Chapter 46: Have you ever heard of the tragedy of the Princess Dorn?

Frederick's note: The following is the transcript of the interview that I performed with Kerrass a little while before we descended into the valley of thorns during our attempt to wake Sleeping Beauty. As best as I can, these are as close to Kerrass' actual words as I could manage. He always hates it when I do this as he feels as though he's being put on the spot. Which I am, so he's not entirely unjustified in his opinion. I think this is only the second time that I have done this with regards to my travel writings. Those people that are lucky/unlucky enough to have been subjected to my more academic work will know that I have conducted several more interviews with Kerrass on the subject of various monstrous species. But I've talked enough now. Over to Kerrass.

I have a little game I play.

I sometimes wonder if Frederick has caught on to my little game but so far he has given no signs of being wise to the depths of my cunning.

The aim of the game is to put him off when he's doing one of these little interview things of his. I may have given the game away at this point, now that I've said this aloud but that's all part of my cunning plan. I'm determined to make today the day that I manage to get under his skin.

The reason for the game is not particularly malicious. What I'm doing is entertaining myself at Frederick's expense. You see, he does this thing when he's interviewing me. It's like he freezes up and doesn't speak. He doesn't even give the impression that he's even looking at me. He just seems to stare at a point, somewhere around my collar bone and unfocus. It's an extraordinary act of concentration as he just sits there as my words flow into his ears, seemingly bypass his brain altogether where they flow out, through his hands and into the thin spidery writing that he refers to as “scholar's short hand”. I had much amusement once making him read those words back to me and it seemed that he wasn't...unaware of what he was writing down as when I prompted him on several subjects he seemed knowledgeable.

The other reason is that this level of concentration on one thing to the exclusion of all other things is so different from what I was taught. Yes, during a fight with a monster or creature I must be focused and determined but the input that I need to fight that fight comes from lots of different places. Only one of those things is my hearing and you also have to be aware of everything else that's going on around me. If you're in a cave and fighting a monster and some rock is disturbed behind you... Was that the creature? Or has our fight triggered the beginning of a cave in? So I have learnt to filter out everything that is surplus to the hunt but Frederick has gone one step further than that and has filtered out his own thoughts and experiences. His self-confessed biases and prejudices to just sit down to listen and write. An untainted view, a direct thing that I have said, written down and preserved on paper. It's as though, he becomes the pen and I am the writer for I could not write anything down nearly as quickly as seems to come so naturally to Frederick.

To write, just as much as Frederick has already written down over the course of this very conversation would have taken me hours and anyone watching this would have been entertained at the sight of a Witcher, tongue clamped firmly between his teeth as he struggled to make the words and the pen strokes go where they're supposed to go and in the right order.

I can see the benefit of course and I suspect that more people should have this skill.

It strikes me as being a little sad that even now, several centuries since humanity first landed on the banks of the Pontar and Yaruga, people still prefer my skills than Fredericks.

But that's a digression.

Frederick came downstairs this morning with something of a purpose. He had already eaten up in his room with his companion and they came down together. As they walked down the stairs, arm in arm, their heads bent together Freddie said something quietly that made her smile and he kissed her on her cheek before telling her that he would see her later. She smiled at him, glared at me and left.

I am glad for Freddie. He and Marion are well suited to each other. I met her for the first time eight years ago when I was last in these parts. She has a good heart which is often needed in this part of the world, is much more intelligent than I am and has a smile that lights up the room. That and her startling red hair means that she is rather hard to forget.

Still no reaction from Freddie.

I think that this visit has been good for Frederick. He has been through a lot since he first started travelling with me and he needed a break, although he would feel that this is more of a “working holiday” and I suspect that he resents me a little for bringing him here and subjecting him to the effects of this place without consulting me first.

I also think that Marion has been good for him.

Don't get me wrong. I remain convinced that he and Ariadne are perfect for each other. I think he grounds her in all of the right ways and she challenges him in the same way. He cannot see it yet but I think that, as he gets to know her and gets better at reading her emotions, he will begin to see how profoundly he has affected Ariadne and how much they could give each other.

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Having said that I think it's been good for him to have a little affair of the heart with a kind, gentle and good woman. Frederick has been withdrawn since he was subjected to the beast of Amber's Crossing, the night that almost cost him his soul. He has been afraid of many things that he did not need to be. One of those things was physical intimacy as well as more serious romantic feelings and commitments. I had been concerned that that might drive a wedge between him and Ariadne but Marion has found a little hole in Frederick's defences and has exposed that dark place to a light that was not as terrifying as he, Freddie, first thought it was. All Ariadne has to do now is to widen that hole and I think he will be snared.

I am glad.

I wonder if I could arrange a meeting between Marion and Ariadne so that they could exchange notes.

Nope, still no reaction.

He's really good at this.

So Frederick came downstairs and he had his writing satchel with him. The bag that contains his ink, paper, a bundle of quills, his sharpening knife and some blotting sand. I knew what I was in for then and I wasn't looking forward to it.

He sat opposite me and started setting out the tools of his trade before looking me straight in the eye.

“Kerrass,” he said after a while. “What the Fuck are we doing here?”

I rewarded him with a smile.

My companion, the innkeeper, did not bother to hide her amusement. The people here treat me with a kind of affectionate contempt. I will not hide the fact that they hate me and with good reason. The things that I did are unforgivable but having said that, I hope by now that they know that if they needed anything, anything at all, then I would come running. They don't approve of me but I understand that only they are allowed to hate me in this local area. Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

The innkeepers name is Sarah and she has been my companion the last couple of times that I've been here. I try not impose on her and she is mostly glad to leave me to my own devices. Her husband died in a logging accident and as such she is content to play mother hen to everyone that doesn't work down at the tree line which includes visitors and the other companions. She and I have come to an understanding. I leave her alone unless she needs me and vice versa. She has an unerring gift for knowing how to deflate my ego and to bring me crashing back down to the ground when I need it. I am more than a little devoted to her and, of all the people here, I would like to think that she understands me best.

She still hates me but I hope that it is a more....affectionate kind of hate.

Heh.

Still no reaction from Freddie.

So what are we doing here. It's a good question and I don't know if you can tell but I'm putting off answering it.

I have spoken before about the many trials that face a young Witcher. (Frederick's note: He hasn't, yet. Those conversations took place in that adventure in the north between when we first met Ariadne and we received notification of my fathers injury. I still intend to write those things up but this adventure was more immediately on my mind.) I have spoken about the three official trials and the other trials that come afterwards that no-one talks about. The trials of Heroism and the trial of Death.

I have also talked about some of the many things that have happened to me in my life that I am not as proud of. Those times where my personal journey led me aside from the path of the Witcher. I have briefly talked about my time as a bandit, assassin, innkeeper, thief and straight up murderer. I have always been drawn back to the life of a Witcher as it turns out that I am manifestly unsuited to any other line of work. If I look back at all of those times I can honestly say that I have made many mistakes. Not just the kind of mistake which means that I dodged left instead of right and got a new scar for my trouble. Instead I'm talking about those choices in life that I still regret.

This is one of them.

Of all of them, this is also the first thing that happened that caused me to hate myself.

I was still a young Witcher. I had been on the path for around four years. Still at the stage where I would return to the Feline keep during the Winter where the other newer Witchers would gather and exchange notes of all of the things that we had seen, swap potion recipes and observations on some of the monsters. Things that we had seen in our more...practical... experiences that are left out of the more formal Monster Manuals.

The older Witchers still looked down on us with a gruff kind of familiarity, affection and the same contempt that old folk always show towards younger people. There was no maliciousness there though, they were just wary of making friends with the more inexperienced people when they might be dead over the next year on the path. We would also take great delight in tormenting the young novices, helping out in their training and visiting every torment that we had saved up from our own training on the new kids. It was a good time I think. My own little madness had not yet reared it's head and I was still enamoured with the lifestyle of being a Witcher. Someone who's coming is a looked for respite from the darkness and danger that surrounds us.

Just before the Winter weather had closed in on us I had been lucky enough to snag a contract with one of the more local lords. There was pair of Griffins that were attacking his flock and he had offered a rather large purse to anyone who could bring them down. The majority of my fellows had passed on the contract as they were in a rush to get back to the keep. I however harboured an ambition.

I had begun to want to travel and see the rest of the world. The area local to the keep was well covered in Witchers and the local villagers could depend on a Witcher turning up to deal with whatever problem that they were having in fairly short order. They still didn't like us, the madness of our school still manifested itself occasionally and as such, those same villagers had learned to fear us. But I had begun to want to see strange shores and distant lands. To see and battle new monsters that I had not seen before and bring news of them back to the school.

So I took the contract and pocketed a large sum of money from the Lord on the grounds that he hadn't wanted to wait until Spring for the problem to be removed.

Come Spring I took the money and bought passage on a ship with the farthest to go which turned out to be the Southern part of the Empire.

I landed. One of the few times that I have actively given thanks to my teachers for making me learn how to speak several languages and I set to work.

At first I was disappointed. The only difference between Southern Nilfgaard and the north seemed to be in the language that they spoke. There were the same monsters, the same petty squabbles, the same assumptions as to the Witcher's trade. There was even the same arrogance about people other than themselves. They would loudly declare how much better they were than the north using almost identical turns of phrase for this including, but not limited to “Their woman don't wash, their beer stinks of piss and everyone is rude and uncouth.” I have heard many people in the north comment about the people in the south in much the same way.

Sad really that humanities similarities are vast but only serve to push them apart.

But anyway, I'm digressing.

I came south, there were some monster variants and there were some small differences and so on but it wasn't different enough to gather comment.

I was just beginning to save up some money for the sea voyage to come back when I was passing some place that had a noticeboard by the side of some tavern. I don't know where it was but I remember scanning the noticeboard for anything that might be of interest. It's a habit that they try and get you into back at school “Don't walk past a notice-board without checking it out,” they would say. “You never know what's going to be on the board, or what it might tell you. Not just the notices for the various Witcher jobs but also the other notices that might tell you that there's a monster nearby and no-one has realised it yet. A little girls lost dog might let you know that there are several lost dogs which leads you to some kind of marsh hag that is capturing and eating the local canines.”

I remember checking this one out and as well as the usual kind of “Lost rake,” and “Flax for sale,” there was also a Witcher's notice.

There is an art to taking out a Witcher's notice. The very least of matters is what the message says. In this case, the message read “Witcher wanted. Medium term contract. Discretion required. Apply at Castle Bortrund,” which basically told me sweet fuck all as it is a mistake to try and guess what's going on without all the necessary data. The comment about discretion suggested that there might be an attempt to keep me quiet at the end of the contract but if that method of keeping me quiet was going to be out and out murder rather than, say, a hefty purse, then I thought that they wouldn't have put anything about discretion on the original advert.

However there were several other things that could be guessed from the notice. First of all the notice was made from wood. It is a mistake to assume that notices are always paper because at the end of the day, weather happens and paper and ink tend not to stand up to heavy rain. You get notices on leather, or cloth mostly. Carving wood takes extra effort and is designed in the knowledge that someone might not see it for some time and that therefore they should build the notice to last.

The notice was next to the inn where I intended to spend the night. I spent the evening asking around for information regarding Castle Bertrand and to see if it was something that I should be concerned about or whether I could go to the meeting and expect to actually get paid for my work rather than finding some overstuffed Lord who expects that the entire world revolves around him and that people should do what he wants them to on the grounds that he was the lord.

After asking around and getting the normal kind of glares which can basically be translated into “You're not from round here are you?” I bought a round of drinks and people soon started loosening up. Lord Bertrand was an older man who had managed to marry into the royal family. The lady in question had died in childbirth but had managed to produce a son at the same time which, at that time was the presumed “Prince” of the local area.

As an aside I should mention that the term “Emperor” was just coming into fashion. Emperor means “King of Kings” in their language and so it had kind of become another layer of nobility on top of royal family so now it went Baron-Marquis-Count-Duke-King-Emperor. So the locals still saw themselves as Kingdoms with their own royal families. These various Kingdoms now form the majority of Nilfgaards ruling families.

The Bortrund family seemed to be relatively well to do. They were as fair as any noble families in that day and age, not oppressing their folks as much as some and being generally fair to the various people that lived in their territories. Importantly though, and this was the part that I was checking for, they had a reputation for honour. They paid their debts and once having given their word, they didn't go back on it. I took that on board and in the morning I put on my best “Witcher face” and rode up to the castle.

It has to be said that for everything that would happen later and in my life since then, that was one of, if not the, best and most courteous receptions that I've ever had as a Witcher.

It was a nice castle, smaller than yours (Frederick: my families) but it still had a nice “working castle” feeling to it. There were soldiers drilling, a couple of knights tilting at the dummy. Supplies being piled up and the whole thing was conducted to the music of blacksmiths hammers. I dismounted and walked up to the gate where the guardsmen there saluted me, which was a courtesy that I wasn't really used to, and a messenger was sentto let someone know that I had arrived.

A squire to the family came down, young lad of maybe fifteen years old, dressed in the castle livery and with a sword belted at his hip but he walked easily with it. Holding it properly so that it didn't trip him up which is something that a lot of younger people forget when they've been given an important task.

He was all courtesy, a groom took my horse and I was led up to the keep. I was asked if I had eaten and whether or not I needed or wanted to freshen up leaving me feeling as though I was being treated as a guest rather than as some kind of mercenary. I was led into the castle, I wasn't asked to remove my sword which is always a good sign when it comes to probably not being murdered on the spot and was led down some halls and into a private reception room. There was a table, a map, a desk and several chairs of various comfort levels ranging from solid wood to cushioned couch.

I met Lord Bortrund and Prince Jakob Bortrund who were talking before a fire. They were discussing a trade taxing tariff of some kind with someone I took to be a merchant. Lord Bortrund was a an older man, good looking in an elderly, distinguished kind of way. I thought that if he put his mind to it he could still cause a stir amongst the various maids in the castle. He waved me to a chair while they finished their discussions.

Now as I've said before, it's absolutely vital to listen carefully in this kind of situation. I was in a strange castle with strangers who I had heard very little about. I knew their language but at the same time that means absolutely nothing when it comes to things like idioms or codes. I listened carefully, reversed the chair so that I could sit and still get to my feet as quickly as possible, made sure that I had my back to a piece of wall that wasn't covered by a piece of tapestry so that I could see the door, window and all other entrances and spent the few minutes that I had while I waited, studying the room.

As I say, it was a private reception room that I guess was meant for those more private, back-room deals that seem to make the world keep moving in the direction that everyone thinks that it should be. The kind of place that two people who need everyone to think that they hate each other but actually get on quite well, that kind of place. There was a drinks table that had several bottles on it as well as a decanter of wine and water. The desk was covered with a map which I couldn't identify at this angle but there were also several other small bags and pouches on the table that had been pushed to one side. The bags had labels on them which I couldn't read.

Lord Bortrund finished the business with the merchant while his son listened closely while feigning disinterest. I had heard of such tricks before where the lord's son and presumed heir pretends to be incompetent and stupid in order to trick those people who are watching and listening into being overconfident. I didn't think that the merchant was falling for it though as after a couple of pieces of small talk the Prince was asked about his future marriage plans. The Prince shrugged offhandedly and made a non-committal comment that was trying to come off as though he didn't really care but again, I don't think that the merchant was convinced.

The merchant left and I rose to my feet as Lord Bertrand turned to me.

Etiquette is a tricky business. I had been taught much during my training about the various ways to bow and under what circumstances. This time I chose a wary looking stiff bow, the kind that soldiers might give, with my hands by my side and still maintaining eye contact.

Lord Bertrand surprised me by smiling and holding his hand out to be shaken.

“None of that Master Witcher,”

“Kerrass, Lord Bertrand. Kerrass of Maecht.”

“It is Master Witcher isn't it. I don't want to insult your guild by suggesting rank where there is none, or too little rank when the prestige should be higher.”

I smiled. It wasn't a new comment to me. This man knew how to deal with guilds-men and was aware that masters of their craft cost more money. He was already bargaining the price down.

“I cannot speak for other Witcher schools Lord Bertrand but I belong to the Feline school. If we are not masters of our craft then we are not allowed to walk our path. Anything other than a Master Witcher is rotting in a cave somewhere.”

The Prince laughed and Lord Bertrand smiled. “Very good, very good. I was just a bit concerned as you seem a little young to be a craftsmaster.”

Another common gambit. “It's the mutations Lord, I am actually much older than I look.”

I'm always careful not to call someone 'My Lord' in case it gives them the wrong idea.

“I see, I see. Well, the least we can do is offer you something to drink while we discuss the contract that we have in mind. Wine?”

“Yes please,” I was already used to the fact that they drank more wine in the south than the ale that I still preferred.

“Water?” asked the Prince who was pouring.

“Yes please, plenty of water while discussing things.”

I noticed Lord Bertrand nodding again as though I had passed another test.

“Is it too early in proceedings to ask if you have any going rates? Are there set prices and things?”

Lord Bertrand asked while the Prince handed over a pair of cups.

“There are not, Lord Bertrand as prices depend on costs, danger and required method. One monster is different from another but also... You have Centipedes on your lands?”

“Not us but a neighbour has. I saw one while hunting with him once. Terrifying. And we only saw the portion that came out of the ground.”

“Precisely. But there is also a difference between an old centipede that has been established in an area versus a young centipede that is new to the area but is also guarding their young.”

“What an unpleasant thought.”

The Prince seemed happy to let his father do most of the talking and was watching carefully. He had dropped the earlier pretence of lack of interest.

“It is, and should be. But one would require me to lure the beast to the surface and destroy it. The other requires me to go into the burrow and destroy the eggs as well. Two jobs that are about Giant centipedes but both are so different.”

“I see, I see.”

“The way I prefer to work, Lord Bertrand, is that the client, yourself, tells me what the problem is. I have a look at the problem and see if it's workable. While I'm doing that I tend to require Room and board. When I have a plan I can then deliver an estimate of cost to the client. You can then pay me or not as the case may be and if one or other of us is not happy, then I walk away with no obligation.”

“Sounds sensible enough.”

“So the question to be asked is, what do you need from me?”

“It is both complicated and simple. I will let my son explain as this is his project really.”

“Wait,” I jumped in. A sudden premonition gripped me that this job was going to be a political one. “I should say up front that I am not a politician. I am neither assassin (This was a lot earlier in my career) nor am I a bodyguard. I also make it a requirement that I know everything that there is to know about the job.”

“We understand. Perhaps it would be better if we all sat down to discuss things.”

I decided to risk a comment.

“This sounds like there might be a story to it.”

The Prince laughed and I decided that I liked the young prince as we all sat down.

“The long and short of it is this.” Lord Bertrand began. “My son is planning an expedition.”

“That's not normally Witchers work.” I put in.

Lord Bertrand smiled. “You know I've never met a craftsman so determined to talk himself out of a contract before.”

I smiled with him. “No, Lord but I find it saves a lot of time and unpleasantness later if I am upfront and honest with you.”

“Well said. Do you know of my son's position?”

“What my father means to ask is, do you know about the family situation?”

“Please be honest with us Witcher. Again, it will save time.”

I considered for a moment. A nobilities desire for honesty balanced with a Witchers desire to keep his own head.

“I know that you, Lord Bertrand married a member of the royal family. I know that the only result of that union was the Prince. Beyond that, I'm afraid I know nothing.” That wasn't strictly true, I knew plenty of rumour and innuendo but I didn't think it would be political to talk about that here and now.

“Well, the problem is a bit broader than that. The King, may he reign for many years yet, is advancing in years and is now on his third wife. Not a one of those wives has ever produced a son, they've only produced daughters. Those daughters were used in the normal way of being married off to the Kings nobles in an effort to try and maintain our loyalty. There have however been several sons born of several of those marriages however.”

“I think I begin to see the problem.”

“Indeed. To make matters even more interesting, the eldest Princes was born to the youngest daughter. My son is the middle Prince but born of the Kings eldest daughter. Several of the Kings advisor's, including me, want the King to choose an heir to avoid the prospect of civil war but what this means practically, is that people are playing favourites and jostling each other for position. There are three Grandsons. Objectively and within these four walls, all three have valid arguments as to why it should be them that sits on the throne. Obviously it should be my son who gets there.”

“Obviously,” put in the Prince with a smile,

Lord Bertrand smiled a little for himself. “But there is no telling, on any given day, who the King is going to choose. The King is also, no longer a healthy man and his physicians as well as his court Wizard claim that he could liver for another four years but at the same time, the next messenger at my door could be the royal herald that tells us that the King is dead.

“Again, between these four walls, I secretly think that the King is enjoying himself. All of us attached to these heirs are throwing gifts and favours his way in an effort to sway him one way or another and he wants for no comfort. If it wasn't my son that was involved then I would say that he deserves his retirement. At the moment the whole thing is kind of funny to everyone and the populace are kind of enjoying the whole thing. However that might change at a moments notice. Some of the older and more steady lords are beginning to predict that the problem will erupt into violence soon and that it's only a matter of time before the first assassin is sent out.”

“As I say, Lord, I am no bodyguard.”

“No, no. We have people for that. But... this is where my son takes over the story.”

The prince cleared his throat.

“What this is all about is who can curry the most favour with the King as well as who can be the most deserving of the crown. My cousins and I are all relatively clever, none of us are married as the use of potential spouses could make or break our claims. So we are all doing things that would sway the King over to our way of thinking. I think I have found one. An artefact that is contained within the castle of a neighbouring Kingdom.”

“I take it that it's not as simple as just wandering over there and asking if we can borrow it.”

“Not quite,” the Prince grinned.

“Tell me Witcher. Have you ever heard of the tragedy of the Princess Dorn?”

(Frederick's note: I've since looked this up. The name roughly means Thorn. Making her name, in this case, Princess Thorn if it was translated into the Northern tongue.)

“I haven't. I've spent most of my career in the North,”

“Princess Dorn was from a neighbouring Kingdom although no-one goes there now. Around forty years ago, the Kingdom was cursed by a powerful Sorceress who was angry with the royal family there. Apparently it was some matter regarding an insult given despite services being rendered.”

“We have books on the subject if you want to read up on the subject.” Lord Bertrand put in. I nodded my gratitude.

“But anyway, the entire Kingdom was put under a curse which means that everyone within the Kingdoms bounds fell instantly asleep. There were other effects as well which means that huge Thorn trees have sprouted from the ground and grow at an unnatural rate which means that people can't get into the Kingdom itself.”

“There is also a dragon.”

I sighed theatrically.

“Don't worry. We don't want you to slay the dragon. We are well aware of Witchers feelings on that matter.” Lord Bertrand said with a smile.

“Here's the thing. In the valley itself is a tower which was where the centre of the then Kingdom used to be. What we want you to do is to help protect the expedition on it's journey to the tower. Do what need to be done there and then bring them back out again.”

“Why do you need a Witcher then?”

“We know several things about that area. We know that there is a large magical effect over the entire valley. We know that it effects everyone and that we have to spend some time getting used to the effects before we actually head in to the valley itself. We also know that just about the entirety of the original Kingdom died under the effects of the magic.”

“You are concerned about animated corpses.”

“And spirits. It can't be a pleasant death to die under the effects of endless sleep. Waiting for the morning that would never come.”

“You are not wrong there.”

“So we have a good tracker on staff. Several trained soldiers that are going along for the protection of the Prince himself and a Priest.”

“A priest?”

“Yes. To ward off evil.”

The ability to keep a perfectly straight face is a skill that is trained into you from a young age when you are a Witcher. The mutations help but there is also a certain talent to it.

“I see. So the job is that I escort this group into this magical Kingdom, spend enough time in there to recover whatever thing or artefact it is that we need and then come out.”

“That's pretty much it, yes.”