A Scholar's travels with a Witcher

It seemed only fair that I stay for a little while to help them clear up. I felt a little guilty now that everything had come out and I had caused some of the damage after all. The barman acknowledged my apology and moved off with the odd dark but hopeful look while the man who I clobbered with a stool took it all rather well.

“Sorry about that my friend,” I told him with very little contrition.

“Don't worry about it,” he said rubbing the back of his head with a cloth. “I was probably going to knife your friend.”

We shook hands and as far as I could tell, that was the end of it. Odd how, not half an hour earlier, we were trying to kill each other and now we were getting on as reasonably good friends. I even caught him at one point when he threatened to wobble onto the floor.

I set things to rights as best as I could before I went outside carrying my spear. The Witcher was easy to spot. He had stripped down to the waist in the freezing cold and was performing his sword practices. It was the special one, the one designed to work up a sweat rather than to perform to an audience. He had built a small fire nearby and there was a small pot over the fire that was steaming. Everything about him seemed to suggest that he was deep into the process of preparing himself for a fight and by the look of him it was going to be a serious fight.

I shrugged and started to perform my own exercises. To be honest I was expecting to not be involved in this particular hunt on the grounds that it sounded far too dangerous. I had found a small fenced enclosure and was practising with my spear while making plans for a night of a few beers with some pretty women.

Then a lad of maybe six years old came to find me and summon me to the Witchers side.

He was knelt in front of his small fire with his eyes closed. Still stripped to the waist. I can't speak for him but I was shivering just looking at him. I had seen him a couple of times without his shirt and the number of scars in his lean frame always caught me off guard. An instant, if momentary, rush of fear and pity for a man whose entire existence was to walk into the dark places of the world to fight creatures that prey on us. All so that we don't have to. Then when he gets wounded, even horrifically so, he patches himself up and goes to perform the next task.

His steel sword was laying on the ground in front of him, hilt towards his right hand and I knew from experience that even though he was knelt down he could be upright and swinging that sword at a moments notice.

The silver sword was on his back and his medallion was clutched tight in his left hand in the same way that a priest might hold on to his chain or symbol of office.

He opened his eyes as I approached, I tried to see any sign of any of the potions that he must have already taken in preparation for the nights adventures. Were his eyes that little bit more dilated? His speech slurred or his skin that little bit paler? I knew that one of the potions, something he referred to as “White Gull” was a kind of preparatory drink that a Witcher drinks in advance of the rest of his potions to prepare their bodies for the onslaught of new toxins. It was also a mild hallucinogen and occasionally brought on tremors.

For the first time I wondered whether or not it was the potions and their toxic components that made Witchers who they were rather than the training and mutations. There was no way to tell of course, other than performing an autopsy and I had sworn never to do that or to allow his body to be used in that way.

“Hello,” he said quietly. “You'll forgive me for not getting up.” It wasn't a question. He was enunciating all his words particularly carefully, biting off every consonant and sounding every vowel fully.

I sat next to him and fold my legs, my spear next to me. He would take his time or possibly wait a little longer before the negative effects of the potion began to wear off before speaking.

It was also the first time that I thought of those potions as drugs akin to fisstech or opiates. I wondered if he was addicted and if he was, how would I tell? Maybe that was why he kept doing what he did? Because he was addicted to the stuff he took so that he could do the things that he had to do.

I still haven't asked that question as I haven't dared.

Yet.

“I need to ask you to make a choice,” he said suddenly. His voice was a little deeper but his diction was much closer to what was usual for him.

“Is it an easy choice?” I joked trying for some levity.

The corner of his lips twitched. He was in full on Witcher mode now and that was as close to a smile as I was going to get.

“It should be.” He said, just as quietly as before. “It should be very easy. But I would be lying to you if I could tell you which option I want you to choose, although I know which one I would choose in your place.”

“That was very cryptic and confusing,” I said, “even for you,”

“I know,”

He took a deep breath.

“Your choice is this. You can either, walk down from this hill top, saddle your horse and ride away to the village where we first heard of this place. Wait for me there for two days. If I have not joined you then I am either dead or worse and you should move on.”

“Right,” I tried to keep my voice neutral although I'm pretty sure I failed.

“The other choice is that you come with me.”

With exaggerated care he reached up and scratched his chin.

“Tonight I'm going into the woods.” he said, his voice sounded a little as though he was already dead. “I'm going into the woods and I'm going to try to find this thing, this....entity. I intend to try and get it to release the village.”

“Right?” I prompted. I felt as though I was waiting for the punchline.

“That's it.” He said, “that's your choice.”

“So I come with you, or I leave town?”

“Yes,”

“No middle ground.”

“No.”

I stared at him for a moment. I found that I was getting angry.

“Well,” I said, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice. “That gives me plenty of information to make an informed decision.”

“I know. I am sorry for that.”

I stared at him. “This is the first time that you've tried to hide something from me. I've asked you so many questions. You've answered some and some you've just refused to say anything but those things are all about Witchers. What lives in those woods Kerrass?” I demanded.

“I cannot say.”

“Why not?” I started to feel like a petulant child. “What's the danger behind knowing what this creature is? Why is it different from a vampire or a griffin or, or, I dunno some kind of Ghost. I've seen some pretty horrifying things since starting my travels with you, including some things that I still have nightmares about and some other things that I didn't believe existed. What is different about this?”

My anger seemed to wash over him like a wave washes over the rocks on a beach. He was unchanged afterwards.

“The difference is, that this time it can hear us.”

“Fuck off,”

“No I'm serious Franklin. Men have studied these things, several men and every single one of them has a life time of calamity, followed by going mad, followed by dying for seemingly unrelated reasons. None of which have to do with their subjects. The most recent that I heard about was late last year, a Professor in Oxenfurt who died when his house collapsed on him.

“Houses have been collapsing all the time in Oxenfurt. It's shoddily built, we know this. It's what you get for building houses on an island. No foundations to speak of.”

“Precisely my point.” Said the Witcher. “You feel like you're being dismissed but I'm not dismissing you. You should go, you should save yourself if and while you still can.”

“If?”

“Yes if. It's undoubtedly sensed your presence by now. Your dream about Jack will have seen to that.”

“WHO IS JACK?” I demanded.

“I'M NOT GOING TO TELL YOU.” He screamed back. “I wish I'd never told you his name now.” He went on. I noticed that his spittle was pink. “I will not condemn you to death and madness while we are so close to one of the sources of that.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I told you I'm going into the woods to...”

“To find this entity, yes, you said. What then? You fight it?”

He gave his slight smile again. “No, you don't fight things like this. You run from them.”

“What is it?” I pleaded. “Tell me, please. You're killing me with this.”

“I know and I'm sorry.”

“You run from them?” I said after a while, trying to calm myself.

“Yes,”

“But you're not going to?”

“No,”

“Why not?”

The Witcher took another deep breath.

“I don't know.” He said after a while. “During training we were warned about things like this. We were told in no uncertain terms that when you come across something like this, you should run. Leave the people who were foolish enough to make a deal with it to their fate and get out of the town. Also, don't stop riding until you're at least 20 miles away. That was my first urge. It's trained into me, remembered through pain. It's almost an instinctual thing. That was what I wanted to do earlier when we came out of the woods. Saddle up and then run.

“But I frightened that woodcutter.”

He stared into the flames for a long time. “I don't know why but I find I can't leave them to their fate. These people I mean. I can't just stand by. I have to try and save them.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose before gesturing for his potion box that was nearby and I pushed it over. He took a small sip from a jar of red coloured slime and washed it down with some water.

“What are you going to do?” I asked after a moment

“These things like making deals but if there's one thing they like more it's playing a game. Making a wager. They love it and the higher the stakes, the more they love it. I mean to challenge it to a contest.”

“A game?” I asked incredulously.

“As you say.”

“A game.” I muttered again.

“Yes.”

“What if you lose?”

“It could vary. From that I will no longer be able to see the colour blue, all the way up to the loss of my soul. I can't worry about that now.”

“What's the game?”

The Witcher shrugged. Some of the life seemed to be coming back to him now, a little more colour to his cheeks. “Does it matter? They always cheat so what I have to do, is to ensure my victory.”

“How do you do that?”

“I have two plans. The first I will do if you don't come with me. The second is if you do come with me.”

I nodded.

“You're not going to tell me what these plans are?”

“No.” He shrugged. As much of an apology as I was going to get. “The problem is, that if I give you too much knowledge then one of two things will happen. The first is that the full weight of knowledge will cause you to be terrified. You will freeze and be unable to do anything.”

“Sounds bad, what's the other thing?”

“The other thing is worse. You get arrogant and complacent and start to assume that you know better than it and that you have it trapped or that you have a way out. People always think this but they are always, always wrong.”

“Fucking lovely,” I said. “Which is the better plan?”

“Both plans are fucked. Because if it understands or has a counter to my strategy then neither of us are coming out of those woods. That and it's been playing these games for a long time. Understand that we will almost certainly fail. The odds are better if you come with me, but only slightly.”

“That's harsh.” I was being played and we both knew it.

“I know,”

“You know which one I'm going to choose now don't you?”

He sighed.

“I do and for what it's worth I am so very sorry.”

“I'm coming with you.”

“Because you're a romantic and I just asked you for help.”

I nodded. I had been hooked and sunk by my own rod.

The Witcher stared into the fire for a long time.

“You should get some rest. Get some sleep if you can. Eat a big meal if you can stomach it but don't drink any alcohol. Also, try to get laid. That's not a joke, nor is it because you might die and it's probably your last night alive although that's also true.”

I nodded but the words were barely registering.

“Take it from someone who knows.” He went on, “Write tender letters to your family, close friends and lovers. I will make sure that the head man posts them on. For what it's worth. I'm going to charge them a fortune for this and half of it's yours.”

I smiled at this despite myself and saw it reflected in his eyes.

“I'll find you just before midnight.” He said and turned back to the fire.

He was reaching for another potion bottle as I turned away.

I felt a little numb, as though I was floating along in some kind of dream. It didn't occur to me to try and go back on my word. I had told Kerrass that I was going with him and as a result I was now going with him. I couldn't go back on that. He had seemed genuinely sorry that I would be joining him but at the same time... He knew I would come. He just knew it. Of course he did and I felt a little used and ridiculed at the same time.

Was I really that easy to predict?

I went in search of some food. I rather felt that getting some sleep was a forlorn hope given what was probably going to happen later.

The innkeepers wife gave me a large steak and fried up some mushrooms and potatoes to go with it. She apologised for her husband when she found out that I was helping the Witcher with his shenanigans later although it sounded strangely derogatory towards myself to admit that I was basically along as bait.

I ate my food and wondered what to do next. I asked if there was a shrine so that I could make my peace and figuring that prayers couldn't hurt in our evenings endeavours. But unfortunately there wasn't one and she seemed surprised that she hadn't really thought about that before now.

Then my family occurred to me. I found paper amongst my things as well as some sealing wax, ink and several quills. Found a corner table and sat down to write.

The first letter was to my tutors at the university. I wrote to tell them that if they got this letter that they should assume my death at the hands of a demon in the lack of any other information. I told them that I enclosed letters to friends and family as well as all the notes and sketches that I had made since travelling with the Witcher for them to do with as they pleased. It was by far the easiest letter to write.

Then a couple of quick lines written to my friends at the university dishing out my limited possessions to the people who would get the most from them. It was a depressingly small list.

Several letters were started before being thrown into the fire as I found myself wondering why I was caring about this person or that person and did I really want to remember myself to that girl that dumped me that one time.

I found it odd that the possible, even probable, arrival of my death had changed my perspective slightly.

Then came my family.

My father is an increasingly disappointed, bitter, dried up old man and at one point I hated him for that. Everything he had done had been geared towards dragging his family further out of the mud and make us a power in the country. I never knew my Grandfather but if my father was to be believed he was some kind of muck farmer who was tired with scraping a living out of the dirt. Everything that my Grandfather did was towards the goal of making his family rich. Apparently he would say proudly that he had started out with nothing but the ragged clothes on his back and to be fair to the old man he must have worked hard. He married my Grandmother to accrue more wealth and then he had bought himself a noble title and some lands so that he became a Baron and more importantly he was now part of the nobility.

I don't know what he expected to happen. Whether he suddenly expected to be seated at the same table as the King or that the people that had looked down on him as some kind of commoner before his rise to the nobility would suddenly open their arms to him and greet him as friend. Instead they had even behaved worse as my Grandfather had missed the truth, that I was only just learning at this point, that some people just like looking down on other people. But this disappointment crippled him. He went back to his original scheme which was to just make more money and even more money. But the other nobility hated him for it despite the lavish parties he would throw. He recognised that he was throwing good money after bad and became a recluse.

My father had inherited the old man's talent for making money and his sour disposition and precious little else. He had expanded the families fortunes massively and so we had been able to upgrade from a manor house to a castle. Nothing huge, but big enough and strategic enough that he had to ask the Kings permission to do so. Permission that had cost another pretty penny and even then, despite the sponsorship of tourneys and balls as well as good works and the raising of troops during the wars... Our family was still seen as jumped up Merchants and was ostracised while our entertainments were enjoyed and our hospitality abused.

You understand that those words are taken almost directly from my fathers mouth. Eventually though, unlike my Grandfather, he realised that we wouldn't become serious nobility in his generation and started to bring his children up in a manner that he imagined that the regular nobility would. Some of us took to that.

Some of us did not.

I wrote my father to say that I wished him well. I specifically told him that although I did not ask for his forgiveness I hoped that he would one day understand me and as such be able to give me his blessing. I told him that I thought I was doing important work and that I had saved a number of lives during the pursuit of that work and that I hoped that this spoke well of me. I gave him my love (not a complete lie) and my respect. (Which is true. It can't have been easy growing up under a man like my Grandfather with the weight of all that expectation.)

Writing my mother was difficult. I loved her dearly but she had always seemed rather distant. There were no illusions in the family. The two had met and she had been dazzled by his wealth and his ability to spend lavish amounts of money during the courtship. He was also dazzled by her breeding, her dowry and her cultured training. Something he hoped that she would be able to pass on to her children. There is little doubt that they had loved each other at some point and although they were not as close any more as my father focused more on turning his little Barony into something that future generations would be proud of, she still worried after his health a great deal. I was always left with the impression that she regretted something though and missed something or someone. She had started to collect romantic poetry and cultivated a small flower garden in the castle grounds where she would sit for hours at a time just staring at whichever bloom caught her eye.

I love my mother, but spending any time in her presence is depressing in the extreme. I wrote that I loved her and wished her nothing but joy and contentment in her life. I hoped that the garden was flourishing well and asked her to pass on my good wishes to a number of her friends that had been Aunties to me when I was younger that she had drifted away from. I also told her not to blame father for driving me away.

In as much as any family has a bad apple, that bad apple is my eldest brother. Just being in the same room as the man made my fists itch and I promise you that although I hope I'm not a violent man, I would cheerfully punch that man's dick off. What had happened was that my father took my brother under his wing and had tried to teach him how to be a business man and make more money and how to expand the work that my Grandfather had started. My Brother was shown the plans for the Barony, the forest to entertain hunting parties of all kinds, the tourney grounds. He was shown the plans for state of the art forges and the letters that had been exchanged between my father and the dwarves about sending some people to make our metalworking the best in the Northern Kingdoms. He had seen the plans for the new farming techniques and met the heads of the various villages.

He was shown all these things. But all he heard was about how much money he would have access to. From there he just spent his time spending his allowance, racking up huge debts, fighting numerous duels over women (which he won) and generally being shit to everyone. To give you a taste of how classy this man is. I once overheard him talking about how fuckable one of his potential suitors was in front of my parents, her and her parents. He's the kind of man that you find that you want to bathe after spending any time with him at all.

I seriously considered not writing him but that might make problems for the rest of the family. I wrote a few short lines about Filial respect and admiration and wished him the best for the future.

I had no doubt that the letter would eventually be opened before being tossed on the fire.

Following noble tradition, my next brother went off to the church and never was there a man more suited to the job. He found faith early, no doubt encouraged by both parents and the queue's of priests that waited on him from almost the day he was born. If you tell an infant that the Holy Fire will keep us all warm in it's embrace over and over again then eventually he will start to believe it. My Brother was ordained just as I was beginning to get old enough to talk to priests. At first he was a genial, happy kind of priest, always ready for a joke and pulling faces at my little sister and I during the serious prayers. But gradually he became ambitious which suited my father no end.

As such he needed to be seen to be a little harder in his beliefs. He was acting as my confessor at the time and would often assign me penance far more serious than the crime deserved. I sighed with relief when he left to be coached for a Bishops seat.

I am told that he is now an important man in the church and that although he will never be Hierophant, he will probably be on the council that will elect the next one. He comes home every so often and as I grew up and my scholarly interest started to make itself known we started to re-discover an earlier bond. In public he supported my father when it came to how I was supposed to live my life but in private he told me to follow my passions as “The pursuit of knowledge is a worthwhile goal”. I think of him now as a good, if flawed man.

I wrote of my respect and affection for him and spoke briefly about my adventures and the need of many for the churches charity and the work that Kerrass had done to try and make the lives of the ordinary people better. I hoped that he would take that the way I intended.

Then comes my Big sister. She does not know it and I can write it here because she has no interest in academics and so is unlikely to ever read it. My big sister, who is only 5 years older than me, is the person most responsible for my upbringing. She is kind, strong, beautiful, fiercely intelligent, utterly charming and in possession of the most wicked sense of humour and mischief that you will ever know. Despite being older than me she would often get me into trouble with her many schemes and pranks. When my brother gave me harsh penances she would be the one to spread ointment over the whippings and hug the injustices away.

She is also possessed with wild and madcap energy. When she was supposed to be learning to do something that she saw as wasteful, she would steal a horse from fathers stables and go off on a ride. The guards would chase after her. Come back to report that she had thrown them only to find her back in her room, demurely working at her needlework. She suffers no fools and out of everyone it's her that most often takes my eldest brother to task for his various shenanigans.

I love my big sister dearly and although she doesn't know it... Every woman that I have considered in this life gets compared to my big Sister and so far, every single one of them has been found wanting.

I did not say that in the letter. Mostly it was full of memories and gratitude for her love and affection throughout the years.

My immediate older brother was the son that was assigned to join the military and serve the king with his strength at arms. He was given the best tutors and instructors and generally worked hard to become the best knight and soldier that he could. He did well at it too in the long run. When I turned up as a kind of spare a year later it was kind of assumed that I would follow one brother into the church (My mothers wish) or my other brother into the army (My fathers wish). Seeing some problems with various of the bits of the more esoteric eternal fire dogma I tried for the martial. But my build did not really lend itself to swinging my broadsword around. I tried and my brother tried to help but although he could do the thing, he couldn't teach the thing and we would get exasperated with each other and then get into fights. That being said I am closer to him than any of my other brothers. I left him my spear and told him that I had used it to kill monsters.

Then there was my little sister. For all the faults of the rest of us my little sister is the best parts of each of us. She was fourteen when I left home and was growing up to be a real beauty. Dark hair, long lashes and as much as a big brother can admit it of a little sister... She was gorgeous. It sometimes seemed a shame to me that she was confined by society to the strict rules of her gender. But I later found out that there was a sharp mind under there and that she intended to marry well and guide her husband to greatness. She could do it as well, all the while letting her husband think that it was all his doing.

It would cause me incredible pain when she got married.

I wrote for a long time. I don't really know how long but I do know that the innkeeper and his wife had gone round lighting candles and lamps by the time that I finished.

I tried to get a little sleep but by this point people were coming in from outside. It was a strange feeling, almost like a wake. People stood around, talking quietly and drinking slowly. I sat there and just pulled my hood up but there didn't seem to be any avoiding those eyes and those faces.

Eventually I left and as I got up, people raised their tankards to me. I wanted to scream at them that I wasn't dead yet and that I had no intention of dying. It was unpleasant and made me feel almost ashamed of myself.

Instead I just hunched my shoulders. I pulled my cloak around me and ventured out into the night. I wandered around for a good long while, just wandering around aimlessly. In the end I climbed back up the hill to where the Witcher's fire had been built up to a grand blaze. Stones had been placed round the edge in precautions but it was too cold to get truly out of hand. I knelt at the edge of the fire and started to pray to the Eternal fire. I don't pray often. I like some of the tenets of the church of the eternal fire but I find too much of their current tenets to be objectionable and ignorant.

But right there, with the warm blaze burning my face. The cold at my back. The blaze was comforting and suddenly it felt right.

This was the critical moment for me. I was scared. Utterly terrified. I desperately wanted to walk off. To leave as the Witcher had suggested I should. I stared into the fire muttering my prayers as I felt the time moving by. Trickling by. Moving slowly, so slowly towards the time where the Witcher would come out of the darkness.

I wasn't going to leave though.

The realisation came over me then that I wasn't going to survive this. That I wouldn't be leaving this place. That I would be burnt, buried or taken by the entity in the woods. I thought about the fear that had always been mine. That of drowning, knowing that I was drowning and that I had time to struggle, but there was no way that I was going to make it. This was it. This was the moment of truth. Would I panic, struggle to escape my fate or would I stand?

I took a deep breath and thought over the last months of travelling with the Witcher. I thought of the deaths that I had seen. None of them looked pleasant. But it was a truth that everyone dies, even Kerrass would some day despite seeming as invincible as he does. I found myself thinking about the old cliché about a death meaning something.

I was going into the woods to try and rescue a boy and to try and drive off a supernatural entity that was terrorising these people.

There were worse ways to pass the time.

I opened my eyes and saw the Witcher standing there, silver sword across his back.

“I didn't know that you were that religious,” he said with a very slight smile.

“I'm not,” I said getting to my feet. “But right here and right now I thought to myself 'What the hell'.”

Kerrass nodded.

“It's time.” He took a breath, “Whatever happens. Say nothing. Nothing at all.”

I nodded and stretched. Taking my cloak off and dumping it next to the fire.

“Kerrass,”

“mm?”

“It's been an honour,” I said and held out my hand.

He stared at it for a long moment with a strange look on his face.

“Likewise,” he said. Shaking my hand firmly.

We walked down the hill together. I didn't really feel talking as for some reason the entire thing seemed to feel...larger I suppose than words can encompass. I was walking to my death or damnation. All that I could hope was that it would be quick.

I had left my spear behind. It didn't seem as though it would be any help and Kerrass didn't mention it.

Something was happening in the village itself. People were gathering torches in hand. The flames smoky and heady. They were just drifting towards the end of the village that was closest to the woods themselves. They stood in silence just watching us with the flames dancing ominously on their faces. The shadows were disturbing as they leapt about the place and before too much time I was just staring straight ahead.

It felt uncomfortably like a funeral.

We just walked past them. Just walked past them and pretended as though they weren't there. They were eerie, like the ghost of a village. Again my expectations were destroyed. No speeches. No expressions of gratitude, no cheering or applause.

I suppose, looking back, that they felt the same thing that I did. That this was too big a moment to be put into words. One way or another, their lives would not be changing after tonight.

We eased our way past the bramble bush and Kerrass lit the first of our torches that he carried in a bundle next to his sword. I wondered about that and resolved to ask him later. As if there would be a later. I almost chuckled at the thought.

But then I shivered.

Then there was a kind of weight on my chest, I struggled to breathe for a moment and staggered. Kerrass stopped and watched me for a moment. An unreadable expression on his face.

I straightened up, took a deep breath. My sight shivered a moment, felt a wave of dizziness and waited for it to pass.

When it did I opened my eyes and the Witcher was still waiting for me. He looked in my eyes and then very slowly he raised an eyebrow. It was a question.

I nodded.

Still without a word he turned and walked on again and I followed.

We came to the end of the track and we stood there for a few moments.

Kerrass turned, examined the line of the track as it lead back to the village. Then he nodded and turned and strode deeper into the trees and I felt a sharp pain behind my eyes.

“Who comes now into my realm?” The voice echoes off the trees. It was deep, booming and spoke of infinite echoes. “Who dares to invade my closest of sanctums?”

We had gone maybe a dozen paces past the end of the track and I stood, frozen in my place. The trees seemed to grow all around me, towering over me, reaching for me with all of their branches, like hands. Hands that I felt were trying to scratch and tear my flesh.

“Who dares?” It was a roaring sound. The voice wasn't a shout but it was almost unbearably loud.

I realised that I was cold. As I looked, frost began to form on the edge of my clothing. Shivering became violent. I looked around, desperate for the reassurance that the Witcher's presence would provide, but I was alone.

The darkness increased, I felt the branches rubbing against my flesh, pulling at my clothes. I flinched away from them in terror.

I tried to move.

I tried to run.

I was so cold. I was hugging myself in an effort to keep warm but it was useless. Every breath was becoming a pain as the frigid air was sucked down my throat and into my lungs. My chest began to hurt.

From somewhere I seemed to remember a lecture about the effects of extreme cold. I remember the lecturer telling me that after a while, the victim would become numb, then starting to feel as though there was a soft warmth and fatigue would spread throughout every limb.

I longed for that moment but right then and right there, all I could feel was the pain.

I looked at my hands and they were turning blue. My tears of agony were freezing on my cheeks. My clothes were frozen now so that even the shivering was agony. Huge great spasms that shook my entire frame.

I fell to my knees, even more pain.

“Yes,” came the voice. “Yes. Kneel in my presence mortal. Kneel in the presence of the Eternal frost. The end of the world. The end of everything. This is my resting place before I come forth into the world and your 'holy flame' will be unable to protect you.”

I could hear the baying of hounds.

“Hear the hounds of Winter that come at my call.”

In the distance I could see a light coming through the trees. It was a cold blue kind of colour and it followed a figure. Huge, grotesque hounds roamed at it's feet, fighting and prowling around. Their teeth bared in a narrowly suppressed fury.

The figure itself was a giant. Maybe ten feet tall and fully armoured in metal that clinked as it walked. There was no flesh on display. The armour covered him completely and with every step, ice would form on the armour but it would then shatter with every movement. The cracking sounds reaching me sounded like the cracking of bones.

“And now, petty mortal thing. You shall be the first of my victims. Your blood will be the first to slake my thirst and to give me the strength to leave this place and spread my cold throughout the world. Then this... accident of life will be ended finally and for all times.”

He drew a sword that had been hung off his back. It reminded me of this huge slab of ice, jagged and sharp. He raised it high over his head.

I closed my eyes,

“Stop that this instant.” It was the Witcher's voice. It rasped unpleasantly and carried the same tone that you would use to speak to an unruly child. “It is neither funny nor intimidating. Also, threatening guests is seen as rude when we grace you with our presence.”

The cold vanished, instantly and utterly.

You know that feeling of tingling that you get when you've been outside in the freezing cold for too long and then you get into a hot bath or stand next to a fire?

Amazingly, all of that failed to happen.

I went from dying of the cold to perfectly normal in a fraction of a second.

I was still shivering though but not from the cold.

The Witcher was next to me and helped me to my feet, looking me up and down and taking a long moment to look me in the eyes before nodding his satisfaction at whatever he saw there.

It was still very dark though now that the Witchers torch was visible it was as though there was an extra layer of darkness that floated around the tree-tops like a mist.

A mist moving without wind and somehow it was darker than the night sky we could see above us.

“A Witcher?” came a voice from all round us. It was a vibrant and warm, almost amused.

“Yes, a Witcher.” My companion responded. “It would strike me as only polite if you would give us something to talk to. Courtesy and all that.”

“Oh very well, very well.” Now it was the voice of a petulant old man. Quarrelling with the idea that he could no longer look after himself. Just on the edge of senility.

The Darkness seemed to be sucked towards a point, maybe a couple of meters in front of us before changing into the figure of a man.

Except it wasn't a man. It was more... I struggle now to describe it. It was humanoid in shape. It had a torso, two arms, two legs and a head but after that the similarities stopped.

It had no eyes or nose, no brow or chin. There was a mouth certainly but no cheekbones or jaw. It was like a childish drawing of a man made solid. It was dressed in a black robe that had neither depth nor flow about it, no folds or movement at all. Not even a weave that I could see. It was just black.

But it was it's mouth that was the worst. Slightly larger than the proportions should allow there were no teeth in that mouth, no lips or tongue either and it's movement only vaguely corresponded with the words that were formed by it. Beyond the mouth's opening was just blackness.

But despite it's utter lack of features, it was studying us carefully. Watching us, almost tasting us with it's gaze.

I shivered.

“Aha!” the thing giggled, “Your friend is afraid.” It pointed a long finger at me. “Shivering terror at my magnificent visage,” It giggled and I felt my skin crawl.

“I believe that the correct term for my companions behaviour is 'shuddering',” The Witcher informed it.

“Oh?” It seemed astonished. “Does he not like my form? Is it not...pleasing to his eyes?” It scuttled forwards like a crab, bending to the ground and using it's hands as well as it's feet to aid it's movements.

I recoiled. I tried not to. I tried so hard to keep my back straight but the way it talked about me.... It sounded almost hungry.

It straightened in front of me and that horrible face filled my vision.

“Do you not like my exterior? My glorious form that I constructed?”

I tried to look sideways at the Witcher.

“Don't look at him,” It screeched, “Answer me.”

I choked, taking the moment to form an answer and took a moment to moisten my mouth.

“You are so far outside my experience,” I managed slowly, clearing my throat more than once. “that I find you repulsive.”

It laughed. Uproariously.

It turned away from me and stalked back to it's original position. This time it's movements were regal and cold.

“I have shown you my form,” it said coldly. “In return for this I demand your purpose here Witcher and the...” It tilted it's head like a dog as it looked at me. “The profession of your...Companion,”

It seemed to savour that last word. “Is that an acceptable bargain.”

The Witcher nodded. “It is.”

“Very well then. Answers if you please.”

“My companion is a scholar. He wishes to record how things work outside his experiences for future generations to know and understand how we lived.”

The thing seemed surprised.

“Interesting.” It considered me, tilting it's head from one side to the other. “Your purpose Witcher? Be swift.”

“I am hear to discuss a bargain with you.”

“A bargain with a Witcher,” It stopped, frozen in place like a picture in a wall. I started to wonder what it would look like if I walked round it.

“A bargain with a Witcher.” It crowed suddenly and danced around us with glee and delight before ending face to face with Kerrass. “A bargain with a Witcher,” it hissed. “Very well.” It screamed into the night.