Chapter 54: Why did you send your son?

(Frederick's note: Straight into Kerrass' narrative here)

It was absurdly easy to get into Duke Bertrand's castle. Ridiculously easy, so much so that his entire guard should have been thrown out.

There was a castle. A moat, high ramparts and a keep. The ramparts were guarded and well patrolled while the countryside was covered in well-manned and maintained watch towers. The castle was further reinforced by the fact that there were numerous siege engines for the protection of the keep, as well as all of the then-modern methods of repelling attackers that the more devious military minds could come up with in an effort to murder their fellow man. The men were well-trained, well equipped and fiercely loyal to their Duke and his officers.

So how did I get in?

I walked.

The entirety of the castle and the surrounding area was designed to identify and protect against armies attacking but one man, being careful, could easily sneak past the patrols, avoid the lights and the torches.

That's not to say that they hadn't considered the possibility of the lone attacker. The walls of the castle were made with dressed stone but were then covered in a wet kind of sludge that dried hard on the outside. Into that sludge was embedded loose and sharp rocks as well as broken pottery and bits of glass. The castle paid a premium for broken crockery, bottles, bits of metal and cast off bits of this and that. This needed to be maintained of course and once every so often, or so I was told, people could be seen hanging off the walls by ropes, reapplying this coating. It was designed so that if anyone tried to scale the wall then the very wall itself would come away in their hands while also cutting into said hands or ropes that might be used to climb, making the prospect a chancy one indeed.

As well as this there were a set of wooden archer nests that overhung the wall so that arrows, rocks and oil could be poured down onto attackers from the top. The wooden frames were designed to be rickety and flammable so that if anyone made it to the ramparts then the defenders would be able to fight off the men by simple virtue of setting the place on fire. If you were to hang a rope off it or try to grapple to get a good grip, or if you used a pair of daggers in the same way that a Skelligan or Kaedweni mountain man might use a pair of climbing axes then the boards might just come away while you trusted your body weight to them.

They had fires set at the base of the walls that were lit in the evening so that anyone who did try to make a covert entry would be seen well in advance.

Also, the archers on the tops of those walls could shoot. I mean really shoot.

But it was absurdly simple to get in.

This is not me exaggerating either, nor am I trying to show off how clever I was.

So how did I do it?

I walked.

There is a simple truth in life, Frederick has remarked upon this truth before and indeed has gone out of his way in an effort to try and address his own societal conditioning, that the Nobility look down on other people. The guards are there for their defence. The common folk are there for the production of things including but not limited to taxes, food and luxury items. The prospect of a peasant simply walking up to them and sticking a knife in their neck is something that they simply don't think about. Duke Bertrand's castle was a testament to that fact. It would have been a formidable obstacle to an invading army. It would have been extremely difficult to get a man up and over the walls to get to any member of the ruling family.

There were check-points and various other things, visitors were checked thoroughly, wagons and produce inspected for random people hiding underneath or in amongst the contents of the wagons.

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But.

One man, carrying something that looks like a heavy sack of....Stuff?

Peasants, and I know that Frederick doesn't like that term but here it is rather applicable, peasants are even taught not to look up into the eyes of their social betters. They're told to just do the work and keep their heads down. It's ingrained, habitual...almost embedded in their culture. This is beginning to be reduced now that, especially given the recent wars, your average farmer is beginning to realise that if they have a long spear and poke it into a horses rib-cage then the over-dressed idiot sitting on it is going to fall off and then struggle to get up. But then it wasn't thought of that a peasant, be that peasant a villager or farmer, would seek to kill a nobleman. Let alone a Duke.

In the defence of the Duke's guards, the reason they didn't think of it was because their enemies didn't think of it either. Politics was a game played by the nobility and assassins were tools of that self-same nobility.

But peasants are simple folk really. They want to live from day to day. They want to eat, pay as little tax as possible and live long enough to be able to order their children around. If you leave them to it they will work reasonably hard because they have generally figured out that if they don't work then they don't eat. That equation is not lost on them.

At some point in the future some villager or farmer is going to start to wonder what why he or she should do all the work so that the nobility can live well enough to be able to wage war, live in comfort and play at politics. If enough of them start to wonder this together in the same, rough, geographical location then the world could become a very interesting place very quickly.

But I digress.

The other truth is that people don't want to work too hard because it is all to common that the reward for a job well done is another, harder job.

So.

When I got there I tied my horse up well out of the way, stole some villagers clothing, a hood, shirt and trousers. Bundled up my gear, including my sword with as hefty a bundle of firewood as I could manage and just walked up to the castle gates. Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

I wasn't stopped. Not once.

Once inside the castle grounds I made my way up to the second courtyard which was where the keep was situated and hid my gear near the stables.

Then I took my bundle of fire-wood inside to the kitchen where I left the wood in the pile of fuel that was

used to keep the ovens burning.

Then I set to work.

Peeling vegetables.

Another little titbit. If you are doing an unpleasant job, and no-one else wants to do it. Generally, people leave you alone.

I kept my head down and purposefully kept moving complete vegetables into their smaller, more chopped variety. In doing so I learnt more about the inner workings of the castle than I could have ever wanted to know. I learnt the names of the more prominent soldiers, who they were sleeping with and what they liked to eat. I learned a good amount about the layout of the castle and a significant portion of the business of things.

The castle had received word of the Prince's departure from the capital and were worried that he hadn't arrived back yet. The gossip was that he might have angered his father by making his way north to where he had a number of friends in the Imperial court rather than return home to where his father was.

I ate with the rest of the kitchen staff and slept in one of the cubby-holes that was provided for their use. The cook even told off one servant for trying to take my place saying “When you've worked as hard as he has you can sleep on straw, until then it's the floor for you my lad.”

Heh.

I slipped out and had a bit of a look around. Just to acquaint myself with the place, to check that my gear hadn't been moved or interfered with. Mostly I was just confirming a lot of the things that I already knew.

In the morning I went back to work. Fetching and carrying and generally doing what I was told, keeping my eyes down and tugging my forelock any time someone came near me that might have any kind of authority.

I learned something important. That the Duke spent his evenings in his room, generally alone. It was rare that he called for a girl to keep him company nowadays and spent his evenings reading or writing letters by candlelight.

I used the same trick that I had used before, a large bundle of firewood, to conceal my weapons and my gear and marched them into the Duke's chambers where I concealed them under the bed for my planned discussion with the Duke.

Again, I wasn't stopped. I wasn't searched. Nothing.

One of the guards even held the door open for me.

I should say here that the Duke did employ a food taster to see to his food on the grounds that he wasn't that stupid, but I always thought that poisoning someone's was a risky business at the best of times. Unless of course, you didn't mind some collateral damage.

I returned to the Kitchen then and carried on working. Fetching and carrying and doing things that needed doing.

That night I even had the offer of a Kitchen maid to keep me warm. I pretended shyness. If someone got a good look at my eyes then I was done for.

The following day I worked just as hard but towards the end of the day I began to feign a bit of weakness and complained of a sore throat and sneezed a couple of times. This quickly got me banished from the kitchen as the cook didn't want me slobbering all over the food.

By this point I had found out where the guards kept their uniforms and I changed so that I looked like a guard and made my way to the Duke's chamber. I used the oldest gambit in the history of armed forces everywhere when the guard who stood outside the Duke's room questioned my presence I told him that it was a surprise inspection. The poor lad almost wet himself in fear as I screamed at him about regulations and found hundreds of minor infractions about his kit and his appearance. I made a show of inspecting the rooms but by staggering coincidence I happened to be in the Duke's chamber when he was relieved of duty.

Once inside I made a quick show of inspecting the place until I was sure that the guard hadn't told his mate that I was around and to make sure that I wouldn't be disturbed. Then I changed into my own clothes, feeling immeasurably better once I had my own sword on my back and comfortable boots on. I threw the guards uniform onto the fire that was already lit to warm the place before the Duke entered and quickly searched the room for weapons or any secret doors.

You never know with these old style castles. It wasn't the highest room in the castle and although it did have a window it was also not the grandest room either so it was feasible that this room had an escape route out of it but I couldn't find anything. I attached my own grappling hook to the window frame, made sure it was nice and secure so that if it all went wrong then I could go out the window. So, escape route planned. Concealed weapons were in my belt. Everything ready?

Then I settled down to wait.

It was a few hours in truth. But I was ready to wait. In some ways I was feeling rather foolish. After all what was I going to talk about when the Duke finally did arrive in his chamber. Why didn't I just straight up murder him like I had so many of the other people. But no, I had to wait. I had to talk to him. I had to know. I had to be told what the entire thing was about.

So I waited.

The door opened after a while and I waited there in the darkness as the Duke walked in, bolting the door behind him. He was wearing an over cloak and a hat which suggested that he had been outside recently. He hung the cloak and hat on a peg on the back of the door. He had a piece of paper in his hand. He fell into a chair that was near the desk in the corner and read the words on the paper again. Before tossing the paper aside and onto the desk at his elbow before covering his eyes with a shaking hand.

He gave all the impression of a marionette that had had his strings cut.

Much to my astonishment he started to sob.

Once again I was finding that my shield of hatred was being rocked by the prospect of feeling pity towards one of my victims.

I cleared my throat noisily.

“I trust that I find your Grace in good health.” I said, carefully avoiding looking at him to give him time to recover his composure.

“I've been in better humour I will admit.” The Duke said after an extended moment.

“I found your wine collection Your Grace. May I offer to pour you a cup.”

The man sighed. “Grateful to you Witcher.”

He rose from his seat and moved to sit opposite to me with a table between us that looked as though it was most commonly employed as a surface for the playing of chess. I pushed a goblet across and poured from one of the stoppered bottles.

He downed the cup and gestured so that I could pour another.

He took a sip from the cup before leaning back in his chair and watched me through narrowed eyes. I copied his gesture, taking a sip from my own cup.

“I notice that you've taken the knife from under the table.” He said after a long while.

“And the long knife from behind the headboard your Grace.”

He nodded and steepled his fingers underneath his chin.

“I could call the guards,” he began.

“True, or the servants.” I said. But, first of all you would need to go to the door and unbolt it. Then you need to call. All of this without my reaction which. Then, I would have to kill more than just you. I would need to kill whoever you called before making my escape.”

The Duke nodded.

“Do you know what's in that letter on the desk?”

“No. But I can guess.”

“Guess for me Witcher.”

“You have received word about your sons death.”

For a moment I thought that the man would begin to weep again. He stared at the ceiling for a while before lowering his gaze to meet mine.

“It says that he died on the road. They say that it was assassins. They guess at a couple of assailants.”

I could not help but smile a little as the Duke continued.

“According to the trackers and hunters that found him, they claim that my son fought and fought hard to make sure that the wet-nurses could could escape with his children.”

“If that's what they say.”

“But you knew that that was what the messages would say.”

“Yes.”

“You knew that he was dead?”

“Yes I did.”

“Did you kill him?”

I sighed and took another sip from my cup. There was a rage in the Duke's voice.

“No. No I didn't”

“You lie.”

“No. Although I will admit that that was what I went there intending to do.”

“What happened? If not you then who killed him.”

“He did. He ended himself.”

“Ah,” He paused and took another drink, looking thoughtful. “Of course he did. To spite me of course.”

“As you say. Also in an effort to save his children although I had no intention of killing them. Even when I didn't know of their existence.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“He was running. Running hard. He had decided not to return to you as he feared that his children would not survive that returning.”

The Duke nodded and lowered his gaze.

“He was right wasn't he your grace? His children would have sickened and died a few weeks or months after their arrival here?”

The Duke said nothing.

“Your silence speaks volumes your grace.”

He slammed his fist onto the table suddenly causing the cups and bottle to jangle.

“If it helps at all Your Grace, he also killed himself to spite me.”

“Why on earth?”

“Because I went there to kill him. Because I wanted to kill him. In many ways I needed to kill him.”

“What happened?”

“I figured your sons route from the direction in which he chose to leave the capital.”

“You knew that before I did.”

“I did. But it wasn't easy. I suspect that I was lucky in catching them.”

“Lucky? For whom?”

I smiled, rather nastily I'm afraid. “For me. Your son ordered his guardsmen to attack me and I killed them.”

“All of them? Those guards were good men.”

“Good men? At least one of them was a rapist.”

“That's not the point...”

“It's exactly the point, your Grace,” I snarled the title like an insult. “That was the entire reason I was there. At least one of those men had every reason, every reason to deserve everything I did to him. And more. He died quickly at least, which was far kinder than the death I wanted to give him.”

“Which one was it?”

“Which one was it? Which one was it? How dare you, Your GRACE? These men fought and died for you and your son and on your orders. The least you could do is to remember their names.”

I stared at him. I am well aware of the figure that I cut when I'm angry and I must have looked terrible.

He looked away.

“I killed them. Your son prevailed upon my good graces to allow his children and their wet-nurses to escape which, not being a gentleman and being unaware of the political situation. I agreed. I must say that being a foolish Witcher with a foolish sense of honour I had no intention of killing a pair of children. Let alone her children.”

The Duke stared at his hands that he kept in his lap.

“We fought. Your son and I?”

“Did he?...Did he fight well?...”

I took a long breath and took a moment to adjust my thinking. I was dealing with a grieving father.

“Being brutally honest...”

“Because you've been less than brutal up until now?” The Duke raised an eyebrow.

I stared at him. Then suddenly, before either of us could help it, we started laughing. I rarely laugh any more. You, (Frederick: me) have been very kind in describing my brief outbursts of emotions. I smile, at most I chuckle. But mostly I am well aware of what state my feelings leave me in. Wherever possible I don't like to display my emotions as displaying emotions have often left me feeling as though I am giving people an advantage over me. Some people claim that the Witcher mutations keep us from emotions. Some people have also argued that our upbringing, training and experiences as well as the longer lives that we lead mean that we have had the emotions burned out of us. I cannot speak for any of this. I cannot say whether or not I lack in emotions as I cannot remember feeling any different and in any way at any other point in my life. I have rage. I have anger that keeps me warm at night. Anger that lights the fire in my belly and gets me out of bed in the morning. I have a bitter sadness and grief that knows no equal and that no anger, love or happiness has ever been able to dismiss. But for the rest of it?

I do not know.

I have never known. That is my tragedy and I must live with that.

But that sudden burst of hilarity. In that moment. In that place, we laughed and laughed like two old friends.

“Is now a time for plain speech your Grace?”

He nodded.

I took a moment or two to gather my thoughts. Vengeance, justice or whatever it was that I was pursuing at that point in time were forgotten by the wayside. Now I was just a man comforting a grieving father.

“I was trained and brought up a fighter and a killer Your Grace. Without wanting to boast...I have killed many monsters in my time and I have killed many men. I do not say this to boast, but rather as a simple statement of fact. In the time since I have sought...whatever it is I am looking for... I have fought and killed your huntsman...”

“Not much of a huntsman at the end...” A shadow and a smile crossed his face then.

“Never the less. I fought him. I fought Mark, who for me was the best of your guardsmen that I faced. Then I fought many in my pursuit of Gunther. Then I slew those five men with Matthes. Nine men at the very least, probably more. But your son fought and died harder than the rest of them put together. Even when he died, he did so to spite us both and because he felt that he could not fight any further. He said that he was tired. So very tired of living his life as well as so many other things. He claimed that he felt free at the end, free from worry and care.”

A tear rand down the old man's face and old man he was in that moment.

“So I used up my son in all of this as well. Poor child.”

He found a kerchief in a pouch somewhere and wiped his eyes.

“I don't suppose, I don't suppose we know what happened to his children Witcher...to my Grandchildren?”

I took a long moment to weigh up the situation.

“I was able to figure out where your son was heading. When I had arranged matters to my satisfaction....”

“Yes,” The old man rubbed at his face with his cloth again before suddenly, before my eyes he became the Duke once more. “Why did you do that? I thank you for it of course, arranging matters so that those who came after you would not think that my son had killed himself. The Cult of the eternal sun does not look kindly on people that end themselves.”

“For what he did, Your Grace, I hated him. I will not lie, I hated him and I looked forward to his death. But as well as hating him. I found that I liked him as well. He did fight well and I am enough of a northerner that that still means something to me. He also... When he did...end himself. He wasn't doing it to kill himself. He was striking at me.”

“And me I suspect.”

“I more than suspect it.” I said. “But as such, I saw it as fighting. Others might see it as ending himself but I think he was still fighting. I found that I didn't want people to think otherwise. He died on the field of battle, despite my not understanding his battle. He deserved to be treated with honour for that.”

“Grateful to you Witcher, Grateful to you.”

There was a moment's awkward silence.

“But anyway,” I went on, “After arranging things to my satisfaction, I followed after the two ladies.”

“Ladies?”

“Regardless, I went after them and they...”

“They dumped the children didn't they?”

“Oh quite the contrary. They were taking very good care of them...”

“I see. They meant to sell those children to the highest bidder.”

“They had moved off and were already talking to some agents of a man called Count Var Attre.”

“I know of Var Attre. A professional middleman. He probably stood to make a tidy profit.”

“I can't answer for that Your Grace. All I knew was that those men attacked me and I had to defend myself.”

“I can well imagine that Count Var Attre is down a couple of...agents?”

“He is. I took charge of the babies. As I say, I reasoned out where your son was going?”

“Can I ask where that was?”

“I think that they are quite beyond your power now so I have no problem telling you. I gave them into the arms of a man called Torres.”

“Torres? Ha, Well played Witcher. Well played.”

“I thought you'd like it.”

“Any sign of when he's coming south?”

“No. The future Emperor of all of these lands is a clever man. Much cleverer than you, your son, this Henrik person and whatever or whoever else is in the running for your Kingdoms throne.”

“He might well be at that. Thank you Witcher.”

“I still hate you Your Grace.”

“I thought you might. Some more wine?”

“Thank you.”

The Duke poured and we drank.

“So,” said the Duke. “Henrik will take the country. He will have the throne for a year, maybe two or three but Torres is a less than patient man. Careful yes, but not patient. Then he will bring the entirety of our Northern neighbours down on our heads. Now all I have to do is preserve these lands and the people on it.”

I sighed.

“I am afraid that I will not permit that.”

“You hate me that much?”

“Oh yes. I mean to see you dead Your Grace. Before we leave this room, I will see you dead.” I hissed that last with all the venom that I could summon.

“You hate these people enough to make them do without my protection, without the protection of their feudal lord.”

I looked at him over the top of my cup. Then I carefully put the cup back down on the table between us.

“Look me in the eyes Your Grace. Look me in the eyes and make the same appeal, word for word, while looking me plumb in the eye and making me believe, really believe, that you care for all of those people. Make me believe that you care only for them, rather than thinking of preserving your own skin. If you can do all of that, then I will walk out of here to whatever fate awaits me, leaving you in peace.”

He took a deep breath after a long moment.

“I feel the need for more wine Witcher. Would you care for some?”

“Yes please.”

The Duke got up, unbolted the door and called down. I listened carefully and heard no code or cipher. Another couple of bottles were brought and I opened one of them with a small knife and poured for us both.

“So we have disposed of the future.” The Duke said, “Henrik takes the country. He wins this battle but Lord Torres will win the war and avenge us. All of us on that sad old boor of a King who started this whole problem by having the bad grace to not name a proper heir.”

“Seems so.” I commented. It really was a fine wine. “Shall we turn to the present, and the immediate past?”

“I'm not getting any younger.”

“What happened Your Grace? With the Princess and everything?”

“Do you know Witcher? I've never heard you call me “Milord” or “My Lord” or any of the other common terms of address for someone in my position.”

“I don't think it would be appropriate Your Grace. Such terms would suggest that you have some kind of hold over me. You are not “my” Lord, nor am I your servant nor man and I don't want to give you, or anyone for that matter, the impression that you can order me about.”

“But I was your employer.”

“Yes, but then I was a mercenary. At most, in that situation, I might call you “Sir” to acknowledge a chain of command of some kind. But even then, I am not a military man and even that is an assumption and presumption. I prefer to keep a distance in that matter.”

The Duke took another sip.

“You're a much cleverer man than I took you for Witcher.”

“If you don't mind Your Grace I think that you are incorrect there. I think rather that I am much better educated than you were expecting.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Noble etiquette, history and heraldry are two required subjects of learning at the Witcher schools and there has been more than one occasion where I have been grateful that that is the case.” I smirked a little for effect.

“This being one of them I suppose?”

“Indeed.”

“May I ask what else your education had in it's curriculum?”

“Alchemy, although that term is a little incorrect. Those of us in the know prefer the term “Practical chemistry.”

“Why is that?”

“Alchemy is a magical art of turning the one thing into another by application of magical energy. What we do is mix two or more ingredients together with some strong alcohol and make use of the results.”

“I see, what else?”

“Tracking and hunting. I suspect that if I wanted to I could make a decent enough living as your new hunts-master.”

“I don't suppose you would consider taking the job?”

“I like the job I have Your Grace, being able to go where I wish and do what I wish and work for whom I wish. Besides which, I don't think I would be entirely happy calling you “Milord”.”

“You are possibly correct in that.”

“What happened your Grace? With respect you seem to be a relatively good man as Lords go. What could have possibly convinced you to send your son out to *** an innocent young girl? The Princess has only been under her enchantment for around forty years. That puts it within living memory for some folks. I wouldn't like it but I imagine I could understand it if she was gone for over a hundred years. But even you must remember her and her family. Your father might even have visited them.”

The Duke sighed and scrubbed his hands across his eyes taking a long drink.

“Will you excuse me if I stand?”

“Not at all.”

He rose and paced around a little.

“Do you know what the title “Duke” means?”

“From memory, it comes from the Toussaint term Duc which in turn comes from the old term Dux which was a military term for leader. It was used as a title to give to someone who was a military person without an official rank. Later it came to mean the leading military commander of a province. They stayed in place and the title stuck. From there it varies. In some places in the north the title even has...precedence over royalty in certain circumstances although most Dukes and Princes tend to take certain... steps to avoid such conflicts.”

“There's that “extensive” education of yours at work again.”

“I will take that as a compliment Your Grace.”

“Yes well...” He sat back down and stared into his hearth for a long time. “In this part of the world I am a pre-eminent man. I don't have many means but out of what little I have, I have built my Duchy to a place that is one of the most important pieces of land in our Kingdom. Strategically and economically. I have fought to make it so. I have been fighting and at war for my entire life and yet I have never fought a battle. I have never even drawn my sword in anger.”

He sighed and kicked at the floor.

“Thinking about what you said earlier. About how my son felt free in the moment of his death. Free from worry and free from care. I can well imagine how he felt, or rather I can't and that's part of the point. But so long on the battlefield... I feel it and I know what weight was taken away from his shoulders. I looked upon him as a weapon and a tool. I did so with both my, and his, eyes open. He knew that he was a tool for my hand and he did so, while learning to craft his own tools.”

“None of these things are excuses Your Grace.”

“No they are not. But they are explanations.”

“I will grant you that point Your Grace.”

“Thank you. But I'm not sure you understand. I am not a man Witcher, I am every man that has come before me and will come after me. I am every man who makes his home in this castle or makes their living out of it. I am every man, woman and child who has worked within our lands and has worked in an effort to make this place better for their children and their children down to the last degree. I am not a Lord, although my position makes me one.”

“Your position rather than your rank?”

“And what is my rank? An accident of birth and little more. I am under no illusions Witcher. I had the immense fortune to be the first born and also to be born male. But I am not a Lord of men. I am... a steward, a custodian of everything that I have worked so hard to maintain.”

I waited. He was coming to the point. The skill of listening is an interesting one and another kindness of Frederick's little stories is his observation of such a skill.

Yes, I've realised that you've made a note whenever you refer to yourself.

“It was a wizard who told us of it...of her.

“We were losing you see. Losing badly. Without wanting to look for problems we suddenly found ourselves with my son being considered as a potential as heir to the throne.”

He chuckled.

“It seems absurd to me now but I remember the two of us being excited as we spent time planning out our strategies and tactics in the coming campaign. Because that is what it was. A campaign where victory mean that we would survive for another day and defeat meant that we would all be dead. My father told me that. He said that every day was a victory, so that when all else is said and done, play for time.”

“Witchers have a similar saying although it's a little more brutal. We say, “If you are to be hanged, ask for water. Anything could happen while they are fetching it.”

He laughed at that.

“I know so little about Witchers. It strikes me that there may even be wisdom to be found there.”

“Little wisdom Your Grace. A lot of knowledge I would admit. Knowledge about many varied things but I think that there is little wisdom to be found in a group of men who make their living by walking into monsters dens and then killing them.”

“I suppose you are right.”

“Is that what you are doing now? Playing for time?”

“No. You want an explanation so I am giving it to you.”

“Then don't let me stop you.”

“We spent a long time working on our strategies. It was going fairly well and we were making our advances...”

“Did you ever consider remaining neutral? Of doing nothing?”

The Duke smiled.

“Ah, a Witcher's neutrality. A rather naïve concept if you don't mind my saying so. My son was a potential heir whether we wanted him to be or not. To not fight meant that we would be swallowed up in someone else's cause. In our world even not choosing is, itself, a choice. We could have thrown our weight behind Henrik or one of the other contenders to be sure but even then there was risk. From your man Torres for instance.”

“He is not my man, or my Lord for that matter.”

“If you say so. So anyway, we were entertaining a Wizard. He was gathering herbs in the nearby area or at least that was what he claimed that he was doing. I suspect he was examining The Curse and it's effects on the rest of the local environment, same as anyone. I always believe in keeping people friendly when it costs us nothing so I extended an invitation that he should stay with us. Our campaign was proceeding apace but the simple fact of the matter is that I have very little liquid capital. No money. I keep my castle and lands and maintain a personal army for the King's call should he ever decide to need one and as such, My sons nearest competitor had a considerable advantage over us. He was rich you see, much newer money than ours and much more of it to throw around. My son spent most of his time at court in an effort to counter this but even so, we were losing and our enemies were circling.

“So we had a Wizard over for dinner.

“We were aware of the Princess Dorn, of course we were. I remembered her father's exploits as a young boy, he had come to our lands in search of some kind of cure for his wife's or his infertility, had made eyes at my mother before riding off into the sunset but the tragedy of that family had long ago been overtaken by our own particular set of tragedies.”

“There being only so much tragedy to go around after all.”

“You jest Witcher but you are quite correct in this matter. The Wizard spun a fascinating story about the entire thing and brought it very much to our minds. There she was, lying in state, in a funeral casket. He came to visit us on his returning to...wherever it was that he was heading off to. He even had an artist with him who sketched the poor girl for us.”

I must have shifted my weight uncomfortably as the Duke paused in his telling.

“Oh yes Witcher. I felt pity for her. Even though what actually happened to her is something of a mystery, there is no doubt as to who the girl is, or was. I had seen her father and the family resemblance was visible to my eyes despite her rather striking beauty. He described her as a thing, as an object that had all signs of life but none of the...he called it “mind activity”. He said that in all external and medical ways, she was alive but that she had none of the things that make us...us. That make us thinking, reasoning individuals. That if she had a mind at all then it had long since fled, leaving the body in it's continued existence. He even went so far as to say that it might even be a mercy to put her out of her misery.”

The Duke stared into his wine.

“I remember asking him whether the girl was, in all other ways, alive. Whether her body was functional. He said yes. We still hadn't come up with the plan by that point, I don't think it had even occurred to us, but he specifically said that she could digest food although she didn't need it, that she breathed the air and that her reproductive systems were fully operational.

“I didn't ask how he was able to discern that fact.

“As it turned out though the man was an incredible physical coward, although I suppose that one must forgive a lack of bravery in the face of an angry dragon. He was only part of the way through his tests when the dragon became agitated and started attacking the castle. He and his entourage were chased fair back to the village at the mouth of the valley.

“We entertained the Wizard for a couple of days as he did his best to consume the majority of our winter stores in a one man crusade against our pantry and then he left.

“I called my son to me. I know you won't believe me when I say this but I honestly can't remember whose idea it was originally. I can't say for certain whether it was my son or myself that decided that the thing that we needed to produce, in evidence of my sons suitability for the crown, was a male heir. I do remember that he was insistent that the entire thing would have to be legitimate though and so Father Alphonse, my castle chaplain was brought into our circle...”

“I have a question,” I said. “If the production of an heir was the tipping point, then why couldn't your son produce an heir with any passing woman of any particular station in life. Your son was handsome, intelligent and charming. Surely he wasn't wanting for admirers.”

“Politics. There wasn't a lady, pre-eminent enough to be a suitable wife who would then become Queen, who was willing to tie herself and her family to our cause. Most of the noble families in these parts were still trying to be as neutral as possible in an effort to...keep themselves out of the coming conflict.”

“So?” I said. “Passing woman, forged identity, heaps of money, instant heir. The Princess was already going to be an absent mother and wife. You honestly expect me to believe that there wasn't some willing servant girl who's family wouldn't be prepared to put up with her being pregnant as some kind of surrogate in return for sacks of money.”

“Could we depend on them remaining quiet though? I doubt it although if I'm honest, it didn't really occur to us. Here was the opportunity, the fact that she was of royal blood was also...attractive. A royal heir with royal history and royal blood.”

“Taken by force, Your Grace. Taken by Force.”

The Duke shrugged at that.