either the feudal ones, or the religious ones.”

“If this was any other mountainous province I would have assumed that there was some kind of untapped Gold or Silver mine?” I commented.

“Exactly. But what we do know is going on here, or was going on here until the former Lord Kalayn decided that he wasn't quite hot enough and jumped onto a fire, was that there was a cult that liked to practice dark rituals and try to contact a power that they didn't really understand.

“SO that leaves us with two possibilities. The first being that the cult grew up here because they knew that they were being kept safe from prying eyes by the presence of the Hounds of Kreve which would suggest that this entire thing is just some kind of huge coincidence, or that the Hounds are some kind of militant arm of the cult.”

I nodded my agreement. All of Kerrass' theories aligned with my own thoughts. “It would be a hell of a coincidence for the two things to grow up separately and independently of each other.”

“It would and as you know, in my line of work....”

“There are no such things as coincidences.” We said together.

“The other thing is that what the Hounds get up to is similar to what was going on around Oxenfurt.” I said. “The beautiful people, in this case mostly elves but there it was young and beautiful people, are hunted. Caught and then tortured to death by physical, psychological and sexual abuse. They emphasise the hunt a bit more here, rather than the climax of things.”

“And that's just the ones that we know about.” Kerrass said.

“Yes, as you say, many have been taken off never to be seen again.”

“That might explain the not inconsiderable number of bones that they're burying up at the castle at the moment,” Kerrass added.

“Yes. So I'm inclined to believe that the Hounds are a part of the cult, or at the very least have something to do with them. What do you think about the supernatural effects that people claim to have seen around the Hounds. The flickering, the distortion of the vision, the cramps that people have suffered and other effects.”

“Honestly?”

I nodded.

“I think that these people have been living in fear for so long that they have convinced themselves that these things aren't human. Good armour or training would prevent injury from most of the weapons or arrows that these villagers might be capable of sending towards any kind of determined cavalry. You yourself would be more than capable of cutting your way through most of them and are fast enough to dodge one of their little arrows.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“It's not confidence in your abilities, it's more knowledge at the sorry state of their equipment and training.”

Then the wind changed.

This description will mean nothing to any of you that don't spend a great deal of your time out of doors.

Given that the vast majority of you that read this will be either scholars or nobility that spend most of their time indoors, either in lectures or having meetings so that you can govern the masses then I am describing this to you.

When you spend a lot of time outdoors, especially if there is a cold night of camping by the side of the road in your imminent future, you begin to get a bit of an instinct for the wind and weather changing. I've spoken to sailors and this is the kind of thing that can literally save lives in their line of work as it can influence the choices between finding some place to shelter from the storm or whether you carry on to make port.

At the time we were in a village in North East Redania and although it was Early summer, the fact that we were relatively high up meant that it wasn't as warm as you might expect from that kind of time and place.

The wind changed and suddenly the air smelled of rain. Unless you know what I'm talking about, I'm not sure I can describe what that smells like, a cross between freshness, damp vegetation and a sharp scent that, to this day I can't really identify.

It wasn't as though the wind picked up either. It was still relatively tame but it gained a strange kind of echoey quality as though it was blowing through your ears. Kerrass, who was watching the soldiers finish off their chores as we talked turned his face to look at the mountaintop.

My weather sense is not as finely tuned as Kerrass' is but I had spent a fair amount of time on the road as well as spending a lot of time with those people who know what this kind of thing means. I also turned to look up at the mountains.

The two of us stood there for a moment before Kerrass turned to me.

“Tell Sir Rickard to get a move on.”

I looked up at the mountain for a bit longer.

“Yeah,” I heard myself say, as if from a distance, “Yeah I think you're right.” I turned and started moving towards the soldiers who were faffing about, only to discover that Sir Rickard had had the same thought that we had and was now standing in front of the area where his men were getting ready with a frown on his face and his arms folded.

Apparently this is the height of his emotional range when dealing with his men and roughly translates as

“Get a fucking move on. I am becoming cross.” I know this because that was what his Sergeant was bellowing.

We got moving, maybe ten minutes later, hurried out of the way by that villages head man who was watching the sky nervously. “Best get home,” he told us. “They're on the prowl, I can feel them.”

“Why?” I asked him, “How do you...?” but the man had ignored me, shouting at another of the locals in an effort to get them indoors.

Kerrass clapped me on the shoulder. “Ask him next time.” I was told as he pushed me towards my horse.

The Bastards were alert. Normally as we travelled with them they would laugh and joke, trading insults and exhortations. Sometimes they would sing a song of dubious origins which they would eventually stop when they realised that I was with them. Now they were quiet.

We did not ride fast. Taking it slow. The men loosened their swords in the scabbards, giving them a little shake to make sure that they weren't stuck for whatever reason. Don't laugh, when you oil or grease a blade, sometimes the contact between the blade and the scabbard can cause a suction effect which means that the sword gets stuck. This delay as the blade is pulled free can make all the difference between life and death and it is this that is meant when you hear someone say that they loosened their sword in the scabbard.

We rode carefully and Sir Rickard set outriders. Two men, Jenkins the killer and Dan the Poacher as advanced scouts, while the twins rode behind to check as to our being followed.

As we rode, the wind echoing in my ears I watched the mist form on the mountainside. At first, it looked as though it was just a wisp of cloud that had been caught by the peak, but gradually and oh so slowly, it grew and expanded before beginning to flow down the mountainside like a waterfall. It looked quite beautiful and amazingly ominous.

The vagaries of weather sometimes interest me. I sometimes think that I could spend a lot of time studying it if I had the time amongst all of my other interests and duties. But it sometimes seems so complex and chaotic that I could probably spend a life time studying it and not really getting anywhere. What happened was that this was not a true “Blood Mist” as the locals call it. Rather it coalesced into a slow kind of drizzle. The kind of rain where you suddenly realise that you are getting soaked through rather than being able to feel it bouncing off your head.

I pulled my oilskin hood out of one of my saddlebags and slung it over my head in an effort to keep the rain off. You have to be careful though, it can be deceptively peaceful with your hood up and the rain falling down, you can easily delude yourself into thinking that the world is quiet and subdued, that you and your companions are the only people in the world.

The rain came in a little heavier then as we rode.

There was a low whistle from further up the path. The Sergeant signalled and we halted, the horses standing in the wet which was when I began to realise that I was getting cold from all of the water in the air. Squinting through the water, I could just about see the form of Jenkins further up the trail waving and making some arm signals that I didn't understand.

I rode up to hear Sir Rickard muttering something to the Sergeant.

“Dismount,” was the call, softly. “Treeline.”

The bastards dismounted, leading the horses to the treeline. They worked in pairs. One man took the bridles of both horses and led them to the shelter while the other strung their bow and looked around for targets, moving with their partner and covering their back. I followed their example, taking Kerrass' bridle and walked towards the trees.

“Lord.” A man called Dickon. A large, heavily bearded man tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to where Sir Rickard was gesturing, beckoning me on to go and join him. I nodded, taking my spear from my saddle and jogging up with Kerrass beside me.

Jenkins was looking pale, paler than usual which was my first sign that something was going on. Sir Rickard gestured without speaking and Jenkins led us into the undergrowth where we jumped over a ditch and up an embankment, forcing our way through the line of trees and the detritus that un-kept woods often leave behind until we were standing next to a tree at the bottom large slope. The ground of the slope looked a lot rockier than some of the land that we'd been passing as it sloped up towards a ridge, one of the many slopes and peaks that led up the mountains themselves. I don't know how far away the ridge was although it was a good way up. I could probably have climbed it but I would have needed to use my hands and climb in a couple of paces. I certainly wouldn't have made it easily and would have needed to catch my breath when I got to the top. But with the rain, the failing light and the accompanying mist, I found judging the distance quite hard.

We found Dan, hunkered down against the tree, His recurved bow cradled in his arms. He'd strung it at some point and had an arrow knocked which was a mark of his mood. Although he looked unflappable as though nothing in the world frightened him, he had risked one of his precious bow-strings in the wet air.

He was chewing tobacco again.

“Dan?” Rickard greeted him.

“Just beneath the ridge sir. Not showing themselves on the skyline but enough so that we can see them.”

We scanned the slope through the driving flurries of rain.

Kerrass drew his medallion from his tunic and examined it closely.

“I can't see....”

But then I did. A line of horsemen riding along the edge of the ridge. There must have been some kind of shepherds path just beneath the top of the ridge where the horses could walk in relative security. With the rain driving down the slopes and into our eyes it was sometimes difficult to see them. My first instinct was to raise my hand to shelter my eyes but Jenkins caught my hand and pushed it back down, shaking his head.

Apparently, that kind of thing can give you away. I don't know why or what he was afraid of. The riders were not being particularly stealthy and we were sheltered by the trees but....

I think there were four of them. From this distance their helmets looked as though they were kind of yellowy white. They wore long dark hooded cloaks that appeared as though they were sewn together from ragged strips of material. They certainly weren't uniforms. Try as I might though I couldn't see any metal or any shapes that I might associate with weapons despite that their long cloaks flapped gently in the wind, moving with the currents of air.

It seemed almost unreal, looking at them from that distance. As though I was watching creatures from another world that had decided to cross over into ours.

Kerrass was still frowning at his medallion.

“What do you think?” Rickard asked quietly. “Have they seen us?”

“Dunno sir. If they have, they've not acted any different.

“They're not gonna try and attack down that slope.” Taylor, one of the men who had come with us commented. He was drumming his fingers against his sword pommel in a nervous gesture in time with the rhythm of the horses movements.

“How many?” Rickard asked.

“Not many, hard to tell in the rain, four I think.”

Rickard looked to the left and right, “How far away are we from the castle?” he asked no-one in particular.

“An hour hard,” Taylor answered promptly. “Maybe three normal and five cautious.”

The Bastard's had three speeds of march. The first which they called Hard was the full on Gallop that we had used to get me back to my father's castle when we had heard about his injury. Normal was a gentle pace, generally along roads where we were relatively secure. Cautious was going from cover to cover, not being in the open too much, weapons ready, eyes everywhere. These could then be broken down further if the bastards moved on foot or on horseback.

Rickard looked a little disappointed as he scanned left and right before a slight hope crossed his face.

“Dan?” he said. “Fancy a go?”

Dan looked at the small line of horsemen in the distance, rubbing his palm across his unshaven chin before shaking his head.

“Sorry sir. In good weather, with Theresa....” That was the name of his warbow. He named all of his bows and loved them like his own children. “...then I might fancy my chances. But here and now?”

He shook his head.

We watched as the horsemen, the Hounds of Kreve rode out of sight.

“Right,” Rickard said. “Back to the horses. Cautious for a bit then we'll pick up the pace. Dan, you and Jenkins to the read if you would.”

“Sir,”

“Tell the twins to move up.” The Sergeant nodded. “Taylor, you and Fletcher, take Dickon and Pendleton up front.”

They all nodded.

“Back to the horses then.”

The soldiers started moving back. Kerrass sat for a moment longer gazing at his medallion before shaking his head and following.

We moved back to the castle, taking our time, moving from patch of cover to patch of cover. Moving in groups, taking our time and watching carefully for signs of movement. When we hadn't seen anything for an hour and neither the front or the rear guard could report any signs of movement, the order was given and we headed along the road at a spritely trot.

We saw nothing more of the hounds that day or the next. Kerrass and I, along with a small group of Sir Kristoff's soldiers went out to have a look at the site where we had seen the strange horsemen. We spent a good period of time there, Kerrass lying flat on the ground with his eye inches away from the loose scree and tufts of grass, his medallion out and swaying in front of him. We found the track that must have been used and went both ways along it, into the trees on one side of the slope of grass and into the others to see if we could find a start or an end point, a destination or a home base but we couldn't find anything other than some good views.

That's not to say that we didn't find signs of the horsemen. The wet air had moistened the ground up so that we could see tracks. The occasional open sign of a horseshoe was plainly visible as well as other areas where the wait of the horses had pushed some of the looser undergrowth down and away. We got to one of the vantage points where there were sign that the horses had stood and milled around a little, tugging at some of the grass and Kerrass looked out over Sam's realm for a long time, forehead creased with thought before we turned for home.

“We are being scouted.” He told Sam's little war council. “They are looking at us and watching us. Trying to decide what to make of us.”

Kristoff nodded along with Sam and Sir Rickard.

“In Kreve's name why?” Inquisitor Hacha wanted to know.

“Standard military tactics.” Sir Rickard told him. “They want to know what they're dealing with. By now they will know that Lord Samuel has arrived to take up his position and responsibilities and they want to know what they're dealing with. Do they have an enemy here? A friend? An indifferent person? What kind of Lord is he going to be. Is this essentially going to be some kind of winter residence where Lord Samuel comes to sleep when royal society calms down or is he going to spend the majority of his time here.”

Father Danzig was nodding as Rickard said this. “Right now, somewhere, these things are having a conversation about what to do. Do they withdraw their activities from Lord Samuel's lands. Do they wait? Do they reduce their presence or do they need to come back and be more aggressive?”

Sam listened carefully. He has this unfortunate habit of not looking at people when he's listening to a group of people. He tends to stare at the table in front of him. On the one hand, this is a bit of a mistake as it can come across as being a bit rude towards the people that you are listening to but he counters this with saying that it means that he's listening to the words spoken rather than what people are trying to convey.

“So they're definitely men?” He asked after a long while. “We're not dealing with anything supernatural?”

“I'm as certain as you can be.” Kerrass said.

“That doesn't sound very definitive,” Inquisitor Hacha accused but Kerrass ignored his tone.

“That's because it isn't. Just to be clear as to what's going on here.” He said “There is a magical aura in this area. I don't know why and to find out we would need the presence of a properly trained professional.”

“Have a care,” snarled Inquisitor Hacha while Inquisitor Dempsey and Father Danzig looked uncomfortable. “You are talking the blackest Heresy,” Hacha went on in dire tones.

“Not really,” Kerrass voice never changed in tone or pitch, speaking as if he was just having a fairly normal conversation. “The fact of the matter is that the currents of magic are particularly strong here. To properly map them would need a trained magic user.”

“Couldn't you do it?” Inquisitor Dempsey asked.

“No.” Kerrass said flatly. “I'm a Witcher. I kill monsters. You are an Inquisitor, you hunt out heresy and cultists. Be careful that you don't end up looking at the entire world like it's a nail.”

Someone sniggered. I thought it was Rickard but I couldn't tell. For those who don't know or for whom the joke might have missed you. The saying goes like this.

“If you are a hammer and all you do is hammer in nails, then the entire world's problems look like nails that need to be hit on the head. It is a problem with the Inquisition. They spend all their time hunting cults so that before too long, everything looks like evil cultists hiding in shadows.

“You would be angry, Inquisitor Hacha, if I started going around hunting cults in the same way that Sirs Kristoff and Rickard gets cross if you started telling them about military tactics. I wouldn't know what I was doing,” Kerrass went on. “I get angry when soldiers and churchmen try and hunt monsters because they always, and I do mean always, make the situation worse because they don't know what they're doing. So I wouldn't try and map the flows of magic because I wouldn't know where to begin, or more importantly, what it all meant. Is there a source? What causes it? What is it being used for.....?”

“We get the point Kerrass,” Sam put in.

“Is it going anywhere? What is happening?” Kerrass finally finished. “In short, if you have a monster or a supernatural creature? Send for me. If you have a political problem, send for an assassin or the army. If you have a cult problem then you send for the church. This is a magical situation. Send for a professional.”

“You finished?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow and more than a little amusement in his eyes.

“For now,” Kerrass nodded an apology. “This is a subject that seems to come up an awful lot and, as you can imagine, it is something a little close to my heart. I also can't help but notice that the honourable gentlemen are much more accepting of Witchers now that the Empress has declared that she likes us.”

“Have a care....”

A couple of chairs were pushed back as the churchmen climbed to their feet in indignation.

Sam slammed his fist on the table before waiting for silence.

“Honestly,” he said after a moment. “It's like talking to children.”

He spent a bit of time glaring at everyone. I did my best to look aggrieved and give an atmosphere of “Why are you angry with me?” expression. I thought I saw his eyes twinkle in appreciation.

“You were making a point, Kerrass, before you got sidelined.”

“Yes,” Kerrass was pouring himself a cup of the watered wine from one of the jugs that were around the table. “The point was that there is a background magical aura in the area and I don't know what the cause is. It might be the presence of the cult, as was. It might have caused the presence of the Hounds or there might be something else going on. I don't know what. But what I do know is that there was that same aura when I was trying to investigate the hounds. Was that because of the hounds? Or the background aura?”

He shrugged.

“It's impossible to tell. But as there weren't any changes when they were suddenly in the area, nor did they leave any residual magical trace in the path of their passage, I think we can assume that we are dealing with normal people.”

I winced. “You know how I feel about assuming things Kerrass.” I commented.

He smirked at me.

“So, we're dealing with men.” Sam said. “What next?”

“Wait?” Inquisitor Dempsey raised his hand. Dempsey was a quiet man generally, he liked to speak his piece only rarely, often to gently mock and tease Inquisitor Hacha but it was clear that no matter how different the two Inquisitors might be in character and method, they had a lot of respect for each other's skills and experience. He smiled at us all apologetically. “I want to know more about the....apparently magical effects that these hounds exhibit. I will admit to struggling to believe that they ride fire-breathing, flying horses and likewise I struggle with the accounts that part of their clothing is made up of leathery wings but at the same time.... “

He smiled again, doing his best to disarm us but I was wondering how much supersititious fear there was underneath the charming smiles.

“From Lord Fredericks accounts, they are described to put out an aura of fear and distortion. People fly from them and become frozen to the spot, unable to fight back or act properly when they come. I'm as eager to face this evil as much as the next person but....what could be causing that?”

“Have faith brother,” Inquisitor Hacha had his best “benevolent priest” face on. That particular expression that leads me to want to punch it. “Let faith be your shield and you will be protected.”

“That's nice in theory,” said Sir Kristoff, “but I am also a little concerned by this. It's all well and good to think that faith will provide but faith is often reinforced by a stout shield and a good blade in my experience.”

“I don't think you need to worry.” Father Danzig said. “I think, what we're dealing with here is a little more societal than that. I agree that these things are men. I think that they wear outlandish costumes and move in strange ways. Their weapons are forged to look more wicked and unpleasant than the next persons weapons so that they can inspire fear and terror in the hearts of their victims. With all due respect to your subjects Lord Samuel but common folk, especially isolated common folk, are a superstitious and cowardly lot. I suspect that they have been told about the strange magics of the Hounds of Kreve and that the other commoners are seeing what they want to see.”

“That's an awfully blasé way of thinking about it.” Father Trent was frowning.

“Maybe.” Danzig's own brow furrowed in thought. “But look. I loved Knight Father Gardan like a father. In many ways he was more my father than the man that raised me and got me on my mother. He taught me about the world, about the Sky-Father and about combat and I owe him a significant amount of what I am today. However, by his own admission, he wasn't of his right mind. He was just as much a victim of these suggestions as the common folk are.”

“I will admit to struggling to believe the prospect of mass hallucinations however,” Sam said, jumping into the discussion with both feet. “That's not to say that what you are telling me is incorrect, but if that were the case then surely, by now, Freddie would have found someone who would have told him that it's all nonsense and that he doesn't need to worry about it. Someone who isn't affected, isn't imaginative enough to be affected by mass suggestion and hallucination.”

“Maybe,” Father Danzig sighed unhappily.

Inquisitor Dempsey spoke up. “Such suggestion would speak for part of what was happening here but not all of it. There would need to be some kind of “triggering effect” something that could be seen and pointed to as evidence for it to work which is why I am concerned.”

“What do you mean?” Sam wanted to move on, he was shifting in his seat and fiddling with his cup, trying really hard to stay interested and invested in what was happening but couldn't hide his dissatisfaction. He wanted to be doing something.

“This kind of thing comes up occasionally and I am sure that Inquisitor Hacha will agree as he will almost certainly have experience with similar circumstances.” I liked that. A little sop to his fellow Inquisitor's vanity to keep him onside. “Suggestion is a technique, they especially use it in cults where people are so desperate to see a thing, or to start to believe in a thing that they actually start seeing the thing. They convince themselves that there must be a thing there because everyone else is seeing the thing so there must be something there. Then they want to see something because they don't want to be left out.

“All of that is true but there still needs to be a cultist number one if that makes sense. Someone who actually sees or experiences the thing and that's why I'm making my concerns known. In this kind of situation, there are three possibilities. The first, which is the most common is that there is someone there that is actually delusional that is seeing something due to some form of sickness or weakness of the brain. However someone else is taking advantage of this and spreading the story around. I should say that I don't think that this is what's happening here because these circumstances say that these “Hounds” have been doing their thing for many years now. So that would be a lot of delusional people all seeing the same thing because such delusions and suggestions need maintenance.”

“Which is unlikely,” I heard myself comment. I didn't mean it to carry but Inquisitor Dempsey nodded.

“Precisely, you can't just leave them to it. Such things need shepherding and maintaining.”

“That's how the church do it after all.” Sir Rickard joked. Dempsey had the good grace to smile, as did Danzig. Father Trent Frowned while Hacha glared. I noticed that Kerrass had to hide a smirk behind his cup though.

“The second possibility is that there is someone in place to feed these delusions. An agent of the Hounds if you like. Someone in the villages that is there to feed the paranoia. To sell the illusion to the populace and to be as terrified and scared as the next person. They are the people suggesting sacrifices and telling people to hide. If this is the thing that is happening here then it will have been one of these people that suggested spreading salt across the threshold and across the windowsills.”

“It would also explain why these “Hounds” are so aware of strangers, pretty young people and traders coming to visit. That's how they know who to attack and why they knew that Father Gardan, Sky-Father accept him with grace, was speaking to us and needed to be disposed of.” Danzig mused.

“That is a most feasible option.” Sir Kristoff rumbled. Like Sam, Sir Kristoff seemed to be getting bored with the entire affair.

“Then how do we find such men?” Sir Rickard asked. “It would be a lot of trouble to march into town and start accusing people of being in league with their enemy. At best that would start a witch-hunt against the potential traitors, or at worst it would cause the countryside, such as it is, to turn on us.”

“Peasants against soldiers in our defensible positions?” Sir Kristoff bridled. “With no leader and habitually cowed as they are?” He seemed outraged at the possibility.

“I'm not saying I don't like our chances,” Rickard commented. “But have you ever seen a swarm of insects take on a....”

“You had a third possibility Dempsey?” Sam's voice overrode the muttering and raised voices.

“The third point,” Dempsey said after the voices died down. “The third point is the dangerous one. That's the possibility that there is something genuinely going on. That the cult really has found an item or place of power, that there really is a demon possessing someone or that there really is a magical user out there. In this case, that these “Hounds” really do have some kind of magical ability to a certain degree.”

“I don't believe it,” Inquisitor Hacha shook his head. “I have seen some of the things that you speak of, even though my areas of expertise are primarily to do with the physical evidence of what has happened rather than the way that people think, but in this case...?” He shook his head. “I have to disagree. I would put my thinking towards defending ourselves, and these people from the Hounds the next time they come to attack.”

Danzig was shaking his head though.

“How do we determine whether it's one thing or the other? If there are agents, how do we expose them? If it is some small magical power? How do we counter it?”

Dempsey shrugged. “Time and careful investigation.”

Danzzig was unhappy with this though. “That's lovely and everything but we have neither the time, nor the resources to start a full on Inquisition here. We would need to use some other method.”

There was a slight pause. I was only half paying attention and felt that Sam's impatience was becoming contagious. We were talking round in circles and we needed to stop talking, get out there and do something.

So it took me a couple of minutes to realise that everyone had stopped talking. As I looked up everyone was looking at Kerrass. He realised it a moment later.

“You are joking.” He said. “I refer you to the answer I gave you no less than twenty minutes ago. This is not something that falls within my skills. If you want to see if there are traitors or agents either in the castle or in the villages then you need a professional investigator. If you want to see if there are some people here with some kind of magical ability then you need to consult a proper magic user. A Sorceress or a Wizard of some kind.”

“If they are magical creatures...” someone, I think it was Danzig, began.

“They are not.” Kerrass said firmly. “There is no such creature that answers to what we saw. There are things that exhibit those powers but believe me, we would know the difference if we were dealing with them, but they only tend to live in swamps and in warmer climates apart from anything else, so this isn't even a mutation of something established before someone gets that idea into their head. This is not Witcher's work anymore. I am here as a free citizen helping my friend and as a friend I would advise Lord Samuel to get himself a professional.”

“So you are just going to stand by and....”

“Be careful, I....”

“Not that I'm happy with the prospect but.” Father Trent lowered his voice when Kerrass and Danzig subsided. “Could we lay our hands on a Wizard, or a Sorceress?”

“There are none in the area.” Sam said. “My understanding is that Magic users like solitude but they also like to have access to the creature comforts of polite society and we are far too remote for that kind of thing. I did invite Lady Laurelen to see if she could help, back when I was planning this expedition but she declined on the grounds that she wanted to spend as little time as possible around the Inquisition.”

“Not an unfair sentiment,” Rickard commented unhelpfully, only to be glared at by the churchmen present.

“Besides which, to get a message to her is a quick weeks ride at full gallop and with replacement horses waiting. Even at best time, we still need to be doing something about this before then.”

“What about Lord Frederick's paramour?” Kristoff asked. “Surely she would help as she has a family tie here.”

“No she doesn't.” I said, “For we are not yet married.” I sighed. “I would love to help. But people round this table have called Ariadne a “vampiric, magic using harlot”.”

“In jest Lord Frederick. In jest.” Danzig winced at the memory.

“Yes.” I said sourly. “In jest. Even in jest though, it was a poor joke and I remember not being very happy with it at the time. She would be outraged and rightly so. What do you do when you're outraged Father Danzig?”

He looked at the table.

“What do any of you do when you are outraged? You react. The lady Countess Ariadne of Angral would do the same. She is an Elder Vampire, a Sorceress and a member of the Lodge of Sorceresses and would be considered a prize capture by the Inquisition.”

Kerrass snorted at the thought.

“Not that you could capture her. But that itself would cause more problems wouldn't it? If she is forced to defend herself from church knights and church soldiers?”

“My men are disciplined and would never....”

“Wouldn't they?” I asked. “Not all that long ago I had a reminder about what so called “Knights of the Eternal Fire do, if you remember. Bishop Sansum's troops were disciplined as well.”

“Do not equate me with that....” Danzig began, his own temper rising to meet mine.

“I will not call the Countess,” I said. “I will not ask her to risk herself in such a fashion.”

“You mean you won't help?” Inquisitor Hacha was aghast and furious. “You won't even ask her? You have a duty here, sir, and you should be mindful of it for your souls sake.”

“I have a duty sir?” I snarled. “I have a duty to my fiancee, to protect her and....”

“That's enough.” Sam said again in his battlefield voice. “That's quite enough.” He glared at us in turn before sighing.

“We're nowhere,” he said after a while. “For the record, I agree with my brother. Countess Ariadne has other duties and even if she didn't, she is not yet married to Lord Frederick and he has no hold over her. If they were married then he would be quite correct to protect her from harm as would be his duty as a husband. This is our problem and we will fix it.”

He took a breath. “Let's take a break, stretch our legs, get something to eat and calm down. When we come back, I want to discuss deployment and how we gain more information about our enemies. The villagers need protecting and it is our duty to do so. Now get out of my sight, all of you.” He sat back down in a thump.

I waited until it was just the two of us sat in the room. Kerrass caught my eye but I winked at him and waved him off.

“Sorry Sam,” I said when it was just the two of us, “But I have visions of Hacha opening his stupid mouth and saying something insulting. Ariadne has admirable self-control but I would imagine that it has limits.”

He looked up. “Don't fret Freddie.” He said. “You are right, which is why I didn't push the matter with Laurelen. Sooner or later someone would say something, one of the church knights with too much “honour” than sense and then you, or I, would have to fight a duel to avenge the ladies honour and then it would be a whole other mess.”

He chuckled. “Although it's quite a mess as it is. What the fuck do you think we should do Freddie? Gotta admit, I obviously won't, but I've been a little tempted to sack the whole thing off and go and live on that little parcel of land that I got with my knighthood on the coast.”

“Is it nice there?” I asked sitting back down.

“It's on the coast.” He told me. “I understand that it's remote and windswept. Pretty, but not worth very much. I understand that they built a warehouse there when I gave the lands over to Father.”

I nodded.

“We need more information.” I said to him. “We need to know more.”

Sam nodded. “I thought you would say that but it's not going to go easily. They know where we are and we haven't got the first clue about them.”

I nodded glumly.

“Now piss off.” Sam told me. “I need to think.”

I did as I was told.