Chapter 145: I DEMANDED TO SPEAK TO YOUR SUPERIOR!

So, next on our list of tools that a Witcher uses along with the follow up question as to whether or not they are the thing that makes a Witcher.

Let's talk about the signs.

I promise, I swear that all of this has a point and that I will get to it eventually. I swear that this is true.

Although a small part of me can't help but entertain himself at the prospect of the Magazine editor over at the Oxenfurt gazette quietly tearing his hair out at all the comments and letters of complaint that he must be getting about this. “How dare this Professor of Oxenfurt try and teach us something about Witchers?”

Heh, You brought this on yourself Mikael and you know it too.

But seriously though. I Promise that there's a point to this.

So let's talk about signs. All six of them.

Yes, you read that right. There are actually six signs although most people only know about the five most common ones.

So what are the signs?

In broad and simple terms the signs are very basic spells that can be cast with the aid of a gesture, or series of gestures performed with at least one hand, although it can be amplified if you use both hands during the casting. I'm not sure as to the magical science of this and there are much better academic works on the subject should you want to pursue things but my understanding is that it works like this.

Magic exists all around us in a flow, a lot like the flow of water or the movement of air. What Magic users do is to tame this force, indeed, “force” is what they call it, and shape it to their own will. Most people are unable to do this although my understanding is that anyone, with sufficient training and practice could probably light a candle in return for the discomfort of a substantial nosebleed. Before you all rush off and try to learn this I would say that you need to be taught this skill and that prolonged use of it, even if you have been taught will result in you dying of a stroke.

What a “talent” for magic use is is the ability to channel, shape and control this force without dying. It sounds simple but that really is the basis of it. The talent does tend to run in bloodlines but that, in and of itself, is problematic as the long term use of magic will render a person sterile. Yes, I know that there are proven exceptions to this rule but in this case, the exception proves the rule.

The way that these magic users shape the magic is with gestures, words and rituals. I have heard it said that these gestures and things are merely aids to help the mind and body work in the right way in order to shape the magic in the require way. I cannot answer for that, all I know is that those people that have used magic in my presence, Kerrass, Ariadne and the rest, have spoken or gestured and the effect happens and certainly the lady Yennefer of Vengerberg was scornful when I mentioned this theory to her.

So what are Witcher's signs? In short, they are the most basic of basic spells. Stripped down to their barest components and adapted for fast casting, single handed casting and combat applications. How do Witcher's do it? My understanding is that, as part of the mutation process, the Young Witchers are mutated in order for their bodies to be able to tolerate the force moving through them. A Witcher can be as magically talented as I am when they go to the school and I am as talented as a brick. But, after mutation and suitable training, they will all be able to use the signs.

So what are they?

The famous five first, in alphabetical order:

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The Aard sign: A blast of air, either in the form of a wave in front of a Witcher, or in a circular pattern spreading out from the Witcher itself. If you want to see what it looks like, find a pond or pool of still water. The first is like placing your hand gently in the water before violently and quickly pushing the palm of your hand forwards causing a wave to form. The other way is that if you drop a stone into the water and you see the ripples spreading out from where the stone fell. Those waves are the effects of the Aard sign and believe me when I say that it's like being buffeted by the strongest gale, amplified by a factor of ten. It's designed to knock a man from his feet and daze even large creatures. I've seen it send a troll staggering.

The Axii sign: A charm that you place on your opponent. It comes in two forms and practice means that you can cast it on multiple people or even convince the target to do what you want. The first and most basic form of the sign dazes the target for a short while. The second and more powerful type causes the person to become a friend or ally for a period. Kerrass dislikes using this sign as he says that everyone is different and therefore the time that the person spends under the influence of the sign is variable from as little as a second or two up to several minutes. Either way, it is a mistake to depend on it. According to Kerrass that is.

The Igni sign: By far the most famous sign. Probably because it is the most striking visually. After all, what are the most famous spells? Even the most utilitarian and studious mages know how to throw fire and call lightening because without which, how can they call themselves magic users. Put simply the Igni signs either conjures a steady stream of burning sparks that cause the target to catch a light. Or it is a wave of flame, not unlike that wave of air caused by the Aard sign.

The Quen sign: A golden shield that protects the caster from the first strike that the shield sustains. Either protecting the caster himself (not herself. Witchers are only male and females who could cast such things would never stop at so basic a level of effect. Sorceresses, according to my experience, are like that. Yes, including you Ariadne) or forming a globe around the caster although this form requires constant concentration.

The Yrden sign. This is the sign drawn on the floor that creates a magical trap that can make time move slower for the target. To my mind, although it requires careful preparation, this sign is by far the most powerful.

So those are the five signs. Yes there is a sixth and I haven't mentioned it before because like many, or so I understand, I got it confused with the Quen sign. This is called the Heliotrope sign. Kerrass tells me that this is the most advanced sign of the lot which is why it is so rarely used. It requires the use of both arms which you cross in front of you which will cushion whatever blow that you are about to receive. It was designed out of the occasional need to protect yourself from sudden and unexpected magical attack when all other tricks have failed or have been made redundant. For example, when you have given up your swords and you only see the blow coming at the last second. In theory you can throw up your arms and protect yourself from the incoming attack.

It is not a perfect defence as it only cushions the blow rather than stopping the blow completely as the Quen sign would. It is the last shield of the last resort.

Kerrass does not approve as he would claim that if you are going into a situation where such a trick might be required then you should have your sword drawn and your Quen sign cast. You should have your exit routes prepared and your traps and bombs ready. He claims to have only used it on a handful of occasions during his long career and tells me that it is a weakness to rely on it. That it is not an adequate replacement for good and proper preparation and scouting.

There is also the rumour of another sign called “Somne” sign. I don't know what this is and other than what it's called I haven't been able to find any other reference to it. Kerrass claims to know nothing about it and I've certainly never heard him talk about it or use it in any way. From the philological aspect of things, the name of the sign would suggest that this is something to do with sleeping but this seems to be too powerful an effect for a simple sign so maybe it's a modification. Possibly something that the Griffin school played with as a variation on the Axii sign.

So those are the signs. Are they indispensable? If you take them away, is a Witcher still a Witcher? Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

I would argue that the signs hold a similar status in a Witcher's arsenal of tricks and tools as his swords. Again, they are weapons. You use different ones in different situations. Some monsters would ignore them completely, some would be devastated by their effects. But a good Witcher would still be able to take down their targets if you took away their signs.

So no, I don't think of the signs as being indispensable. Important? Yes, but no more so than anything else that we've talked about or are going to talk about.

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First, before we go further, a word about politics and the skills required to survive in the courts of the land.

There are several things that I need to be grateful for. Things in my life that I never really got the chance to sit the person down and give them the gratitude and thanks that they deserve. I would like to take this opportunity to thank one person that I might have mentioned in the past but at the same time, I know that I've never really talked about here. In this case, the person that I want to talk about is a man called Professor Laurence Tidesdale. What he was a Professor of, I'm not quite sure. I know for a fact that he was never accredited at the university of Oxenfurt and I have, in the past, wondered if this was one of those things that people do to make themselves seem more attractive to prospective clients.

Not unlike the Witchers with their “magical” swords.

But I owe this man a lot and it would be fair to say that I owe him my life. That is not an exaggeration either. He didn't teach me how to fight, nor did he teach me how to think. He had nothing to do with my education on history or geography.

What he taught me was the skills that one needs to be able to survive in court.

These skills have many names, heraldry being a surprisingly useful one. The coat of arms the banners and a couple of small facts about the person that those flags and colours are attached to. Etiquette is another. It is important to know when it is acceptable to blow your nose and wipe your mouth on the table cloth or a napkin. Whether to throw your left-over meat bones over your left shoulder or your right shoulder for the dogs. These are the important things and it's not really an exaggeration to say that these are the things that can save your life.

The art of negotiation is another important skill, sometimes called the art of compromising and the art of diplomacy. When I talked to Kerrass about this kind of thing he told me that he thought of such things as haggling. That's not the entirety of the truth but it's close enough to cause confusion as that's what you're doing. Finding the different red lines that no-one wants to cross while at the same time finding compromises that would make every body happy.

This is not easy.

Now....

The world is full of people that employ these skills on a daily basis. They are the courtiers, the diplomats and the courtiers of the land. They are the scribes, the merchants, the civil servants and the politicians. They are the people that work behind the scenes that make sure that everything runs as smoothly as possible. I will be the first to admit that they are not entirely successful at this but for the most part, these people do incredible work in circumstances that are often less than entirely ideal. Think about it. The Monarch of your local area, no matter what title that monarch holds, lets call them the feudal lord, suddenly gives an order or makes a declaration. That declaration might be something small such as the possibility that there is going to be some kind of festival at the end of the week, or that they intend to make a small pilgrimage to a local shrine where St Thingamy took a shit or something. It is then the task of these people to make that happen with a minimum of fuss.

Now that's a relatively small thing but imagine if someone declares that he wants to host a jousting tournament on their lands and that he wants to put up significant sums of money as prizes. The courtier can't say no. They can advise as best they can but they can't say no. So now they have to organise the thing and find the money for it from somewhere.

Now picture it being from a lord with a royal title. A King or Queen who is a little eccentric who declares in a loud voice that they object to onions and as such, they never want to see an onion ever again. Anyone who produces an onion in their presence will be punished, severely.

But what about all of the farmers in your country that are no longer allowed to grow onions. What about that entire crop that they are about to harvest that they now have no market for. Let's make it worse, if the land that you work for doesn't grow onions then they must have been getting those onions from somewhere. Somewhere who, possibly, is a little cross at the fact that they are no longer selling you onions and now has their own economic problems as they have grown all these extra onions that they don't know what to do with and can't sell. So how are they going to get that money?

And you, as a courtier, have to make all that happen with the minimum of possible fuss.

Now throw into the mix the fact that you are surrounded by other courtiers who are also trying to do their jobs at the same time. Jobs which are often in direct contradiction of yours. You are still trying to convince the Lord that onions have all of these extra health benefits and are actually really good for you. That, although he might not like them personally, you think it would be unfair on all of his subjects, that make their living off onions, for him to make the growing or possession of onions illegal as well as potentially damaging for the local economy.

Meanwhile, the man in the next office over is grinning from ear to ear as he has another idea. He has found a supply of beets from a different place and is trying to get your Lord to agree to a substitution. He argues that the onions could all be swapped for the beets relatively easily. That they have just as many health benefits of onions and that the economy could therefore be saved while at the same time making friends with your local, beet growing, neighbour. For all you know, he may be right but you also have a sneaking suspicion that he is being paid off by the beet growers to get this agenda into your Lord's hands. Also, if he manages this then there is a good chance that he might become more powerful than you and then.....

I hope you can see where you are going.

The thing here is that Lords need to be advised by lots of different people in order to make the proper decisions. Which means surrounding yourself with lots of different Lords who often don't agree with each other in order to make a better decision.

But for the guys that are there, in the depths of things, trying to make the world a better place by willpower.

Those guys? Those guys are the unsung heroes of the modern age.

You want to know why the world is at peace at the moment? Tales tell of the actions of those conspirators that arranged matters for Radovid the Stern to be assassinated on the bridge. But the real hero of that story is whichever diplomat and courtier got into the ear of the Emperor and convinced him that it would be a good idea. Convinced him that the continued warfare was damaging to his own economy and would render the North useless to him should his inevitable victory actually succeed.

But in modern society there is a bit of an unfair tendency to look down on the men and women that perform this task. Courtiers tend to be treated like the lowest form of parasite. Cowards who would do anything to whore themselves out for a bit more influence or possibly just a touch more wealth. Men in armour sit around army camp-fires and wish the worst kinds of death on courtiers telling each other the things that they would do to any such person if they managed to get their hands on them. People with their rapiers and sabres strapped to their sides while wearing fashionable fencing doublets sneer as a civil servant runs past on some kind of vital errand. Women scoff when they receive marriage invitations and promise their parents that they would sooner end their own lives or elope with some peasant than they would marry a courtier.

As I say, I've heard courtiers and politicians belittled as cowards and snakes. As worms and parasites that aren't worth the effort that it would take to tread on.

To be fair, I can understand why as well. This is because all of the work that a knight or a soldier might do. All the fighting, all the blood and sweat and tears that they have poured into fighting their battles. All of it can be undone by a courtier who decides to. Which, again, is what happened at the end of the most recent war.

Let's not take anything away from the achievements of the Redanian led forces of the North. They had an impossible task that they achieved with bravery, skill, cunning and grim determination. Historians are beginning to be scornful of these achievements, pointing out the geography of the matter. About how Radovid snuck over the mountains into Kaedwen in order to absorb those forces into his own. About how he hid behind the Pontar and drew the enemy forces into a stalemate battle. I strongly suspect that these historians are missing the point, or that they are trying to butter up the Nilfgaardians by saying that they deserved a better victory over the north.

None of these points are incorrect. For all his faults though, Radovid was a military genius and he fought Nilfgaard to a standstill. Yes he used the river and the marshes and the fact that Kaedwen was vulnerable and the fact that my father was a patriot and wanted to help equip his troops. But if he was foolish or cowardly as some have claimed then he would have done all of those things before fleeing north to ask for sanctuary from Kovir and Poviss.

The armies of the North fought damn hard. DAMN hard and I, among others, think that it's a bit of a shame that their efforts are being papered over by historians who want to be nice to the Nilfgaardians. Would those soldiers and knights have won in the long run? I am not a military specialist, neither a general nor a tactician of any level although, personally I doubt it. I think that, in the long run, Radovid would have retreated, burning everything behind him to make the conquering of the North a poison pill that Nilfgaard would have been unable to swallow.

But that's just my opinion. If you want to read an in depth discussion of the matter then I can recommend the text by Sir Johann Rottinger who once served in the Temerian forces as a commander of the infantry. He didn't fight in the third war due to the fact that he had lost an arm and his jaw in the second one but he acted in an advisory category. He analyses the war from both sides and it makes for fascinating reading. I recommend him because he is definitely not an armchair general. He knows what he's talking about and as such, I think that his opinion is more reliable.

But I'm getting sidetracked.

Remembering what Sam said about a soldier's pride. They absolutely believed that they were going to beat Nilfgaard. They had to, that was their job and if they lost confidence then they would definitely have lost the war. They were all ready for a fight, for some decisive battle in exactly the same way that it had at Sodden and Brenna and then....it was all over. Redania had surrendered and when they found out what had happened, that they had been “betrayed” by a few conspirators and courtiers, spies and assassins....

Of course they hate courtiers. They look at the courtier and see an ambitious man, pushing their own agenda in an effort to get rich and to get their friends and family rich. That they would rather hide at court than pursue the proper manly arts of fighting and jousting and hunting. They would rather learn etiquette and such like, and how to be two-faced and lie to another man's face while thinking of something else.

I once overheard a hypothetical debate at university between a “courtier” and a “warrior”. These debates were really staged conversations. Two people would be given opposing points of view and told to argue their case as part of a competition. The audience would then vote on who won with the winner gaining a prize. I remember this one being particularly hard fought and quite bitter even though the warrior side won by a considerable majority.

The warrior said, and I'm paraphrasing as I didn't really note the conversation down as I was too busy trying to chat up a girl at the time,

“My job is honest. I am a warrior. I say what I mean and I mean what I say. I do not hide behind flowery words. I am honest, upfront and dependable. You would say one thing and mean another, you talk behind your hand to other people and lie at every turn in order to get what you want. You have a hidden agenda and gobble up everything you can and flee behind people like me when you have been caught out in your lies. Your entire job is to serve up horse shit and tell everyone that it's the most gloriously sweet honey-cake that you've ever seen. You would even eat the horse shit cake to prove your point.”

The courtier thought about it for a moment and said.

“Yes I would. Yes I would eat the cake but that is my job and it is by my job that you have food in your belly. It is by my job that you can afford the steel to go into your sword and the metal to go into your armour. It is by my hand that your children are fed and your parents are protected. You stand and defend us from our foes it is true but I defend you from everything else. It is I that ensures that the money is spent to irrigate your fields and repair your roads. You fight your wars to the south but it is by my hand that Temeria doesn't turn on us, that Kaedwen does not come over the mountain and that Kovir and Poviss remain quiet behind their border. All the while I have to deal with people who say one thing, mean another and who can never, ever be trusted. Let us return to your horse-shit cakes. It is my job, my task in life to eat those cakes and compliment the baker on their scent, texture and flavour. I must wax lyrical on the virtues of horse-shit cakes and tell everyone that I wonder why no-one has ever put horse-shit in a cake before.”

I, like just about everyone, voted with the warrior as his morals were simple and uncomplicated. As I have matured out on the road since then though I have had occasion to change my mind on occasion. It's not as cut and dried as that though. Both sides have virtues and considerable problems.

Returning to my tutor, I remember asking him why I was learning these “courtly” skills when I would be better served out on the practice fields with Sam, trying to improve my sword work.

In a moment of rare honesty Professor Laurence told me that “Being a courtier is like being a fencer. You are always thinking about where to stand and trying to get everything from your opponent while at the same time trying to get everything from him. You are always looking for an opening, trying to guess his intentions and read what he is about to do or say and how you can turn that to your advantage ready for a killing stroke. And all the time, you are looking for more and more opportunities to make the bastard bleed.”

He was right. I never took to the class at the time as, like with so many other things, I lacked the context that was needed in order to make the lessons stick.

But out on the road with Kerrass I have had need to fall back on the skills that Sir Laurence taught me and they have saved my life when I've listened to those instincts and threatened me when I have not.

For those people interested. I'm told that Edmund ignored these skills, Mark didn't need them, Emma was a master at it although she pretended to not be very good which kind of meant that she took the lessons to heart a little too much. Sam didn't see the point as he was always going to be a soldier and I suspect that Francesca would have outstripped us all.

They have certainly came to my aid many, many times on the road with Kerrass where I have been able to talk some noble or other into giving us a contract when he would have otherwise given the job to his men or some passing knight Errant who would do the job for free. I have also negotiated beds from innkeepers who wanted to turn us aside because of the colour and shape of Kerrass' eyes. I have also been able, on many occasions, to translate the various parts of “noble speak” that we occasionally get subjected to meaning that Kerrass has been able to stay calm when he would have otherwise lost his temper and murdered some people, or get angry when he would not normally have realised that he was being mocked.

But back to the matter at hand.

The first thing we did when we saw the castle and realised the kind of nobles that we were going to be up against when we went down into the town and castle, was to turn aside into a small copse of trees so that we could be hidden from view. Taylor and I then got changed into what Kerrass called our “glad rags”, me to look more like a young nobleman and Taylor to look more like the young servant that he was pretending to be.

The idea that we were going for with Taylor was that he was a lesser noble to myself. Either a bastard cousin of some kind or possibly a younger son of some knight that lived on my father's lands. He wore a simple doublet and boots and carried his sabre at his side. He looked odd without his uniform or his bow near to hand. He had entrusted both to Rickard before he left.

We rode slowly on the grounds of the suggestion that I was far too important to have to rush around. I sat straighter in my saddle and turned my nose up at everything ever so slightly. The precise tilt of the nose raise is a careful consideration. It is far too easy to go too far up and descend into parody.

And so, what some courtiers refer to as “The Game” had begun. From this point on it would be a mistake to assume that we weren't being watched, weighed and measured. I put it to Kerrass that he should think of this as like being behind enemy lines, or walking through the monster's den.

We rode our horses slowly down the road as if we didn't have a care in the world. Right down the middle as well, expecting other people to get out of our way except in one case when a farmer was manipulating a wagon of some kind with the aid of a particularly stubborn looking donkey. He humbly begged our pardon and asked if we would allow him to use the road and I allowed it with my best condescendingly gracious expression and a small, negligent wave.

I had the almost overwhelming urge to punch myself in the mouth.

As we got closer to the buildings we came across our first guardsmem in the uniform of the Cavills who had formed a checkpoint across the road. It wasn't much, just a building with a weapons rack outside. A table and some chairs at which a pair of guardsmen were playing dice and drinking. One of the guardsmen stood up and swaggered over to, presumably, enquire as to our business. He had a smile and a sneer for me as I took out a handkerchief to guard myself against the obvious stench that was permeating the air. I gestured with a grimace and Taylor rode forward to politely enquire if Lord Cavill was home and whether or not he was receiving guests.

The guard did his best to be rude and exert some authority so Taylor slapped him.

“HOW DARE YOU SIR?” He demanded loudly causing everyone to look at us in surprise. His words fell to a hiss as he snarled continued things into the plainly astonished and angry guard. They were exactly the kind of thing that a young noble who is rather too full of himself would say to some upstart guard who thinks that he's more important than he is.

You might be wondering what the point of this little pantomime is. Well, it's all part of “The Game”. What we were putting across was the fact that we felt as though we were better than the average guardsman. I have no doubt that the guardsman was trying to put us in our place and had been chosen for his belligerent and unpleasant nature. From the perspective of the guards, this was an effort to see how we would react. If we had allowed ourselves to be cowed by this lowly guardsman then we weren't that important. If we were merchants then they would have wanted to see how desperate we were to sell our goods.

This is what it is to be a courtier. To discern meanings within meanings within meanings. To put your point across without giving too much away. I will admit to the fact that it is, occasionally, fun to utilise these skills to get one over on people and to puncture the pumped up self importance of ignorant pricks. But it is no way to live. After a while, I find it exhausting to always be suspecting that there are ulterior motives behind every action and that every word spoken, every gesture and movement is carefully planned and refined.

Taylor kept up a constant barrage of abuse and insults at this poor unsuspecting guardsman who was getting angrier and angrier than ever until, at exactly the right moment, Taylor released the poor bastard with a well timed “I demand to speak to your superior.”

The guard stalked off, clearly wishing some kind of gruesome and horrible death on Taylor and the pox on Kerrass and I.

Poor lamb.

The guards corporal came out and introduced himself which is when Taylor kicked it up a notch.

“A corporal, A CORPORAL? I DEMANDED TO SPEAK TO YOUR SUPERIOR NOT SOME JUMPED UP.....”

He went on from there and I'm not going to waste the paper on saying, in detail what he said next. Not least because I wasn't really listening. The best way to pretend that you aren't listening is to not be actually listening. Instead, I sat quietly on my horse giving it some commands through my knees to make it seem as though it was shifting restlessly while I took out my dagger and started cleaning and trimming my nails with it.

This is actually a lot more difficult than it looks so I was actually doing nothing of the sort but from a distance, that's what it looks like what I'm doing.

Why clean, or trim your nails with a dagger when you've got perfectly good scissors and clippers to do that kind of thing for you? It's utterly impractical, just showing off and an intimidation trick and I will hold my hand up to that. Because that was precisely what I was doing.

Eventually the corporal beat a red-faced and strategic retreat in the face of Taylor's arrogant verbal assault and produced a Sergeant.

Taylor changed tack.

For the record, Taylor was being at least as good at this politics lark as I am.

“Ah Sergeant, at last. A man that I can deal with on a more equal footing....”

You see what he did there. He complimented the Sergeant, put across his (Taylor's and therefore my) impatience but still managed to suggest arrogance and that the Sergeant was still beneath him and that Taylor was absolutely justified in talking down to him, and the corporal and the guard before him.

The Sergeant said something. Probably insisting on the formality of following some kind of rule which caused Taylor to erupt into fury again.

“What? WHAT? I demand that you.....”

Which was my cue. I sighed, put my dagger away and urged my horse forwards.

“That's enough,” I snapped at Taylor. “Sergeant.” The man who was getting increasingly red faced turned to look at me. I was using my best, educated and trained melodious “Charming” voice.

“Please forgive me for the rudeness of my man,” I made my voice harsh and violently gestured that Taylor should fall in behind me. “Have no doubt on the matter but he will be punished for his insolence in the face of men who are just trying to do their duties.” I made my voice melodious and charming again. “I humbly ask that you forgive any insult that you feel that you have been dealt and that you leave it in my hands.”

“Yes...well.....”

“Rest assured,” I carried on, arrogantly ignoring the fact that the Sergeant had started to speak. “That I will apologise to your master, Lord Cavill, in person and arrange for some kind of compensation for you and your men.”

I bowed, as if that was the matter fulfilled and made to urge my horse past the check point as though everything had been sorted out. Kerrass' face was impassive which normally meant that he was struggling not to laugh.

I'm much better at reading his facial expressions now than I was when we first met.

Taylor scrambled his horse into line behind me as I rode slowly and steadily towards the main gate of the castle.

“Sir....SIR,” The Sergeant ran to catch up. “Sir, we haven't....”

“Haven't what?” I asked, all arrogant courtesy.

“We need to.....I mean to say....”

“Is Lord Cavill not at home?” I enquired before turning back to look up at the castle parapet where the flag was high, if limp, and thus signalled the Lord's presence.

“No, it's not that it's just.....”

Now here's the Sergeant's problem. He could not let me past unchallenged and he still needed to exert his authority over us. If he just let us past then it showed his men, the watching villagers (if any) and his superiors that he could not be trusted with the duty that he had been given. But I was already past his check point. But I was, very probably, someone important. Remember that I hadn't yet given my name and for all this poor Sergeant knew, I was a powerful somebody of influence who could have him killed or bring down his master's displeasure on the poor man's head.

“I need you to state your name and business.” He finally managed to get out.

“What?” I demanded looking offended and the Sergeant made a manful effort towards not flinching. He almost managed as well.

“Did my man not inform you as to our business?” I asked after a suitably dramatic pause, turning a baleful eye on Taylor who did a good impression of flinching from my gaze.

I heard a small and stifled mewl from Kerrass. He was doing his best to wear his guise of bored and stoic Witcher, Impassive observer of the world but he always enjoyed these small displays. Especially when they took on the form of a pantomime the way that this one had.

“Uh, no he didn't” The man visibly deflated in relief.

“Very well then,” I drew myself up. “My name is Lord Frederick Von Coulthard, Count of Angral.” Yes I was taking a title that I didn't yet have the rights for, but the betrothal deal was done and we were going to be married. I also didn't think that Ariadne would mind if I used the title to get my way into things that might help people. “With me,” I went on, “Is Master Witcher Kerrass of Maecht of the Feline school. And Young Master Taylor, my squire.”

It should be pointed out, again, that Taylor actually has a few years on me.

“We are here to discuss matters of the security and safety of the common folk with my cousin, Lord Cavill.” I said in my grandest and most self-important voice.

Note the use of “Cousin” when talking about Lord Cavill. It is true that most of the nobility of the North are related to each other but as far as I know, I am unrelated to that particular branch of the nobility. But the term of “Cousin” suggests kinship amongst us all and implies a closeness and common ground that we have with each other that is not shared by all of our subjects.

Having declared my business, I turned my horse and continued on my progress towards the castle.

We had gone several steps before the Sergeant stopped us again.

“Uh, we need to examine your goods.”

“We have no goods.” I pointed out reasonably. “As I am not a merchant.”

“Your belongings then. Lord Cavill's orders.”

I frowned. Time to exert my authority. “You're not going through my personal things.” I declared in outrage. “I am visiting my cousin and have nothing to hide from him. You may take the matter up with him if you like?” And I haughtily turned away.

“Lord Cavill isn't receiving visitors.” was the last gambit that the Sergeant tried. “He has suffered a recent tragedy and as such, he has isolated himself.”

“Ah,” I said. “In which case I should offer my condolences.”

“He is not....”

“Outrageous.” I exclaimed. There is really no other way that you can describe the way that I was talking. “I come to warn Lord Cavill of a danger that hangs over his people and you try to turn me aside.” Time to put the poor man on the spot. “Are you suggesting that Lord Cavill would rather be kept in the dark about the state of his subjects? Are you suggesting that he would not put aside his grief in order to see to the security of his realm and the well-being of his people? Are you saying that he isn't fit to carry out the duties of his rank?”

The Sergeant's eyes edged towards the corporal and the other men who studiously avoided his eyes. The corporal just shook his head and shrugged.

You see, what I had done was this. If the Sergeant insisted on keeping me at the checkpoint then he was agreeing with my suggestion that Lord Cavill wasn't fit for office and was neglectful and lazy. But if he let me through then he was disobeying his obvious orders to keep all visitors away and to inspect their goods before confiscating a few items to show their, and therefore Lord Cavill's dominance over the area. If we had played according to our role then we would have probably gotten through after a nice small bribe of some kind which would have provided beer money for the guards while also giving them the feeling that they were superior to us and us, the feeling that everyone wearing a Cavill uniform was more important than we were.

But in turning it back on him, it meant that he was now trapped into either letting me past or implying that Lord Cavill was a dangerous and neglectful buffoon who deserved to be stripped of land and title.

For those people who would like to know. The correct counter to my move is to politely inform the upstart facing you that the Lord is indisposed with his council at the moment, that he “is not currently holding court” at the moment and that the guards do not know where he currently is, or that the Lord is unwell. But that if we wished, we could wait in the local inn or tavern until a message could be got to Lord Cavill notifying him of our arrival.

If he had been trained a bit better or, as I suspect is more likely, had more experience with dick-heads like me, then this is what he might have done. Instead he withered under my question and waved us through.

That is how “The Game” is played. I will admit to enjoying it in small doses and when there is a legitimate reason for it such as deflating a self-important prick or belittling an ass-hole. In this case, we were pursuing the evil fucks that liked to victimise the common folk and maybe took Francesca from us and so I felt that the skills deserved to be used.

If you feel disgusted by all of this then do not be dismayed. Yours is the reaction of the “good and straightforward” person. Any uneasiness would come from a secret suspicion that such skills are sometimes necessary in making the world go round. If it sounds fascinating or exciting then you might want to consider a career in the civil service. Just make sure that you pursue such a career for the right reasons.

I won't go into every interaction that we had as we rode into the Cavill's castle.

Heh, accidental alliteration.

If I did go into everything that happened, you would still be reading this in a month's time. And then, only if you did nothing else other than to sit and read what I'm talking about. It was constant as we walked our horses, not dismounting because the road was muddy and walking through such things is for lesser people than us, past the people and the various astonished guards and up to the castle.

The castle, as I said was a former military outpost. We were heading towards that part of Northern Redania where the paths through the mountains mean that we were on the border with Kaedwen. King Henselt was not alone in being an aggressive King of Kaedwen and there were regular sorties and raids into Redania from the eastern Kingdom. The method of dealing with this was the creation of “The Marcher Lords”. These were a series of Northern Barons who were given charge of a military outpost type of a castle as well as a garrison and almost complete autonomy to run their lands the way they wanted. That way, the Northern border was protected so that the regular army could concentrate on protecting the Pontar valley from Temerian, Aedirn and Kaedwen again's various ambitions.

I don't know why Kaedwen has always reared militarily ambitious kings. Perhaps it was something to do with the desire for better arable land and being close to the trading centres of Novigrad, Tretogor and the rest. I don't know and I will leave that question to wiser heads than mine.

As I say, it was a military building first and you could still see the original layout of the fortress in the separate courtyards and the firing steps. That even on the walls, archers could still shoot down into the press of the men if the courtyards themselves were breached and that wasn't counting the keep itself.

The keep was originally quite small, short, squat, grey and drab. The kind of place where you could only imagine that you would spend your entire life being cold and damp. But since then, the keep had been modified. You could see the places on the walls and some of the original out buildings where they had been taken down to rebuild some new buildings and to expand the keep. The roof of the keep had been rebuilt completely using sandstone rather than the dull grey granite and slate and you could also see the more modern red fired tiles that made up the rooftops.

I don't want you to think that this was a sign of neglect. Rather it was the sign of an old-fashioned fortification being changed into something else when it was no longer required for it's original purpose. There was also a small chapel that had been built that took up a part of what would once have been a killing ground inside the walls.

We pushed our horses past the constant stream of common folk that were carrying goods in and out of the castle. I was reminded of Kerrass' story about infiltrating a castle by simple virtue of carrying a bundle of firewood and having his hood up. The people looked tired with empty eyes, far too many of them looking just a little bit too thin. Baggy, old clothes.

We were well above the famine line that the last war had created. The local area was well able to look after itself with crops and the like and although they may have felt the pinch from army foraging parties when the regiments were marching to the front as well as the royal foragers who stripped the countryside of grain and other goods, there wasn't the rampant loss of life here. The fields had still been planted and the livestock was still relatively cared for. Especially as the countryside had now had several years to get over the famines and recover.

But there should no way have been enough of a problem that would contribute to the.....to the listlessness that we saw. These people were beaten down, tired and resigned to a life of hardship. It had not even crossed their mind that there might be a better life over the horizon. Normally you see this kind of thing in places where there is heavy banditry, which we had seen no evidence of, or a feudal lord who is ruling the place with an iron fist, charging high taxes and brutalising his people

I found myself beginning to dislike Lord Cavill. It wasn't just the state of the castle that was increasingly covered in greenery that invading forces could use to climb up. Nor was it the remodelling of a grand old fortress, nor was it the arrogance of the guards who had tried to shake us down on the castle gate as well, or the treatment of the common folk. It was the greenery and the state of the castle and the attitude of the guards and the treatment of the common folk.

Again, I don't want you to think that this is unusual. To varying degrees, this kind of thing can be seen wherever you go on the continent. I have seen these signs in the southern parts of the Empire as well as up in Northern Redania and Kaedwen and everywhere in between. Sometimes the blame can be laid at the feet of the church or overzealous churchmen. Sometimes it's because the local lord has been forced to raise taxes for some kind of local works such as irrigation channels for the fields.

But when you put these things together it is nearly always because the Lord likes his comfort and doesn't want to be bothered with the everyday business of running his lands. He wants to keep his hands clean. This wasn't the worst I've seen. I have seen far, far worse closer to my families estates because there, the Lords and Ladies are much closer to Novigrad and Oxenfurt so the same amount of land is often, also, supporting a town house and the extravagant parties that are expected of them. But instead of investing in commerce or investing in the improvement of their lands and people like Father did, they just squeeze the common folk for that little bit extra which is why it doesn't work.

The subtle and not so subtle powerplays were still at work. We were kept waiting for someone to come and take our horses away to the stable and we still had to carry our own goods into the castle. I know that Kerrass actually prefers to do it that way and I would certainly have no objection, in most cases, to carrying my own gear on the grounds that the average servant has approximately seventy three more important things more important to do than to look after uninvited guests. There is also the ever present danger that a light fingered servant might rifle through your belongings.

But that wasn't the point. Busy servants I can understand but we were deliberately kept waiting. I know this because the liveried servants, the groom and such like, were lounging around, playing dice and smoking. It was the common folk that were under fed. The liveried men were slovenly, unwashed and unmaintained. A sneaking suspicion, later proven to be false, began to form in my head that somewhere there would be some other kind of servant. A more, elite kind of servant that only attends on the Lord himself and his most favoured guests. These servants would be almost exclusively female, beautiful and would either be wearing not very much or would be almost completely see through.

I firmly admonished myself to keep a tight grip on my temper.

We were again kept waiting before someone arrived out of a side door to offer us the formal hospitality of the house. The hospitality of bread and salt was duly offered, the proper words were exchanged and we washed our hands and face before being shown to our rooms. The man who came to see us in this way did have the grace to apologise for Lord Cavill's absence but that “certain matters” were keeping his attention elsewhere. I commiserated of course and told him that I was at Lord Cavill's disposal if there was anything I could do to help with whatever problems were weighing on his mind. The servant took this with as good a grace as he could manage before handing us over to some more servants.

We were shown to our rooms which involved another power play as we were shown to rooms far to small for my station. A legitimate insult to me as even if I wasn't pretending to be a more uptight nobleman than I actually was, this was still little more than a servants room. I won't deny that I've slept in worse and been happy with it, but not when I've been travelling so openly as the son of a Baron and especially not as a Count. Future Count or not. I let Taylor argue the toss for a while and eventually he brow-beat the poor servant into obedience. The servant in question seemed to be of a lower status than the groom and the men-at-arms and I suspect that he had been ordered as to exactly how to treat us.

We moved to better quarters and settled in. Taylor sleeping against the door, at his own insistence despite my suggestions to take another room or at least sleep in the chair, Kerrass in another room and I settled down to make some notes and change for dinner. It's also another common trick for people to try and interrupt you while you're still changing for something and then pretend to be insulted when we weren't ready to receive the person in question. I sent Taylor out to see what could be seen and to see if he could make any friends. I doubted it as he had been throwing his weight around with giddy abandon but these are the things that you need to try.

Sure enough, we ended up being kept waiting for several hours before a servant came to enquire if Lord Frederick (notice the lack of titles) would care to attend upon Baron Cavill at his earliest convenience. It is the very height of bad manners to turn down such an invitation and as I was already waiting for them I declared, in a loud voice, that the sooner I could speak to Cousin Cavill then the sooner we could put an end to this threat that promised to swallow the entirety of the north.

It was probably a faint hope that such declarations would do any good other than to cause some gossip in the servants halls but even that kind of thing can have it's uses.

We collected Kerrass on our way down to the main hall, at my insistence I might add so that I could “have my professional consultant on hand so that the right honourable Lord Cavill would be able to hear about the threat from a suitably learned source,” and we were shown to the hall entrance.

There we were told, in excruciating and condescending detail, about the protocol that was expected at these kinds of things before the doors were opened and we were shown into what passed for the court of Lord Cavill.

The first thing that hit me in the face was that there were no women there. That says something. Both about the company of people that I was going into but also about me. That the first thing I notice is that there weren't any women.

I suppose that I've been lucky in that I've been surrounded by some amazing women in my life which is why this stood out so much to me.

But here's another thing. I'm told that, even in the older version of Nilfgaardian court, where women were expected to be seen and not heard. Where they dressed, deliberately, in drab colours in order to fade into the background in order to escape notice, the women still played an important role. Their job was to remember everything that their husband had forgotten. It wasn't a formal thing, nor was it a skill that was trained into them from a young age where their tutors and nannies told them that they would, one day, be a walking diary and notepad for their husbands, but that's what they were.

In the north, women are, or rather were since the various wars have done a considerable amount to cull the male population meaning that there is actually a much larger number of women fulfilling the courtly roles, the ornaments that hung off their husband's arms. Where the Northern Lords were expected to be masculine and wear martial clothing or hunting attire beneath their expensive robes and badges of office, the women became a way of showing off their wealth, wearing the jewels and the expensive dresses as well as looking as young and beautiful as possible which was another way of exhibiting the man's wealth and prestige.

But here there was none of that.

I felt like I was twelve again. The first time that I had been invited to join the “men” after dinner rather than having to go with the women as was proper for my childhood. Lots of men standing around smoking and drinking and eating food. Talking about self-important little things with their self-important little smirks and talking down to everyone and about everyone.

It was a courtroom as well. A large hall, obviously converted from something else into it's current form. Lord Cavill stood before a chair that I might as well call a throne. It wasn't as richly carved or decorated as any of the thrones that I have seen but at the same time, that was clearly what it was.

I'm struggling to describe the place.

Ok, here's a thing.