Chapter 8 — The Baron

*****

“Geralt?”

I had to wait a couple of minutes before there was a reply on the xenovox. “Morning, Ragnar. Where are you?”

“Still at Keira’s house. I’ll explain everything when I get there. You still at Crow’s Perch?”

“Aye. There’s a lot going on here. Baron is being an uncooperative bastard.”

“Need my help?”

“Probably not,” he stated bluntly, “I was thinking about asking if you wanted to just go to Novigrad, but I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this here.”

“I’ll be there by lunchtime.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon, Ragnar.”

I didn’t lock up Keria’s home but at least shut the door and made it look like someone was living if they happened to look through the window, but I doubted either of us would ever return to it. I did think about just torching the place, but gave it some thought. It was in good condition and certainly suitable for a family, so headed to the nearby village, asking to speak to whoever was in charge. Pointed towards someone called the ‘village leader’, an elderly man likely given the position because he’d lived there all his life, I told him about the home now available. Asking where the witch had gone, I said she had left the region, assuring him he wasn’t dead nor captured by any witch hunters. He thanked me and said it would be used to house those who needed a warm place to rest.

The ride to Crow’s Perch took a little longer than expected, even when putting the horse through its paces. The fort was based on what looked like some sort of island as only a wooden bridge allowed access onto it. Stopped by a couple of henchmen, they asked why I was visiting Crow’s Perch.

“Did you allow a witcher to pass by recently?”

“Aye, what of it?”

“He’s a friend and we work together.”

“What’s his name?”

“Geralt of Rivia.” I took the xenovox from my pack. “If you don’t believe me, ask him yourself.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“Something magical. You want to ask him? Or do you want to let me through?”

The two shared a glance before looking at me. “Fine. You can pass, but we’ll be watching.”

“Fair enough. Don’t intend on getting on your bad side.”

The log wall around the fort seemed to offer some protection, but it was the fact there was only the one bridge across that meant the peasants were safe. Burn the bridge, and an army would never get across, not without having to rebuild it, and perhaps come under fire when doing so. Of course, it meant the peasants and those defending would be stuck too, but I had no doubt they would be prepared for some sort of siege.

Dismounting my horse, I walked through the village before climbing the hill towards the small fort itself. I received a few curious glances, and another henchman did stop and ask why I was there, repeating what I’d told the earlier henchman. Thankfully, he let me past after only a couple of questions, his opinion of Geralt already particularly low, though considering how many people disliked witchers on principle, it wasn’t a real surprise.

I found Roach tied up to a nearby fence, so tied my still nameless horse next to it and wandered inside. Asking where the baron was, I was pointed to a door, flanked by two small shields on which laid a symbol I didn’t recognise, but was perhaps the symbol of Velen. Knocking and opening the door, I walked in to see a heavy set man sat behind a desk, Geralt sat opposite him. Both looked at me.

“This him?” the other man asked. I assumed he was the one called ‘The Bloody Baron’.

“Yes, this is who I’ve mentioned,” Geralt replied as I walked over, “Ragnar, this is Phillip Strenger, otherwise known as the Bloody Baron.”

I leaned over and offered my hand. He looked at it a moment before grasping it. “Geralt has been telling me a little about you, Ragnar.” Releasing my hand, he gestured to the seat next to Geralt. Once I was sat down, he looked at me again. “Geralt tells me you’re assisting him with his enquiries into his missing daughter?”

“Aye. It’s a matter close to his heart. And as I now have nothing better to do… So what are you two discussing?”

The baron gestured at Geralt. “We were just discussing what I need from Geralt in return for the information he requires from me. Tit for tat, as they say.”

“Sounds like blackmail.”

The baron shrugged. “If you want to call it that. His daughter is important to him. My family is important to me. Geralt can fill you in on the details. As you were not here, I’ll put it simply. Find my family, you get the information you need, you can move on. But, rest assured, while you are here, you are under my protection. Might not seem like much, but as you’ve been around the area, I’m sure you know that my word is law.”

“Aye, the peasants certainly seem terrified,” I muttered before turning to Geralt, “Okay, so what are we doing?”

“I’ll leave it to Geralt to explain whatever his plan is.” He leaned forward, no doubt trying to intimidate us with his large frame and his reputation for violence using it. “Find my family, witcher, and you will have the information you want.”

We stood up and walked out, heading straight for the door leading outside. Moving away from any of his henchmen, the first question he asked me was what happened with Keira. It took a little explaining, and he admitted that, if it had been him, he’d probably have put a sword through her gut. “She used you. I’m sure you know that already, too busy thinking with your cock rather than your brain.”

“And she changed her hair colour.”

He caught the laugh that was ready to escape. “So predictable.”

“Talked her out of doing something stupid, at least. Burned the notes she found. She’s waiting for us at Kaer Morhen. Probably the safest place for her.”

“I’m sure Vesemir is going to Love her company, but… Well, considering what else is going on around Velen and further north, you made the right choice. Anyway, I’m sure you would like to know what I’ve been up to. Most important detail is that Ciri was definitely here. The baron has at least told me of her arrival and I found evidence when searching the place. I’ll put it in words you’ll understand otherwise. Something is fucked up here, and it involved the baron and his family. I just don’t know what yet.”

“What are we doing?”

“I was going to head off to find a pellar. Wasn’t sure if you’d want to tag along or not as it isn’t a two-person operation.”

“Sometimes I get the feeling you just want rid of me, Geralt.”

“Only sometimes, Ragnar, generally when you’re thinking with what’s between your legs instead of your ears. I could have warned you off about Keira but I figure it would have fallen on deaf ears anyway.”

I chuckled. “You’re right there. She wasn’t shy in coming forward.”

“I take it that wasn’t the first time?”

“Certainly not.”

“Triss didn’t mind?”

“She encouraged it. If there is someone I’ve always been a willing pawn for, it’s her.”

“Why aren’t you with her now? That’s what I don’t get.”

“After everything that happened after Loc Muinne, we agreed to spend some time apart. The entire affair was a debacle. She needed space to get her head right. I was willing to give it, as I knew what lay on the horizon anyway.”

“You’re telling me,” he muttered, “Honestly thought Temeria was safe with the way it played out.” He sighed. “Anyway, if you want to join me, you’re more than welcome. It’s the only lead I have so far.”

Mounting up, we headed out of Crow’s Perch and back towards Blackbough. As we rode, Geralt explained what he’d discovered about the baron and his family. He was a drunk. His Wife and child had disappeared one evening. The daughter was clearly a devotee of the Eternal Fire. The Wife seemed to have sought a talisman from the pellar, or at least that’s what he’d concluded. The baron had no idea why his Wife had it.

As we didn’t know the exact location of his hut, we did have to ask around the village and we were eventually pointed in the right direction. Riding up the narrow path for around ten minutes led us to a small house deep in the woods, far away from prying eyes. We dismounted a few metres back as there was at least half a dozen men at the door, one of them pounding away, making all sorts of threats.

“Look like the baron’s men to you?” I asked quietly.

“Yeah. Wonder what they’re doing here? You think we should ask?”

“I think we should. Without weapons, at least to begin with.”

The six were used to pushing around peasant’s incapable of fighting back. They took a look between the pair of us and no doubt knew they’d have a fight on their hands, should we choose to unsheathe. The largest of the men, and I mean large as in fat, pushed way forward. If he thought he would intimidate us, he was mistaken. “What the fuck do you two want?”

“Speak to the pellar,” Geralt replied.

“Well, you can fuck off, he’s ours.”

“That’s not very polite,” I retorted with a grin.

He took a step towards me, and I just kept the grin on my face as he needed to look up. “You don’t fuck off now, you can join the corpse of the pellar later on.”

I sighed. “Geralt?”

“Got to admit, I’m not finding myself liking any of the baron’s men so far, Ragnar. We let those at the inn live. I’m not feeling so inclined today.”

I unsheathed my sword. “Good, because neither am I.”

They were not used to people fighting back. They were definitely not used to people going on the attack. The fat one went down as soon as he drew a weapon. The other five didn’t know whether to attack of defend. We put another two on the ground within a few seconds, leaving it three against two, but the three still alive knew their number was already up. Neither of us was willing to shown an ounce of mercy this time. Geralt had clearly not liked what he’ seen at Crow’s Perch, seeming to take a little joy in putting his sword through two of them, while I took the sixth and last.

“Fucking hell, if these were Temerian soldiers, no wonder we fucking lost,” I muttered.

“They’ve grown fat and lazy, used to pushing around those who can’t push back,” Geralt stated, as we started to drag the bodies out of the way, “I’m thinking Crow’s Perch might need to eventually be cleansed of the baron’s men.”

“What about the baron?”

“Honestly? While he no doubt earned his title, I won’t say I have a good feeling about him, but there’s definitely a long story. What I do know is that he isn’t exactly lying to me, but I’m not hearing the whole story either.”

With the bodies out of the way, the pellar opened his door and seemed to know who we were. In fact, I was left thinking he had been expecting us. I stood aside as I let Geralt talk to him. Half the time that was my job. Stand around, look intimidating, perhaps thrown a fist or two if someone didn’t co-operate.

The pellar talked in riddles, and I had no idea what he meant half the time, but Geralt was patient and understanding. What I did understand was the pellar had given the baron’s Wife, Anna, the amulet that she must have dropped during her escape from Crow’s Perch. To help find her and her daughter, the pellar explained he would need to ask the spirits.

Heading outside, Geralt following him, I heard him exclaim something about Princess. Wandering outside myself, I heard him explain to Geralt that Princess was his pet goat, and that he needed the goat to augur and commune with the spirits. Geralt sighed and looked at me. “Wait here. I’ll find the goat. Pellar, anything you have to help bring her back?”

The pellar handed him a little bell, explaining he should ring it to attract her attention. Geralt headed off, muttering under his breath, leaving me alone with the pellar. As I figured Geralt would be a while, I did wonder what he knew. I swear the bastard could read my mind. “I know who you are, Dragonborn.”

“Should have known. How much do you know?”

“I know enough. Your fate has been entwined with the White Wolf ever since you arrived here. I know your story so far, but as for the story that will unfold, I cannot say.”

“I’d rather not know what fate has in store for me, though I always hope it will turn out okay.” I paused a few moments before asking, “Why did she need the amulet?”

The pellar looked off into the distance. “The pellar has rarely met a woman as full of sadness as her.”

“Do you know much about her story?”

He met my eyes and nodded. “I know enough to understand why she needed my help. As for the rest, I believe the baron can and eventually fill in the gaps. Though it will depend on how honest he chooses to be with you.”

Geralt returned a few minutes later with the goat, and he didn’t look happy, muttering something about a stupid goat and a big fucking stupid bear. Any question died in my mouth when he lifted a hand and his face suggested to simply not ask. The pellar was pleased to see his goat, though he asked for one more favour. He needed fresh blood. Geralt looked at me. “Your fucking turn,” he grumbled.

I figured the pellar would only need something like a hare or rabbit, and there were plenty of those scurrying around the forest. I didn’t think burning it would be a good idea, so used a frost spell. A couple of seconds at least slowed it down enough that I could grab its tail then I snapped its neck. If it wasn’t needed for the pellar’s augur, it would have made a decent meal.

What we learned from the pellar once he’d performed his ritual was something that left both of us rather stunned. Geralt has seen his fair share of shit over the years, but even he was left a little speechless by the revelation. Then he turned to me, stunned for fewer seconds than myself. “We’ll be dealing with a botchling, Ragnar. This is something well outside your knowledge nor will you know how to deal with it. I won’t be asking you to assist with this one.”

“Fair enough.”

“You must perform the Aymm Rhoin, White Wolf,” the pellar stated.

“The Ritual of Naming? That’s an elven custom.”

“Spirits have no race; they honour not its meaning. Win a spirit’s favour, and the spirit shall aid you. Ask and it will answer. Seek, and it will show you the way.”

Thanking the pellar, we mounted up and began our journey back to Crow’s Perch. “So have you actually ever dealt with a botchling before?” I wondered.

He nodded. “I have. To be honest, I usually treat them like most monsters in that I’ll just killed them. Most of the time, anyone connected to it is already dead, and saving it otherwise is almost impossible. I know a story of one witcher who managed to change the botchling into what is called a lubberkin.”

“And the baron? The story we were told?”

“I’m sure I’m not the only one who wants a word with him. Or knock his block off.”

The rest of the ride took place in silence. I have no doubt Geralt mostly thought about dealing with the botchling. From the brief description he was willing to give me, it was something from the worst of nightmares. I could only wish him good luck whichever decision he chose. As for myself, the longer I stewed on what the pellar told me about Anna Strenger and what she had likely been through, the angrier I got.

Crow’s Perch eventually came into view, and with the sun starting to set, there was no missing the smoke billowing from a building, and the light of flames leaping into the sky. Geralt and I swapped a glance and kicked our horses into a gallop, yelling at the baron’s henchmen to get out of the way as we rode our horses through the village, peasants leaping out of the way, before we climbed the hill to find the barn and stables up in flames.

Leaping off our mounts, he ran straight for the barn while I went looking for the baron. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he as likely responsible. I found the baron mouthing off at his men, hurling abuse and threatening all manner of punishments for imagined gripes. He took a swig from the bottle he was holding, so it distracted him enough that I could grab him by the collar and drag him away from the man he was threatening.

“What the fuck are you doing? Who the fuck do you think you are?” he growled.

“My friends call me Ragnar. You can call me the Dragonborn. Want to see what he’s capable of?”

He staggered until he tried to stand nose to nose with me. He was a big bastard, but I still had an inch or two. “I don’t think you have the guts to do a fucking thing. Not with my men around me.”

“I don’t think they’re going to lift a finger right now. So, want to know what we learned from the pellar? Sounds like you’re a Wife beating piece of shit.” He took a swing at me. I saw it coming before he even pulled his arm back, so I ducked and stepped to the side. “We know that your Wife suffered a miscarriage. While it would be considered tragic, I do wonder if she miscarried before or after you beat the shit out of her?”

“What the fuck do you think you’re accusing me of? What right do you have to stand there and…”

“Save it, Strenger. I have no doubt you’ve been beating your Wife for years. Men like you are pussies. Act all tough but take it out on someone they claim to Love and cherish. No wonder they fucking ran. I just wonder if you beat your daughter as well.”

He saw red at that accusation, hurling the bottle at me, which I just managed to duck, before he charged at me. Dropping my shoulder just enough that he glanced off me and stumbled, I took all my weapons off and gestured for him to take another swing. “Come on, big boy. Let’s see how you go against someone who can throw a punch back.”

“Fuckin’ wanker. You have no idea what I’m capable of. Who I am.”

“What I see is a pathetic, needle dicked little man.”

I was doing it on purpose, of course. Get him angry and I’d drop him quickly. His swings were so wild, I could easily step out of the way. It wore him out quickly, considering how drunk he was, so that all it took was a couple of good hits to eventually put him on the ground. On his back, I looked around at his henchman, eyes eventually falling on his second in command. “We going to have a problem?”

“If you hadn’t done it, one of us would have done it eventually. Think you need another conversation with him.”

I managed to drag him over towards a water trough and slammed his head down into it. “You need to sober up, then we’re going to have another nice little chat. Me, you and the witcher. And, trust me on this, you start telling us porky pies again, I’m going to start using my fists again.” I grabbed his collar and dragged him close so our noses touched. “You understand me now?”

“Okay, okay. Just let me go,” he groaned.

I dropped him to the ground and stepped away, glancing to see Geralt was already out the barn. It was going to burn to the ground, but I noticed he had at least saved the horses, while it looked like he’d also saved one or two men. He wandered over and looked at the baron. “We need to talk. Now.”

Lifting him up, we managed to drag him into the house and eventually into his office, dumping him into his chair as I poured Geralt and I a drink. The baron asked for one but the glare I returned caused him to look away. Handing a cup to Geralt, I remained standing between the two as Geralt wasted no time making his first accusation.

“You beat them.”

“I never laid a finger on Tamara.”

“But Anna?”

He looked at me for a moment before nodding. “That’s another story. She always knew how to spark my ire.”

“How? I know women can poke and prod, but from what we’ve heard… The fact she miscarried would suggest…”

“Twenty years we’ve known each other. She’s seen me drunk and sober, she was there to greet me when I returned the victor, she was there to patch me up in defeat. Like no other, she knew where to press, where to pinch, so it would hurt.”

“So to feel better about yourself, you pushed her around a little? Maybe a little slap every now and then?” I asked, not hiding the fact I thought he was pathetic for doing so. “And you expect us to believe you never touched your daughter?”