Chapter 52: I hope it hurts

Frederick's note: Straight into Kerrass' narrative here.

Two guards still worked with Duke Bertrand and I set my sights at them next. I had discovered that the Prince had gone off to stay with the King to plead his case for inheritance before the King himself. He had a number of guards with him and one of those was the fourth man that I was hunting by the name of Matthes.

The remaining two, Mark (Frederick's note: Not to be confused with my brother) and Gunther still worked with the Duke himself. They were the kind of dependable men that a garrison is built on. Relatively quiet and calm men. Unimaginative enough to follow orders and do their duties without comment or thought for anything else.

Two men. I knew where they lived and what their habits were so what I hoped for was that I would be able to just dart into the Duke's lands and then come back out again to travel towards the King's castle as fast as I could. Hopefully just ahead of whatever men would inevitably be sent after me.

For no real reason I decided that Mark would be the first man that I went after. I snuck into his home while he was out and at his duties and left him his note. He was a young man and had been “walking out” with the miller's daughter. She was a young lady who was considered a local beauty and was emerging as one of the frontrunners for her hand in marriage. When he wasn't on duty he would invariably be looking for a bunch of flowers or some small gift that he could use to gain some kind of favour with the girl. In all things he seemed a diligent kind of man. He trained and worked hard. You can find men like him in every garrison on the continent

I left him his note and watched as he returned home from wherever he was. I saw him go inside and sit up for a few moments more before extinguishing his candles and, presumably, sleeping.

I left then for my camp-site and slept the night away and woke early. I went to the clearing that I had set aside for our meeting and settled into wait. I didn't expect for him to arrive at all but I was pleasantly surprised when I saw Mark coming down the pathway and into the clearing. He carried his scabbarded sword in one hand and a bottle in the other. He was dressed in his shirtsleeves, plain trousers and boots. His hair was tied back with a piece of leather and he was smiling when he saw me.

I will not deny that I was astonished.

“Witcher?” he said in greeting with a smile and a wave. “I had wondered if you would come to me eventually.”

“Mark,” I was careful in my wording. I had no idea what was happening but if his intention was to unsettle me before the fighting of a duel then he was entirely successful.

“May I sit?”

“Please.” I gestured. And he sat on the floor and crossed his legs.

“Before you start,” he said, grinning at my expression. “Yes, I understand that I'm here to fight a duel.”

“I had wondered.” I commented. “Your lack of mail, seconds of any kind and coming while carrying a bottle of what looks to be some rather fine looking Rye.”

“Yes well.” He took the bottle and opened it. “I am under no illusions Witcher. I am a competent swordsman at best. People say that I have skill but I know the truth. I am far better with a crossbow and everything that I have with a sword is due to hard work rather than any kind of talent.”

“So why no mail?”

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“Would it help? Or would it just serve to prolong things when matters are all but a foregone conclusion.” He offered me the bottle. “Don't take this the wrong way though. I intend to fight and fight hard. I know that some things in a fight can be influenced by even the smallest detail and I absolutely intend to take advantage of any gap that you might offer.”

I took the bottle, sniffed it and took a swig.

“Good then,” I commented.

He laughed at me. “Admit it Witcher, you are astonished.”

“I will admit it and freely.”

“Then at least I have achieved that much.”

“You are not angry?”

“No. In many ways I find that it's something of a relief.” A shadow fell across the young man's face and then he sighed before taking the bottle back. “I cannot deny that those events have weighed on my mind. Not as much as with poor Gottfried I will admit. I tried to talk to him about it a couple of times but he didn't want to. If anything it seemed to make it worse. But I cannot deny that we deserve what we've got coming to us.”

“Yes. Yes I suppose we do.”

“Including yourself Witcher?” Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

“Oh yes. My sin was one of cowardice. I should have done something there and then. I should have tried to stop it and then...I should have seen it coming and taken steps.”

“What, murder us all in our sleep?”

“I don't know.”

“Or would you not have taken the contract in the first place? Be honest now Witcher.” He accused me with a smile and the offer of the bottle.

“You are probably right. I'm a Witcher. My code is clear, we don't take part in this kind of thing. As soon as I realised that the contract had become political I should have just left the entire thing altogether.”

“The Prince would have found someone else.”

“I know. That doesn't help me at all.”

“So here we are. A soldier and a Witcher. About to do our very best to kill each other.”

“As you say.”

We sat in silence for a little while.

“Can I tell you something Witcher?”

“By all means.”

“My father was a soldier you know. Made it to Sergeant of the guard. Not quite personal guard but at the same time he was a good soldier and when he died, the Duke was good enough to send flowers. I remember the day that I told him that I wanted to be a soldier like him. He never beat me harder than he beat me that day.”

He laughed at the memory. “I sometimes got into trouble because the marks that his belt left made other men think that I had been flogged and they were a lot slower to trust me. I think he was sorry for it because after that, from the age of eight he arranged for me to spend time with every craftsman or working man in the castle. I worked with the horses, the blacksmith, the grooms and some of the servants. I never found out why but I suspect that he was attempting to see if I had interest in other trades. But all I ever did was to play with swords and march up and down.

“In the end, on the day before my fourteenth name-day he summoned me to his office. “Tomorrow, my son, you will be a man,” he says to me. “If you truly wish to be a soldier then you will be taken into the garrison with my blessing. You will have to work hard to get past my name and others will hate you for it and think that any advancement you make will be due to my influence.” “I understand father” I said but in truth I was bouncing with joy.

“''But,” he went on. “I have brought you here in the hopes that you will listen to me one last time as your father before I am your Sergeant.” I remember distinctly that he rose and walked round his desk. He was a well-respected man my father and he needed a small desk of his own to work out duty rosters and the like. He got up and walked round before falling to his knees before me. I remember being astonished to see my father abase himself before me like that. “I am begging you my son. I am on my knees. Do not become a soldier.”

“I asked him why. “Because in becoming a soldier you lose your own will. Your own sense of right and wrong. You are a good lad and I'm proud to call you my son. If you become a soldier you will lose that. I have known bad soldiers with a history of drunkenness and violence weep at the sight of corpses. But I've also known good men and good soldiers. Fine family men with spouses and children who went mad after a battle and became rapists, thieves and murderers. In performing those acts they pressure other good men into degrading themselves. I would not have that happen to my son. So please, my son. Choose another profession.”

Mark smiled at the memory.

“Poor old man. I chose the soldiery, because I was young and full of visions of glory and honour and chivalry. I suspect it broke his heart as he died a year later.”

“That's no excuse.”

“I know, I know. I was just thinking that... He was right. Poor old man. I don't know why I did what I did. I really don't. I will admit that it was fun at the time but later....”

He shook his head, took a swig and handed the bottle back.

“I've been living with those few days that we spent with the Princess ever since. I've tried to better myself since, I'm studying and learning to read as well as poetry and stuff so that I might become a knight in one of the chivalric orders in an effort to try and...atone for my crime. But even despite all of that, as I say it was almost a relief when I got your note. Now I shall be judged by your blade and before the sight of the holy sun.”

“Are you ready then?”

“Not quite.”

We sat and drank for a little while longer. I will admit that I was starting to have second thoughts.

“You know Witcher. I was brought up on stories of chivalry. We are both guilty men,” He held his hands up to forestall my protest, “No, I'm not meaning to say that my guilt is less than yours. I committed the deed and I expect to answer for it. But here we are... I remember tales of knights who fought to the death despite firm friendship. They would share a drink before hand and swear eternal friendship and forgive each other their injuries despite the coming battle.”

I nodded.

“I did wrong Witcher. I know it and should you win the day then please know that I forgive you that death and please accept my apologies for any harm or hurt that I might have done you.”

“Accepted and with my thanks.” I managed. I found that I was moved.

“Grateful to you Witcher. Grateful to you.”

We finished the bottle in silence.

In the end Mark rose, stretched.

“One last favour Witcher if I may. I know that it won't make much difference in the long run. I also know that it doesn't excuse what I did. But will you tell her that I am sorry? When she wakes up I mean.”

“I will.”

He nodded and stretched again.

“What a beautiful day. I am glad Witcher, that you chose to share a drink with me.”

“In friendship Mark. In friendship.”

“Then, if I may.” He drew his sword and threw the scabbard away. “May I wish you luck of the day.”

“And to you.”

He saluted me and I bowed in answer.

He did himself credit. He underplayed his skills when describing them earlier. He fought with tenacity and determination. He fought like a man who wanted to live but I suspect, deep down, that he was waiting for the final stroke when it came. I think he wanted it.

I killed him as quickly as I could given the circumstances.

I arranged his body, sword on his chest with his hands around the hilt and covered his face with my spare blanket.

I would have wept if I had been able.

Then I made a mistake. It's easy to call it a stupid mistake with the benefits of hindsight but time was pushing me on at that point. It was the middle of summer and I was very conscious of the passage of time. I was done with the south. I wanted to be done with it, with Sleeping Beauty and this whole mess. I wanted it to be done. To either live or die, whatever the outcome might be, catch a boat back north and drink myself into oblivion before returning to feline keep for a winter away from the world where I would be surrounded by my brothers on the path and absolutely no ambiguities. There was the monster. I kill the monster. I get paid. End of story.

So what I did was to go straight after Gunther.

I had also been moved by Mark's actions. It had taken some courage to face me like that and to do so in a way that he left no hard feelings afterwards. At the time I felt that he was an even better man than Gottfried for he had faced his problems head on. He had taken the past, what he had seen and done and tried to make himself a better man for it. Then when it became obvious that the past was coming for him regardless of what he had done, he had faced that without flinching. I admired Mark whereas it struck me that Gottfried had run away from his problems rather than face them.

Now I find that I am not as sure.

But still.

The night immediately following Mark's death I left a note for Gunther. He was another career soldier, well into his twenties. A skilled workhorse but not to flashy. He would never advance beyond the rank of Sergeant if he was lucky but at the same time he was dependable. I found out that he had married a camp follower while out on campaign in the early part of his career, although there were several children the two saw very little of each other and both seemed to prefer it that way.

I waited for a while, not knowing what would happen, in the vain and rather naïve hope that he would follow Mark's example and come to find me.

In the end I had to go looking for him.

In my defence I was anxious to leave. At this point I had killed two men in the local area. A washed up huntsman who no-one really liked anymore but I was under no illusions. Mark was found dead, Erick was dead, Alphonse had “disappeared” under mysterious circumstances and Gottfried had also been killed. It wouldn't take long for someone to realise what the connecting tissue was. But I wanted to get on. I wanted Gunther, Matthes and the prince dead beneath my sword.

But I should have been more careful.

When he didn't appear I went into town to check. He had been on duty in the early hours of the morning and then, leaving the castle he had marched into a tavern and proceeded to do some damage to his weekly pay by drinking it away.

I went in and found him at a table in the middle of the place.

I bet you can see what's coming.

I did not.

I sat at the table. Gunther eyed me from the rim of his cup.

“Witcher,” he greeted me.

“Gunther.”

“I got your note. Both the one in my house as well as the one you left outside Erick's cottage and on Mark's corpse.”

I said nothing and did my best not to react.

“I've been thinking about what to do next. I guessed it was you of course.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Not many people were good enough to beat Mark in a straight fight. I'm better of course but at the same time. He was good enough with the sword. Foolish and naïve of course. I saw the body you know?”

I said nothing.

“The sword that performed those cuts would have to be razor sharp. So, I thought to myself. A razor edged sword and a swordsman good enough to cut Mark down when Mark had a blade in his hand? That duel must have been a sight to see. Stupid fool. He was a good shot mind you. You're lucky that he didn't shoot you from a distance. That's what I would have done but that's why I'm the better soldier. That's why I'm going to survive.”

I said nothing. He took another long drink not taking his eyes off me.

“So then with Alphonse, Erick and Gottfried having gone off. It just had to be you. Heh. I didn't like them much. Mark though, Mark was a good lad all things considered. Just needed to grow up a bit and stop thinking of the world in black and white.”

“He was at that. A good man.”

“I'm better though.”

“Care to prove that?”

Gunther smiled.

“I'll give you this one chance Witcher. You were a companion on the road and for that I owe you. Here is that chance. Walk away now. Never come back or you will be torn apart in the castle courtyard by horses.”

“You know I'm not going to do that.”

“I know but I felt that I had to give you a chance to walk away.”

“Some chance.”

He grinned at me. “I don't get it Witcher. These things happen all the time. We're soldiers, we live in fear for our lives all the time and then suddenly, when that fear goes away. When the battle is won or when the castle is taken or the town falls. That fear explodes outwards. That feeling is indescribable and that's when you know. You really know that you're alive. We're not in control of our actions then. **** is the right of the conqueror. The Skelligans are known for it. They go a-raiding for a bit of *** and pillaging. Why aren't you killing all of them. Armies have sacked towns and cities since towns, cities and armies were invented. ***, murder and looting has been happening as part of those things for as long. Why aren't you railing against those people?

“Because I wasn't part of that. You are right about the need to feel alive though. I am a Witcher and some people claim that I am not human and that I don't feel or recognise human emotions. They may be right because after a good hunt when I have been in danger of having lost my life several times but at the same time I made it out and I was triumphant. I too have gone out of my way to get laid and drunk off my tits as an affirmation of my own continued existence. But I always make sure that the girl is willing. Always. Even if I've paid for it. That's the difference here. If that makes me less human? Then I can live with that.”

“Ah but there's another thing Witcher. I am a guard. I was given permission by my liege lord. That's how feudalism works. He told me I could therefore I did.”

“But the decision was still yours Gunther. You could have said no.”

“I could have. But I didn't.”

“And now you must pay for it. Join me outside?”

“I've thought about that.”

“And?”

“Nah.” He took a mouthful of what he had been drinking and spat it in my face. It was water. He pushed the table into my guts and sprang to his feet drawing his sword. He was echoed by another half dozen or so swords being drawn.

I tumbled backwards and rolled to my feet, drawing my sword as I did so giving it a spin in an effort to drive off my immediate assailants.

Then I took a moment to swear hard for a few moments. I couldn't do it for long though. I kicked up the table onto it's side and used a sign to send it into a group of men that were coming from the left. I grabbed another bottle which I thought from the shape of the thing that it might contain some kind of strong alcohol. An assailant was coming from my right. I parried with my sword, smashed the bottle over his head splashing the liquid all over him. On some level I must have realised that it was a strong alcohol of some kind as I kicked him in the gut sending him backwards and following it up with a shower of sparks from my hand with a quick sign of Igni. I was gratified as flames lit up.

There was a man between me and the door. I was already tired from two signs in as many seconds and I decided that I needed room to move and think. I charged the man and shoulder checked him through the door and into the street, splinters of wood falling around us. I used the body of the man as a cushion and rolled off him and back to my feet.

To stay and fight or to take to my heels and live to fight another day. But that decision was taken out of my hands as I faced another four blades outside. I guessed that there would be another four blades at the back of the tavern. So Seven in the tavern (Frederick's note: Gunther plus six men) four in front of me and another four men at the back. Fifteen men in total.

I had one piece of luck though. The men in front of me had halberds and the space was far too small for the proper use of them.

Facing them after a roll I took another roll to be under the blades and amongst the poles and the men. One hand on the hilt and another half way up the blade I spun in place and cut into the man on each side of me before I pushed past them. I felt one of those blows go deep. I ran for a second or two.

I wanted space. Room to move and room to think.

I was in a market place. It looked as though I was free to hit anything moving though. The guards had cleared the area of people. I grabbed a basket of something as I passed it out on a stall and hurled it behind me.

My pursuers were shouting to each other, trying to coordinate things to cut me off. One man leapt out of a side ally. He tried to cut horizontally. The mistake often comes in these situations to try and spin away from the attacker to avoid the blow. But I went close to the man. Slammed the man's head into a wall. I don't think I did more than make his head ring and did more damage to the wall than to his head but I grabbed him and sent him behind me as well.

More space. More room. Probably a vain hope at the moment. There was a table off to one side. I jumped onto the table top and then jumped up to lever myself up and through the window of a nearby building. A startled young couple shrank away from me as I ran through the room vaulting over the bed and through the window on the other side of the building. I landed hard, bounced off the opposite building and ran back in the direction of the tavern in the hope that some of the guards would assume that I would keep running in the general direction of “away. One guard came through though. I levelled my sword and ran him through. He was in uniform though so I knew that it wasn't Gunther.

I sped on.

I came round the corner and could then see the front of the tavern again. Two men. Neither was Gunther. But it might cut down the number of men pursuing me.

No time for indecision. Make a move.

I ran out. The first man saw me but I was fast on him. It only takes the tip of a blade to kill a man. Just an inch of razor sharp metal. I used that tip to rip out the poor man's throat. The other man had his sword out. I ducked under the swing and spun aside. I wanted to avoid the clash of metal on metal to try and prevent others being called. I used the spin to cut into the back of the man's leg. My sword cut through and to the bone. He screamed but I was confident that at least he was out of the fight. Three men. Three men dead or out of the fight. But the guard was still screaming and more men were coming.

I ran again.

If I was more optimistic I might hope that another man might be removed from the fight to care for the wounded but I decided that now was not the time for optimism.

More shouts.

I took a deep breath. I was tired. Too tired by some margin. But the men were getting closer. Like all Witchers I keep a couple of potions designed for quick use on my belt. I found the one that I wanted, swallowed and threw the bottle away so that it smashed. I felt the effects rush from my throat, into my belly, into my lungs. It tracked along my spine and into my brain. Down my arms and legs and into my fingertips. I would pay for it later. But for now I smiled.

I sketched a quick sign onto the floor. The men were nearly on me. I grinned and hoped my face looked terrible.

Then I charged.

The first man tried for a lunge. I parried, pushing his blade aside and moved past him. I ducked under the next stroke and went for a swung a horizontal strike that cut at the man's kidney area. I felt my blade go deep.

Another man dead or dying. The third man was not charging. He was on his back foot and swung at my neck. I parried but then he struck again towards my groin. Another parry but this was taking too long. More men were coming and another man was behind me.

I threw another wave of sparks in front of me. The man staggered backwards and I stabbed him in the groin. A fountain of blood was my reward.

I spun to face the man behind me depending on the falling corpse to protect my back.

Man number one had recovered from his missed stroke and he struck at my head. On sudden impulse I decided not to punish his bravery for being the first man to attack at me and I punched him hard in the jaw. It might have broken his jaw but he would live.

More men were behind me. I retreated fast, past my trap and the first three men were caught. They slowed and I saw one man fall vomiting. The other two got the glassy eyed look that I was hoping for. Two quick strikes and I was another two attackers down. But there were more coming. By the sounds of it the full garrison was on it's way.

But. I was convinced that this was it. That I would never get a better chance than this to get at Gunther. Six men dead. I ran around the cottages. Time for a bit of stealth. I put my sword away and drew my dagger. People moved around. They were looking for me. Shouting out instructions, sightings both true and false.

High ground. That was what I needed.

Another man died at my hands. Throat cut from behind. I left the man in the open. Another uniformed man killed. Another man murdered.

But he served his purpose. People were drawn towards him like men towards a flame. One of the strange things about people is...It has been remarked upon many times by others more learned than I... People simply don't look up. I lay flat on that roof top for several minutes. I took another potion to keep myself moving and with enough energy to fight. There was a gap and I took it, moving over to another, higher building. Then another, more and more I saw the same patterns. People simply not looking up and I grew bolder. I made it over to one of the town watchtowers where I climbed up to the top.

There was a guard there of course.

A blow of my dagger's pommel knocked him down and I followed up with a boot to finish his journey into unconsciousness. I stole his tabbard and his helmet which made for a quick disguise. I looked out.

I found Gunther in about ten minutes. He was in amongst the other soldiers. Helping to direct matters. They knew that I was coming for him and they wanted him protected in case I tried something. I took my sword off and tucked it into my belt in what I hoped approximated to a soldiers style.

If I hesitated. If I had second thoughts. I swallowed them. There would never be a better time.

I walked up. Nice and slowly. No rushing. Just taking it one step at a time.

I walked up behind Gunther. And tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me sir.”

“You don't have to call me sir. I'm a Corporal Guardsman. I work for a living.”

He looked at me. It took him a solid ten heartbeats to realise who I was. I stabbed him in his gut.

“I hope it hurts you bastard.” I said to him quietly.

I ripped the blade upwards

“Mark was twice the man you were you son of a bitch.”

He groaned. People were starting to shout and holler.

I pushed him backwards and he fell. The dagger was still in my hand. He seemed to curl up around the wound as if by surrounding it and holding it close like a frightened animal he could keep it safe so that it wouldn't kill him.

He screamed.

Horribly.

I walked away.

Someone shouted and I ran.

I had to kill one more man. They were beginning to stretch out in a line behind me so I spun and killed the man closest to me. It made them start to consider their own mortality and suddenly they weren't as keen to chase me into the fields that were growing their crops long and tall.

I was glad. There was enough blood on my hands for one day.

I regretted their deaths. I thought then what I still think today. Gunther put them in harms way. I would have been happy with just his death and that man needed to die. He was neither good nor evil but he had the potential for both and he had chosen evil once. I prevented him from being able to do so again.

I fled from that place and hoped to never set foot in that area ever again.

Now I had new targets to hunt for.

I turned my horses ears towards the capital of that small southern country. I wondered at the time why that city was the capital rather than any of the others. I looked into it once and discovered that it was by simple virtue of the King's Grandfather being a slightly better general than his competitors, or a slightly more ruthless politician. Nowadays they're a relatively minor client Kingdom of Southern Nilfgaard but at the time they thought quite highly of themselves.

(Frederick's note: I looked them up when I got home. The Kingdom in question is now part of that chain of kingdoms that the Nilfgaardians call their “southern wall”. Those Kingdoms against whom the men from even further south have to throw themselves against in order to rebel properly and is also one of the reasons why those rebellions are always doomed to fail. They were conquered by Nilfgaard in what was described as “The victory of one stroke”. Tales tell of a duel between champions on the battlefield and to the victor goes ruler-ship of the country. I looked a little further though and discovered that the King of that country was assassinated, without heirs, maybe thirty years after when Kerrass' story takes place, around fifty years ago from today.)

The castle was maybe a little grander, but the town around it was a little smaller. It was certainly a much more defensible castle than Duke Bertrand's was. I went into town and started to make enquiries as to the Prince's location within the castle and the whereabouts of Matthes, the head of his personal guard.

I was displeased at the answer. I had missed them by a day or two as they had fled the capital with the assassins on their heels.

I need to go into a little bit of politics here as context might be important. The Prince and Duke's story about the elderly King dying without a clear heir was true. There were several Grandchildren that were vying for the crown with various nobles and knights supporting this faction or another and the country was indeed on the brink of civil war. The King, knowing that he had relatively few days ahead of him was having the difficulty that, if he chose one man over the others then that man would almost certainly make a bloodbath of his rivals. Then his rivals would rise up against the crown and civil war would happen. Some people had claimed that the old man was enjoying the turmoil and on some level or another he might have been but he was also aware that his continued survival was also one of the things that was keeping things at bay. Or that if one “Prince” decided that they had the bigger, stronger army or claim then his life might be seen as an obstacle.

What had happened, while I was still fleeing through the crops and fields of Duke Bertrand was that the scale had finally tipped. The King was still alive and was still ruling but one of the rival princes had decided to send out the assassins. He had been building his forces steadily, hiring mercenaries and buying weapons and armour from Kovir and Poviss and felt that he was now in a position to claim the throne for himself regardless of real or perceived legitimacy. He had hired a number of assassins to send against the King and the other claimants to the throne.

Those assassins had succeeded in killing a number of Prince Bertrand's guards but Prince Bertrand had a number of decent spies on his payroll and as a result had seen the stroke coming for some time. What he had miscalculated was the strength of the stroke and had deemed it prudent to retreat to “safer” ground.

For myself I spent a little too long swearing loudly before I managed to start thinking again.

The Prince was fleeing. He had half a dozen guards with him and had fled by the eastern exit from the city on horseback and with a carriage in tow. No-one could tell me who was in the carriage but some told me that it was probably the Prince's mistress or some similar kind of arrangement. The Prince wasn't known to be using body doubles and besides. The night that the assassins had come was a night of horror and terror in the capital, tales of masked men going from house to house looking for the Prince and their various other targets suggested that if he was still in the capital then he would have been found.

So I took some money and bought a good map. That he was travelling with a carriage was an important piece of information because it meant that he was confined to certain roads as many of the tracks that I might use as a lone horseman would be inaccessible to him.

Tracking the exit meant that I could track his road to a point. Then I had to reason out where he might have gone when the road forked.

It did occur to me that the carriage might have been there so that people hunting the prince, like me, would think to confine themselves to a specific number of routes when the carriage would soon be abandoned and the Prince could go wherever he liked but that struck me as a pointless double bluff. If he hadn't taken the carriage then the search parties would be spread so thin that they might as well have been pointless any way.

So there was a reason he had the carriage and therefore he would keep it.

The rest of my thinking was taken up by trying to figure out which routes that he would take, when and why. It was a gamble. A huge gamble. Looking at the way things were turning out it was almost certain that my vengeance and the Princesses justice would happen regardless of what my actions would turn out to be but that was... unsatisfying in my eyes. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to be the man delivering the fatal stroke. I wanted them to know why it was happening.

I set out and rode hard for my proposed intercept point.

It was a wooded road that wound round and between some craggy hills. Calling them mountains was a bit of a stretch but the locals called them “Beaver Mountains.” I never found out why. The road in question doesn't really exist any more having been overtaken by a growing forest and trade routes going elsewhere. I checked and I couldn't find any sign of the party having passed before me so all that was left was to choose my ambush site and wait. I was either going to spend a few pointless days waiting as the party would have either gone another route, already been killed or have passed me.

Or I would be fighting.

I spent a day or so enjoying being out of doors. Far too much time in towns and cities over the last few weeks so I enjoyed being out in the trees. The ambush was set by simple method of a large tree, dragged across the road and a liberal scattering of caltrops on the patch of road leading up to the tree.

Then I waited.

I was lucky.

I was either lucky or there was something else going on which I didn't really want to think about.

I prefer to think that I was lucky.

They weren't going too fast. Riding calmly, if quickly. Seven horsemen. Three in the front, four in the back.

The prince was in the front. He saw my tree and help up his hand. Another guard called the halt.