Chapter 139: Did you have to take the scarf off my face?

The three horsemen stopped a short distance from the village with one horseman coming a little closer.

As it transpired, I was still not entirely immune to the effects of the Hounds. His voice seemed to come from all around us, as though he was speaking to me directly. It sounded as though he was calm, almost quiet and collected and utterly without rage.

“Children,” he said. “Poor children, playing without your parents permission.”

He let the words hang in the air as though he had sent them out into the air that they might bury themselves into our ears and our brains.

“Children, all of you, just children. Not realising that your hands are getting closer and closer to the flames. Not realising that you are about to feel the utter agony of being burnt.”

The voice became harsh towards the end of that little speech and I felt a shiver of the promised agony rippled down my spine.

“Children,” he said. “Just children,” scorn now but not a small amount of pity. “But do not fear. We are here to save you from harm. Just as we always have, shielding you from the outside world. You have forgotten the terms of our agreement and we have taken our just dues to protect us all. But now you have turned from the light of Kreve and you must be punished.”

It was this moment that took me out of the moment of theatre. I dimly felt a tickle at the back of my brain and reached for that thought. The thought turned out to be a dim wondering of how Father Danzig was going to deal with being told that these... people represented the light of Kreve.

I found a smile on my lips again.

“But there is still hope for a reprieve,” he said. The kindness in the voice was like a balm that settled and calmed the nerves so that I was no longer afraid. “All you must do is step aside. Give us these dogs, these vermin that have come and disrupted the careful balance that we have kept for so long. Give them to us and we will remove them for you. We will destroy them so that you never have to worry about them ever again.”

He paused, again for the words to take root and for people to discuss them.

“Give us the soldiers. They cannot protect you. They can barely protect themselves. They pissed their trousers when we came to them. Shivering and sweating in fear as they rejected the teachings of the Sky-Father.” The voice had taken on a lordly tone. Remote, regal, cold and utterly hard. Unyielding like Granite. “They, like you are sinners. But unlike you, they are beyond redemption and are only fit to be thrown into the fires of the underworld. Give them to us, I beg you, and you will be allowed to return to your former lives without further interference from us.”

Another pause.

“Give us the soldiers. Give us the strangers and the people that tell you how you should be living your lives. Give them to us and we will remove them from here. Give them to us and we will kill them for you so that you may return to your homes and families without fear of reprisal.”

He was convincing. Very convincing. Enough so that I felt a new fear and started to look around. What if the villagers actually listened and did throw us to the Hounds.

In the cold light of day and with suitable distance from these events, I know this to be as stupid as it sounds. We were, all told, a dozen highly trained fighters and me. The villagers could no more throw us out than they could prevent the moon from rising if we put our mind to it. Even if they were that way inclined. To be fair, that wasn't the risk. The risk came that if the villagers tried to throw us out and that combat made us vulnerable to the Hounds attack.

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But that wasn't what I was worried about. What I was worried about was that the villagers would throw us our and I was looking around to see where the first stone would be hurled from. I was suddenly convinced, the thought was there even that Edward would walk out into the ground between the village and the Hound sitting on his horse. “He will go,” I thought although I have sometimes wondered if I said it aloud. “He will go and we will be lost.”

As it turned out though, I needn't have worried as Sir Rickard had a simple and elegant response to this little speech. So simple that I kind of wish that I'd thought of it myself.

His voice rang out across the village. It sounded much harsher than the relaxed, elegant and tutored tones that the “Hound” had used. It must have been the same voice that he used when he was shouting orders on the battlefield because I heard it despite the distance and the strange echoey feeling in my ears.

He shouted two words.

“Dan, Harris.”

Two little words followed by a sound like a plucked, out of tune harp. A strange buzzing noise and then a wet thumping noise as two arrows buried themselves into the Hounds body. One taking him in the rough area of where a man's heart should be, the other taking him in the throat.

I'm not an archer. I don't know how good those shots were but from a man, looking at them from the outside? They were pretty impressive looking.

As responses go, it was lacking something in eloquence but at the same time I felt as though it said everything that we needed it to say.

The Hound struck with those two arrows sat on his horse for a long moment, he had jerked when the arrows struck but after that he sat there for a moment, his head tilted forward as though he was looking at the arrows sticking out of his chest in astonishment and disbelief. One hand rose to the arrow in his neck before he slowly just, toppled off his horse to one side with a thump.

Silence reigned for a moment until someone, and I never found out who it was, yelled in triumph. It was a pure sound of utter joy and exaltation. Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

The other two horsemen could also not believe what was happening. I've seen shows where jesters and clowns do a routine where something surprising happens and those professional performers couldn't have acted the scene out better. They looked at each other. Then down to the fallen man. Then back up at each other. They began to look as though they might retreat into the treeline, but then they looked back down at the fallen man whose life was slowly leaking out into the grass.

It was at some point here that the dangerous facts of where they were must have hit home as they were suddenly hauling at their reins, forcing their protesting horses to turn away before kicking them into motion.

Another arrow flew and took one of them between the shoulder blades as he rode off. He went some distance into the mist and smoke but from where I stood there was no way that he could have survived an injury like that.

Cheering broke out among the villagers. I can't blame them, no matter how premature that cheering might be. I tightened my grip on my spear and counted.

I heard the Sergeant shouting for people to be quiet and to be ready. I know his name, he has told me himself many times but I can't think of his name being anything other than Sergeant.

I had time to wonder how he made his voice carry like that. How he managed to get it to just the right pitch and volume.

But then came the thunder. But again, with the benefit of being protected by Kerrass' herbs, I knew what this was now. It wasn't some ominous and unknowable thing off in the distance. It was the hooves of horses drumming against the ground.

Out of the woods they came in a stream, I didn't get a chance to see how many there were as I had to duck my head below the wooden palisade although Kerrass kept his post, unmoving in the hail of things that they threw and fired at us. Even though Kerrass had found a way to protect us from the worst of the Hounds poisons I would be lying if I said that they were not formidable. The tassels that I had seen before streamed out behind them and now that I was looking for it I could see the smoke billowing behind them making them look as though they were on fire and I wondered how much of that was designed to intimidate and how much of it was for the utility of spreading their poison.

But as I say, then I had to duck back down below the wall as they started throwing and firing things into the village.

I got very little sight of them but they threw these flaming balls of clay, not unlike the kinds of hand held bombs that Kerrass uses in his alchemy, but before we knew it, bits of the village were bursting into flame. One very brave villager ran out with a bucket of water and threw it over one of the pools of burning liquid which then exploded.

His scream was horrible, if mercifully cut short. The bows of Sir Rickard's men started to sing their answers, spitting their pointed death at the riding horsemen, but I didn't know that as the horsemen had found the gap in the wall that we had left for them and were beginning to stream into the village.

The smoke was choking now and I had lost the scent of Kerrass' herbs. All I could smell was the smoke and that awful scent of rotten eggs that I remembered from before. I grabbed at my scarf and twisted round, hoping that some of the rest of the scarf might have retained it's dampness and therefore would be better able to protect me from the worst of the effects of the Hounds toxic fumes.

I can't answer for how successful it was as I began to feel my grip on reality lessening.

I have wondered. When a man goes mad is it a benefit or a hindrance to know that you are going mad? Is it helpful to know why these things are happening to you or not?

I have no answers for you here. Nothing quick, insightful or otherwise glib. Just some food for thought there.

In this instance though, I will admit to finding it useful. I knew that the Hounds weren't on fire. I knew that the light emanating from their eyes and their mouths were not hellfire and I knew that they were not winds of torment, but rather that they were perfectly normal horses painted in some kind of alchemical mixture that made them look as though they were.

Their swords would not steal my soul. I was not surrounded by the tormented screams of damned souls. Instead, they were the perfectly normal, fear filled shouts and bellows of men in combat.

As well as the burning clay balls, they threw knives and other darts. More than one javelin was thrown as well although, as far as I could tell, they didn't hit anything with any of these missiles and I felt my smile broadening.

These fools were far too used to the advantages that their potions and poisons gave them. They were not used to enemies that had the will and the drive to actually fight back. The first feelings of confidence flooded my system and I felt energy flood my being.

We were going to win.

The Hounds found the gaps that we had deliberately left in our defensive perimeter and started flooding into the village. Kerrass held his hand out to prevent me from leaping into the fray as I surged forward to the fight. How he knew to do that I'll never know but we had our place in the plan and this was not it. The object of the exercise was to let the bastards in, to confine them and remove the advantage of their horses.

I let him restrain me and crouched next to him as though I was a sprinter getting ready to start the race. Six riders past us, hooves sending up small tufts of grass and dirt. Billows of their poisonous smoke wafting towards my waiting nose. I wanted to gag and vomit. My brain felt as though it was being squeezed in a vice. Seven, Eight. I wondered how many there were and found myself hoping that there would be more. Nine, a pause.

I felt a small mewl of disappointment in my throat.

Ten horsemen.

I was behind Kerrass so I don't know if he could see something that I couldn't but he turned to me and nodded. I was prepared for the sight of his face, but it still sent a shiver down my spine. Pale with the black veins under the skin. I could tell that I was being affected by the gas. I could see the fangs distorting his mouth as well as the slight elongation of the nose to form a snout. His eyes were glowing.

We leapt to work though. Pulling the cart out of the side alley so that it blocked the entranceway. Kerrass pulled the sides down so that the wooden stakes poked out into the village while I put the blocks of stone into place so that they wedged the wheels to prevent them from moving the barricade easily. There had been some talk about whether it might be easier to simply knock the wheels off but Kerrass had quite calmly asked how it was intended to move the cart after we had won.

Also, it didn't look as though we would have time. What Sir Rickard had called the “Fire alleys” were proving mercilessly effective. The sound of bow-strings twanging along with the constant buzzing of the arrows flying and the rhythm of the arrows striking flesh was a constant musical accompaniment to the screams of the dying. It was overwhelming and I had to fight to overcome the urge to stuff something in my ears. I was already struggling to see through the smoke, mist and hallucinations.

Kerrass grabbed me, taking hold of the scarf and moved it round my face which provided some relief. I hadn't realised that the patch of cloth immediately covering my mouth had gone dry but the “fresh” part of the scarf let me feel a little bit better.

The rearmost horsemen had realised that they were charging into a killing ground now and were straining to get their horses to slow down and to turn around. I don't know how many had already fallen to the horrifyingly accurate and magically fast arrows of The Bastards but it can't have been a small number. But I gripped my spear and danced from one foot to the other, eager for combat and the kill.

I didn't have long to wait, although in all honesty, calling it a “combat” was a little bit of an exaggeration.

You see, the thing about plans, when they're carefully made by people who know what they're doing, especially against an unsuspecting enemy, work.

This was particularly true in this case.

We were up against a relatively small force. At best estimates there were twenty of them, certainly no more than that. Up against the best that the Temerian army had had to offer back when there was a war being fought, led my a man who knew how to use the men under his command. Our foes were used to having the run of the land and having people flee from them when they came calling. The prospect of having someone, anyone, actually standing up to them was laughable. They had spent literal generations teaching these people to be afraid of them, to cower when they approach.

Couple this with the fact that they relied on their poisons and theatrics. Furthermore they thought that they had faced us in battle before and had used these tools effectively to see us off. It was unfeasible that we would stand against them.

We had a Witcher that showed us how to neutralize this advantage.

So what we were facing was twenty schoolyard bullies who barely knew what they were doing. They could probably fight on the practice grounds and could lay in extremely accurate sword strokes against static targets and, to be fair to them although I don't really like being “fair” to these unspeakable fucks, that was all that they had been required to do up until that point.

Now they were up against highly trained, skilled and experienced killers.

Oh, and me of course as I don't really count.

They were also up against the awful, awful rage of the villagers.

So we come back to me. A half crazed lunatic, drunk on the combination of the “Hounds” hallucinogens and Kerrass' herbal concoction, my own sense of rage, grief, fear and relief. Those riders charged towards us.

There were four of them, at most, facing us. They never stood a chance.

Kerrass was in front of me. This was among the drills that he had started learning almost as soon as he had started training me. First it was all about giving me the skills to make sure that he could be comfortable believing that I wasn't as much of a danger to him as I was to myself and then he started to train me to compliment his fighting style.

While I had been placing the wedges to keep the cart in place, he had been painting some of his purple magical signs on the floor. This is the one that I always forget the name of but what they are are essentially magical traps. They don't do very much but they are absolutely devastating. What they do is to slow you down. Not by much, maybe a third to a half as slow as you would normally be. Having had it used on me I can tell you that it doesn't feel as though you are moving slower, to you it looks as though the rest of the world has suddenly sped up.

He had placed two of these traps across the way and the two of us stood beyond them. Kerrass in front and myself behind.

The first horseman hit the trap and started to slow down. The second one, not realising the danger and still trying to flee the murderous storm of arrows from behind, charged into his back, the third and fourth saw what was happening and were pulling on their reins to bring their horses to a halt.

Which was precisely when Kerrass attacked.

He surged forwards to the edge of where the traps lay and gestured. A huge shower of sparks leapt from his outstretched hands. I've seem him use this trick as a stream of burning....stuff towards an enemy or, as in this case, as a wave emanating out from himself.

The front two horses, the ones ensnared in the trap, reared. In exactly the same way as they always do whenever Kerrass uses this trick. Kerrass charged forwards, going between these two riders. He lashed out at one enemy, his steel sword flashing on the grounds that you never move past an enemy without taking at least a swing at them and I saw a spray of blood. But then he was past them and engaging the third and fourth man. My job was to follow him in and dispose of the two men who were being thrown from their horses.

Luckily for me, they were still crashing to the ground under the influence of the trap. One man, clearly the better horseman, rolled free uninjured, but the other fell with his horse.

I ran over to him and stabbed down in his throat, making sure that I saw the required fountain of blood before I allowed myself to move on.

Don't think I was too far gone though. I made sure that I could still see the man who was waddling towards me and righting his clothing and equipment about himself making sure that all his pouches and things wouldn't get in his way.

He would be better off taking the time to remove his boots.

The biggest thing that I remember about that short fight is how disappointed I was by it.

Kerrass might be right. I might be becoming a little bloodthirsty in all of my dealings. Something to think about there. But I remember wanting something more from this man. Something more than the few exchanges of blows. The one parry and a lazy riposte.

It was the first time that I ever remember realising that I was better than someone in a fight. I mean actually better than someone.

Don't worry, I can hear you thinking it already. “But Freddie. Your kill score is in double figures, many of who were experienced swordsmen and fighters. Men in armour who have been trained to the killing.”

This is correct but I have a counter argument. Both points that I have been over before.

I am not that skilled. I have trained with men who are “skilled” and they leave me panting and outclassed. What I do have are a number of advantages over all the opponents that you might be thinking of.

The first was a deliberate choice on Kerrass' part which was that he taught me to fight with a spear. Not many people know how to deal with that as most people fight with swords and maces on a skirmishing basis and as such, they only train to fight against people with swords, maces and axes. Spears tend to only be deployed in military formations where the object of the exercise to defeat the spearman is to get past the point of the spear.

But what if you face a spearman who knows how to counter that?

Men who have faced me have found this out to their cost.

The second point is the one I have talked about the most and it is not a small thing which is why I am not shy of talking about it again and again. I was taught to fight by a trained killer. Not a fighter or a fencer, not a soldier or a mercenary. I was taught to fight by a killer and over and over again, this has been shown to make a difference. What this means is that, in a very real sense, I wasn't taught how to fight. I was taught how to kill.

Those people that you are thinking of. The knight in the throne-room of Angral, Cousin Kalayn and the rest. All of those men simply underestimated me and so I could kill them with impunity.

For those people who might argue that I fought Jack and survived I would tell you that he was toying with me. Also, if you go back and read that sequence again I think you will see that he could have killed me at any time he wanted to.

But here?

I wanted a fight. I wanted to prove that I was better than these fucks. I talked to Sam about this later and he reminded me about the earlier conversation about defeat. These people had beaten me before, they had fed me hallucinations and craziness. They had forced me to retreat because of trickery and as a result I had that “Warriors need” to prove that it was a fluke. To prove that I was better than that.

Again I can't answer for that but all of these things were things that I need to start thinking about. Now and in the future.

But at the time, I advanced on my target. He held his sword out in front of him in a rough approximation of a “ready” position.

I already knew how to beat him. He was a horesman, his ludicrous boots meant that he would overbalance, his blade was a curved thing designed for hacking down at people from horseback. His entire outfit was manifestly unsuitable to fighting on foot.

So I advanced on him. Jabbing forward to see how he would react. The correct thing to do in his place would be to parry, sidestep and advance pushing the point of the spear past your body and closing with the spearman. That I had a counter to this trick is unimportant.

This man retreated.

I was astonished.

I tried again. He ducked and moved backwards. Shuffling his feet to maintain his balance.

There was a genuine moment there where I thought it was a trick. That he knew something that I didn't, so I backed off, well out of reach and so that I could hear him if he chose to advance or attack, so that I could have a good look around to assess the terrain.

Nope, nothing there. Kerrass was in the process of dealing with his own opponents. One of who was retreating from him while the other was unleashing a blistering flurry of attacks. I won't say that they were threatening to Kerrass but he was having to defend, clearly waiting for the man to tire himself out.

I checked the roof-tops. No, no-one was in the process of sneaking up on me.

I checked up and down the street but the only activity was that a couple of the horses were struggling to their feet.

The man was refusing to attack me.

“What are you?” I jeered at him. “Cowardly in the face of a man that can fight back?”

His mouth opened, the poisons in my brain telling me that spectral light escaped from them. I heard a snarl.

I sighed and ran up towards him. I darted left, then right followed by a feint back to the left before jumping high and hammering the point of my spear home into his chest.

The pressure across my skull was beginning to lessen now as I looked down at the man I killed.

Kerrass came up behind me. “You alright?” he asked.

I jerked away from him reflexively and blinked furiously for a second.

“You're not hurt?” he clarified his question.

“No,” I managed. I had to focus to get the words out. His face was truly looking demonic now. As well as all of the normal features that his face took on when he was potioned up to the eyeballs, I found that I was imagining horns on top of his head. “No,” I said again clearing my throat. “It's not my blood.”

I shut my eyes for a moment which turned out to be a mistake as a wave of dizziness and nausea swept over me. Feeling around my neck, I discovered that the patch of scarf over my mouth and nose had gone dry again.

“Remember that we want one alive to question.” Kerrass told me.

“I wish you'd reminded me of that sooner.” I laughed bitterly.

The expression on Kerrass' demonic visage shifted into a grimace that might have been concern but he beckoned me on and I followed him into the village.

“Give me your spear.” He ordered.

Part of me wanted to argue, part of me wanted to ask how I was supposed to defend myself but another part of me wanted him to just take the damn thing away from me.

I felt dirty and badly in need of an opportunity to go and bathe, or find a dark and quiet place to weep for about a week.

Kerrass had realised that I was crumbling under the pressures of everything that was going on because he physically took control. Grabbing me by the shoulders he shuffled me into the middle of the path, turning me around until he was satisfied.

“Wait there,” he ordered. “Don't move.” Then he grabbed the scarf around my face and yanked it off. “Trust me Freddie,” he said as he vanished from sight.

The protection of the scarf and it's fumes had obviously already been vastly reduced since the beginning of the fight but now that even that small layer of armour was removed.... It was like a curtain was torn away from my sight and the full horror of what lies behind conscious thought was exposed to me. I tried to stagger away, to flinch and to flee but Kerrass' voice came to me as though it was drifting on the wind.

“Wait here,” I heard. “Trust me.”

What else was I to do but to stand there and go insane.

Everything around me was on fire. As well as the buildings I could see people moving amongst them, melting and bubbling in the flame and the heat. I could hear people calling to me. The voices of everyone that I had killed or maimed, including the voices of the two hounds whose lives I had just ended. I saw Francesca writhing in torment over the flames on a Witches pyre.

Even closing my eyes against the sights didn't help as the visions played themselves out against the back of my eyelids.

Then I heard the thunder.

It might sound strange to you, reading this in the comfort of your own home, maybe in a chair next to a cheerful flame with a glass or cup of your favourite comforting drink at your elbow. It might seem strange that an educated and, dare I say it, intelligent man such as myself might be taken in by all of these sights. These visions, let alone to be taken in by the sound of thunder.

It's easy to say, here, sitting in my own relative comfort writing up notes that I took at the time, that what I was seeing and hearing was the product of emotional context, and the conflict between the poisons that the Hounds were putting out and the protective herbs that Kerrass had given us. I know now that the thunder that I heard was the sound of a galloping horse. I know that the flames and the screaming and the voices of the tormented were all in my head. I know that now.

But at the time?

I felt like I was finally seeing these things for the first time. That I was seeing the souls of those that I had killed. I believed that they were following me around, waiting for me to die so that they could punish me for ending their lives. I believed it.

The following line is a direct quote from my own notes. I wrote this line in something of a feverish flurry of writing in the night after these events as my body still worked to expel everything that I had taken in.

“It was like I finally saw, with astonishing clarity, all of the things that we convince ourselves could not possibly exist. We do this collectively and as a species so that we can function and survive in a world that claws at our minds. It was like I finally saw the truest version of the world.”

At some point, when I get back to “civilisation” and by that I mean Oxenfurt I intend to hunt down the next quote as I suspect I'm getting it wrong.

“To know whether or not a person is going insane is easy. The truly insane believe that they are getting saner and that it's the rest of us that are insane.”

That was what it was like.

Anyone who might argue that I should have known that I was drugged and poisoned would be correct. But that's not how it worked.

I heard the sound of thunder and I staggered backwards. I turned and I saw the Demon coming towards me. A being of flaming blue cold, (yes I know that that makes no sense but that's what it looked like to me) his hand raised with a blade of steaming ice ready to cut me down. The ground shook with the thunder of the hoofbeats.

I shut my eyes and turned away.

There was a crash.

A horrible scream split the air and I clapped my hands over my ears. I felt hands on me and I struggled, something wet on my face and I fought to breathe.

“Just breathe Freddie, nice deep breaths.”

In the back of my throat, the cool scent of the lavender seemed to trickle down my throat.

“Don't try to open your eyes yet Freddie, just breathe it in. In and out that's it. In through the nose, hold it and then blow it out through your mouth.”

The recovery was fast as I came crashing back into my body with a thump.

I tried opening my eyes to see a relatively normal looking Kerrass standing over me. Just a hint of Fang about the face but I could tell that he had taken one of his detoxing potions. He always complained that those things took it out of him and that he would pay for it later but he was self-aware enough to know that sometimes you need the ability to think.

“You alright?” He asked again, looking down at me.

“I've been happier,” I told him. “Did we win?”

“Yes we won, all told the fighting lasted about five minutes.”

“Flame,” I swore, heaving myself into an upright position. “It felt like years.”

“Mmm. Intoxicants can do that to you.”

“Did you take a captive?”

“I did.”

I nodded again, holding out an arm which Kerrass took to help me to my feet and we staggered towards the main meeting house.

“Kerrass?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you have to take the scarf off my face?”

“Yes, I'm sorry. He needed to think that you were helpless. If we'd taken someone alive in the early stages of the entire thing then we might have been ok but he was getting desperate and fleeing from the other soldiers. And he was the only one left. We needed to give him an easy target or he would have fled from us.”

I nodded. I didn't like it but he was probably right. I was certainly in no position to give tactical appraisal.

“Did we lose anyone?”

“A couple of villagers who lost their minds and left safety to be cut down. Also the man in the fire. Jenkins has a scrape and we're worried that the injury might be poisoned. The women are looking after him but we'll know more in an hour or so.”

“It's getting dark.”

“It's late.”

“It feels like we were fighting for years.”

Kerrass paused.

“Are you sure you're up to this Freddie? You always react badly to these kinds of mind altering things, whether gas or magical, no-one would think any less of you if you go and lie-down somewhere.”

“No, I need to see this through.”

Kerrass nodded and helped me through the door.

The noise washed over me like a wave.

Every single person that could speak and stand upright in the village was there and all of them, every single one of them was shouting. Some of them were shouting at the soldiers who were standing shoulder to shoulder in a line blocking off one corner of the room. The couple of them that knew how to fight with shields had strapped them to their arms and were using them to push back the more irate villagers. I should say that most of the women and children were still down in the cavern below us but somehow that felt as though it gave those people that were still here, more permission to just scream and shout.

Some other people were shouting with each other. Still more were trying for peace and calm amongst the gathered people.

After the poison and the battlefield reaction it was just too much for me and I lost my temper.

There's a proper technique to projecting your voice. I had been trained in such a technique in order to help my voice carry when I was presenting papers back at the university. Also in proper enunciation and elocution lessons that my father paid for while my family was trying to see if I might have some kind of musical talent or be able to use proper oratory skills and thus be useful to the family on a political basis.

I've no doubt that The Sergeant could tell you much more than I could but I suspect that he wouldn't know what words to use.

The proper way to do it is to breathe from the belly, support with your stomach muscles and then speak from there. Don't try and use your throat to amplify things because all that that will achieve is to hurt your throat.

“SILENCE,” I bellowed although seeing it written down doesn't really do it justice. It was more like:

“SIIIIIIIILLLEEEEEEEnce,”

Or at least that's how it sounded in my head.

The effort sent my head spinning and I had to support myself on the side of the door.

“Honestly,” I said, “What with one thing or another it's difficult to hear myself think.” I had gone into one of those states that I sometimes achieve. Kerrass has talked about it before, the most prominent times that I can think of getting there is the moment when I first stood up to Ariadne but there are other times as well. It comes when fatigue, fear and anger combine to a place where my mouth and body decide that my brain has had enough and isn't doing what it's told, so they just start talking and all I can do is go along for the ride.

I stalked forward and Kerrass came with me. I don't know for certain but I suspect that Kerrass was grinning from ear to ear as I stomped up to Edward.

“Right,” I said, leaning heavily on my still bloody spear. I had forgotten in all truth, certainly didn't mean it to be so and whatever else anyone might say, I wasn't trying to intimidate the man but then he couldn't seem to take his eyes off it. All I could think was that I was tired and needed something to lean on. “What's going on?”

“Uuuhhhh.”

“Edward, I'm really tired.”

“They have the captured Hound.”

I looked over and sure enough, the Hound was sat, his hands being tied behind his back. It was obvious to us now that he was wearing a leather hooded, sleeved robe. He had a mask over his face. Sir Rickard was searching him for hidden weapons and so far there was a stack of knives piling up next to him as well as several pouches.

“So they have.” Apparently my voice almost sounded surprised. “So what's going on?”

“uuuhhhh.”

“Okay. You.” I pointed at one of the redder faced men that was standing nearby. As it turned out it was the same man that had tried to bar our entry to the village. Or more accurately it was the guy that had led matters from the back of things, hiding behind his fellows. “What's going on?”

“Those bastards won't let us have the Hound that you captured.”

“Right?”

He looked at me as though I was being particularly stupid. “Right.” He agreed.

“I'm sorry,” I said pinching the bridge of my nose. “Your point being?”

“We want him.”

“And?”

“And what? We want him.”

“I'm too tired for this. What do you want him for?”

“Justice.”

“Ah.” I felt the light come on in my head.

“Quite right. So you order your men to hand him over.”

“Ummmm.” I honestly had to think about this for a moment. “No.”

“What?”

“No.” I repeated. “Nope. Definitely not. Not going to happen. Not in the slightest.”

“But....what have you got him for then? We demand that you...”

“You demand?” I hissed. Suddenly the situation was no longer as funny. There was a general sense of people moving away from us. “You demand?” I asked again. I could feel myself struggling to remain calm in the face of this arrogant stupidity. The bastards reacted and I heard the sounds of weapons being reached for. It all had the potential of boiling over into a situation that we wouldn't be able to control.

I felt Kerrass' hand on my shoulder.

It was like a bucket of cold water being poured over my head. I closed my eyes and tipped my head backwards.

“Edward.” I whispered,

“My Lord?” I shouldn't have been surprised that he heard me. Nor that he was so clever. Two little words that reminded everyone listening, including me, of my position. I suddenly had an inkling of what it had been like for Sir Rickard being knighted and elevated into a position much higher than he had ever known before. I could get on with these people. I could talk to them and even be “friendly” with them. But I was not one of them. We would never be friends and I needed to remember that. I was “My Lord” to them and I needed to act like it.

“Edward, I have every respect for everything that you and the rest of your village has been through. It can't have been easy. But this captive is required so that he can be questioned so that we might end this threat once and for all.”

“But...” The other man began.

“But nothing.” I snarled. “This is bigger than your village and it needs dealing with accordingly.”

“I agree.” Edward said loudly, overwhelming the other man. Showing the leader that he was. “The next election is at midwinter. Seven months away. Until then you will respect my authority.”

He faced down his rival who finally retreated.

“Good,” I said and turned to Sir Rickard. “Sir Rickard?”

“My Lord?” He saluted smartly. His eyes were twinkling though and I got the feeling that he had enjoyed that little confrontation.

“Seal the building please?”

“My lord.” He gestured and Taylor moved to stand next to the door.

“What?” Edward paled.

“One of the first questions that we are going to ask is how the riders always know what's going on in the villages.” I told him. “There is a distinct possibility that one of the people in this room will be implicated, whether by conscious choice or something more sinister and I don't want anyone escaping to let others know that we have a captive.”

Edward nodded his acceptance of this argument.

“Right then.” I stepped through the line of soldiers to face the man who was tied up and slumped against the wall of the building. “Hello,” I told him. “You little demon.”

A soldier who was standing nearby, obviously ready to intervene in case the man still had some kind of trickery up his sleeve, sniggered.

“He has no weapons?” I asked him.

“None, no.”

I nodded. “Right then,Let's see what you look like then.” I stepped forward and pulled the Cowl down and tore the mask from his face.

“Huh,” I said after a shocked moment. “Wouldn't you know it. Human after all.”

Of course he was human. Of course he was. Felled by perfectly normal swords, axes and arrows. Kerrass had even been using his steel sword. Dwarves aren't that tall and elves wouldn't fight wearing all of that leather and foolishly misshapen boots.

Of course he was human but until that mask had been removed, I had been afraid.

Not that he looked like much of a human. Unshaven, greasy, dirty and an incredible body odour that could have cut through metal. His eyes were wild and staring, extremely bloodshot and a pupil so small that I had difficulty seeing it. He licked his lips and stared about, sweat pouring from his head, breathing heavily.

Someone in the crowd shouted in astonishment while a woman was weeping.

“Does...Does.” I licked my lips again as I found myself recalculating. The man was so wretched that I found the first flutterings of pity stirring in my chest. “Does anyone know this man?”

Of all people, it was Edward that stepped forward. “This man is James.” He said, his voice quiet with horror. “My brother that the Hounds took from us, what? Ten years ago. In the God's name, I recognise him still.”

He took another step forwards and crouched next to my brother. Rickard stepped close, ready to restrain either of them.

“James?” Edward tried. “James? What happened?”

A sudden rage took Edward and he seized his brother by the shoulders and shook him violently. “James, Look at me. Why have you done this?”

I nodded to Rickard who stepped forward and with surprising gentleness, pried Edward back. “He doesn't even know me?” Edward wailed.

I turned, “Kerrass?”

Kerrass shook his head. “High as an eagle.” he said. “It's going to be hours before we can ask him questions. If then.”

I nodded and looked around at the villagers. Shock was written on every face. So much so that I decided, right or wrong, that the agents of the enemy were not in this room.

“Let them go.” I said, turning back to our captive. “Look at him,” I breathed in astonishment. “He's terrified.”