Chapter 47

"I think I have determined how the harpies choose which dream to steal. All of the dreams were of powerful memories, with presumably strong emotions attached to them. Contentment, fear, regret, pride - it doesn't seem to matter to the harpies what emotion is attached to the dream, as long as it is a strongly-felt one." Ivar muttered aloud as he scribbled notes into his journal. "It appears you were correct, Markus, with your earlier speculation. The oversized magpies love taking what they think is most valuable. It wouldn't surprise me if they were somehow addicted to the sensations that accompany the dreams, assuming they can feel it of course. Not to mention..." Ivar explained as I stood to the side and shattered Seltkirk's crystal.

I was still processing what I saw. The fact that Vandergrift had an impalement fetish was very minor next to finding out that Seltkirk was apparently an SI as well, and one from the time of the Templar Order… I hope it wasn't the Assassin's Creed templars now that I thought of it.

"Are you paying attention Markus?" Ivar asked, snapping my attention back to him after having tuned him out. "I realize what we have learned is shocking, but surely being a transplanted soul from another world also meant there was the possibility there were others as well. You did say that Seltkirk did not have much history in the stories you experienced after all." Ivar said, processing things much better than I was.

"I guess… but the guy was apparently alive centuries before the series was even a thing… or cosplayed up till his death. The point is that this means there is more to this than just me which means something bigger is in play. I just have no idea what." I grumbled in anger. I did not like not knowing what was going on. It was the one thing I had going for me since coming here after all.

"Well… why not confront him about it then?" Ivar asked.

"That… is not a terrible idea actually. I mean, even if he doesn't know the series we can at least compare notes on our past lives and maybe the cause of why we are here in the first place." I mused with a hand to my chin. "It's better than just burying the knowledge at least."

"Knowledge can never be buried! Like a seed it will simply grow until it breaks the surface and grows like a mighty tree into the sky! At least that is what my professor of botany said back at the university." Ivar commented.

"Good metaphor that isn't untrue I suppose. Anyway, it's getting late and we need to return to Vergen anyway to turn in the contracts and clean up. Also have to possibly prevent a family from being murdered as well tomorrow." I said as I examined myself, covered in filth and blood. "A bath would be nice as well."

Ivar's brows shot up. "Wait - what's this about a murder?"

"Just another good example about why mages shouldn't associate with demons. I'll explain on the way back." I brushed him off as I walked ahead.

I was tired and really wanted to sleep, but sadly I had to do at least one more thing tonight.

---

Seltkirk suppressed a yawn as he worked his way through his meal in The Cauldron, Vergen's premier inn. It had been a long day, and he wanted nothing more than to go sleep in his room on the upper floor. But he knew that people looked up to him, called him the invincible white knight', and his example could make or break an army. It was foolish, in his opinion, to put so much of one's faith into a single person. He'd seen that cause so much grief, both here with King Demavend, and in his previous life with Kings Richard and John. Richard's vainglorious actions had seen England left without a king for most of his reign, and virtually bankrupted by ransom payments; John's weak character saw the barons rise up and almost completely tear away the throne's power with the Magna Carta. Not that it was a terrible development, oh no; moving away from a single point of failure in the person of the king was probably the best thing that could have happened to his homeland. Or so he had concluded in the time spent here, going over his life choices.

A shame that his efforts here to replicate it had come to naught. King Demavend, for all his cunning and political savvy, held none of the character that was crucial to a great king. He could only hope that his efforts to inculcate a semblance of character in Prince Stennis would bear fruit.

"Commander, sorry to interrupt your meal but the Witcher and his companion have just returned and wish to meet with you. Should I send them away and to tell them to report to you on the morrow?" a soldier came up to his table and asked.

"They're back already?" Seltkirk muttered. "Either this Witcher is very good, or he is very sloppy. Send him here in ten minutes; I want to finish my supper first."

"Yes sir! Might give the mutant enough time to get a bucket and wash off the filth on him, or at least part of it." the soldier sneered.

"If 'that mutant' did what he promised to, he may well be responsible for saving the lives of you and your comrades," Seltkirk gently rebuked the soldier. "A man cannot help what he is, only what he does; judge him for the latter, not the former."

"Ye-yes sir. Forgive my words. I'll inform him now." the soldier rushed off, equal parts embarrassed and shamed. Not at what he said, but apparently disappointing Seltkirk, the living legend himself. Even if it was not for the right motivations, at least his men tried to follow his lead on most things.

So it was that Seltkirk worked quickly to finish off his meal and drink before asking a serving girl to clear the table. Not long after the Witcher, looking as if he took a wet cloth to his armor but had not wiped off all the blood yet, and his scholarly companion arrived to sit on the other side of it. Their hound was not far behind and sat at their feet, gnawing a bone she'd carried into the room.

"Sorry to interrupt your evening, Commander, but you'll be happy to know that both the necrophages and harpies have been dealt with. Even if a few survived, their nests have been destroyed, scattering what remains for a good while. Feel free to send men to either location to confirm my words if the pouches of fresh monster parts don't convince you." the Witcher, Markus the Golden Griffin, reported to him.

Seltkirk nodded. "My scouts near the frontline could hear the explosions from the necrophage nests, and I had heard reports from the men you passed by. Just how did you manage that?"

"My companion here is a master with a sling. Providing him with the knowledge and the right ammunition was enough to turn most of the necrophages into bloody chunks." he gestured to the armored scholar at his side. The scholar, for his part, blushed a bit at the praise, but managed to meet Seltkirk's gaze. He was impressed; he was accustomed to people ducking and bowing and scraping at him. It took a special sort of nerve to not be intimidated by him. Not that he tried to be so, but his reputation meant that many people saw what they wanted to see, not what was there. "The harpies were harder, being more spread out, but Master Baltimore's bombs made destroying the nests pretty easy, all things told. My silver blade also helped." the Witcher continued.

"Excellent work!" Seltkirk said jovially. "You've more than earned your pay today. I'll tell my aide-de-camp to make sure you receive every coin you were promised, as well as a bonus for completing it so quickly."

"Other than the monsters you hired us to kill we also found this among the necrophage nests." The Witcher passed him a blood-stained but still legible piece of paper. "Ivar, in his excitement, kinda solved the code cipher within seconds. I won't go into details out in the open in case you want to make use of what your scout gave his life to try to return to you."

Seltkirk took it from the Witcher's hand, and briefly skimmed the coded message. "This cipher uses the 12-7 pattern substitution code. And you solved this in your head, Master Ivar?"

"I was an overachiever back in university." was the reply.

Seltkirk chuckled. "Nicely done. If you ever tire of studying monsters, I could use a man of your skills to encrypt and decrypt messages. I'll pay you a bonus for assisting by returning this report. Now, is there anything else you wish to discuss? I

"There is… one more matter, Commander. Something even more private than the report. I'll be honest, I'm not sure how to bring it up." For the first time Seltkirk had seen in any of his kind the Witcher looked nervous.

The knight stroked his beard. "Private, hm? Perhaps we can take this to my quarters. I trust you're not wasting my time."

"I would never waste the time of a Templar." was his quiet reply.

Seltkirk felt himself go absolutely still. How did… Well. It didn't matter how they knew, only that they did. "Follow me," he told the two. "And bring your dog with you."

They did, following Seltkirk upstairs to his private room. He told those guards posted outside that he was not to be disturped for anything less than the Kaedwani assaulting the town. Once they were all inside he closed the door securely, locked it behind him and looked back at the two men.

"Where did you hear that word?" Seltkirk asked the two. Reaching down, he snapped his fingers and caught the pup's attention; she quickly scrambled over and began mooching ear scratches from the knight.

"The celaeno harpies, as you know, steal dreams and place them within naturally forming crystals. We found a magical stone ring with their lair that projects these dreams into a visible and audible form. I realize you asked us to stay away from them but my friend here was interested in learning how harpies choose the dreams they steal. We didn't know it was your dream at first until we heard your voice being projected as well. We saw you on your deathbed being inducted into the Templar Order with a comrade and priest at your side, talking about how you did not expect to be reborn into this world. I know the details of all this… because I'm the same as you. A person who lived a life in a different world and had their mind and soul placed within another body." he explained to Seltkirk's obvious shock.

Seltkirk's face went pale. "So," he murmured, "I am not alone. Does this mean God has not abandoned me, or have you also found yourself tossed into a hell not of your own making?

"Just to be clear, I'm pretty sure I did not have a previous life. Markus just told me and it is a rather interesting thought since we know other worlds exist due to the Conjunction of the Spheres-" the scholar started before his friend cut him off.

"Not now Ivar." he said before turning to Seltkirk. "And, no offense, I don't actually believe in god myself. More precisely, if there is such a thing as god I doubt he is the only one of his kind. Nor the only being with the power to transplant souls across different worlds. I come from a time much further in your future and ideas of a multiverse, a limitless number of worlds existing in their own planes of reality, was a popular theory. In that theory that would mean everything and anything is possible, including beings so powerful we would view them as gods… or it could be as simple as magic from this side pulling us over." he explained.

Seltkirk smiled. "And how," he asked, "could it ever be that such a marvelous universe as you describe could arise by chance? But," he raised one hand to forestall Markus's objection, "as much as I enjoy debates of theology and philosophy, the thought strikes me that our time is short, and therefore we must address the now, rather than the theoretical." He sighed. "Tell me: in the dream, did you hear my name?"

"I did actually, William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke." he said.

Seltkirk - William - gave a gasp, half pain and half relief. A tear came to his eye. "You," he said slowly, "have no idea how wonderful it is to hear that name again. I have lived in this accursed world for twenty and one of our years, and in all that time I never once told anyone who I was - what I was - for fear that I would be deemed insane and abandoned in a home for the incurably degenerate. As it was, it took me a good three months to regain my bearings after waking up here. Seltkirk's family - my family - was almost certain that I had taken leave of my senses."

Standing to his feet, he crossed the room in a single rangy stride, and clasped the young Witcher by his shoulders. "Tell me," he said, his voice almost cracking, "is there anything you can tell me of my family? My children?"

The Witcher swallowed, clearly torn between feeling uncomfortable and pity for the man before him. "I'm sorry, William. I was born long, long after your time, and I was never a very good student of history. I knew roughly when you lived because of the templar tabard, but I didn't know that much about you personally. I'm sorry. I would tell you if I could." For a moment, William felt as if he was going to cry - but with a visible effort of will, he mastered himself and brought his emotions under control.

"I suppose, it may have been too much to hope." He smiled grimly. "Such a lesson in humility this meeting has become. I was once one of the most important men in England, but 'twould appear that my memory has faded almost to nothing by your era. Do you know how much further after my… well, 'life' it was that you lived?"

"I assume eight centuries at least. Lots have changed since your day and age, it's honestly more of a culture shock for me being here than it likely is for you, even with all the magic, monsters and non-humans running around."

"Magic, monsters, non-humans… in my time, jesting about any one of those might have seen you treated as a sorcerer, or in league with the Devil himself. Yet, having lived here as long as I have, I would be a fool to deny that any of them exist. It's almost like living in a tale, or a fable." William mused.

"That's kinda the thing," the Witcher said. "You see, back in my world and time this world is a fictional story. More specifically a series of novels and… let's call them theater productions - called 'The Witcher' centered around a main character, who is the titular Witcher. So we technically are living in a tale. I'm not sure if imagination births new worlds or if we subconsciously view it in ideas in our mind, but the point is that it is real here and now for us. Which is partly why I'm coming to you now since you are who you are." he sighed deeply. "There is no easy way to say this. Once the actual battle against Kaedwen happens, you'll fall in battle against Vandergrift. Assuming nothing changes due to our actions of course."

"Pah!" William scoffed. "He's never forgiven me for defeating him at the tournament at Ard Carraigh a few years back. Honestly, you'd think the man could be a more graceful loser after giving such a good showing. I had to crack his sword before he yielded." He moved back to the bed and sat down on the side. "Old 'Vlad the Impaler'. I'd hoped that the rumors about his reputation were an exaggeration, but this conflict shows me that I was wrong. Do you know how he is supposed to kill me, Master-"

"Wait, 'Vlad the Impaler', that's what he calls himself? Are you sure?" Markus interrupted with a startled look on his face.

William looked back with a quizzical expression. "Er, no? Vladimir doesn't call himself that - he prefers the title of 'The Visitor'. It's his soldiers, and those who face him, who call him that, due to his habit of impaling captured soldiers on stakes."

"Of fucking course!" Markus shouted out while throwing his hands into the air. "Why didn't I see it sooner! I'm not sure if his moniker feels like a private joke to himself or what, but it seems we have a third transplanted soul in our mix. It just had to be one of the maddest fucking bastards in history, so mad in fact he is the inspiration behind vampires back home."

Dogmeat whined, looking up at Markus with her tail tucked between her legs. Ivar, for his part, looked shocked. Wiliam himself was equal parts confused and worried as well at his words.

"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to shout like that. To add some context, back in my world's history, like two hundred years later after William here died I think, there was a man known as Vlad the Impaler who ruled the country of Romania. Or was it Transylvania? I don't know all the history about him but his impact on culture due to his cruelty was so huge it made it into lots of stories and such in different ways. Like the story of Dracula. His favorite pastime? Impaling people on spikes. We saw another dream that depicted a field of just that with people speaking a language I didn't recognize, it must have been Romanian. It certainly fits, barring evidence to the contrary at least." Markus explained while bending down to pet his hound to calm her.

William was astounded, to say the least. "First me, then you, and now Vladimir? I have so many questions for how this could be possible, or why someone would do this to us. And in a story, of all things? ...I don't have the words to describe how I'm feeling at this moment."

"I can think of only a few native beings who potentially have the power to do this, but I have no proof at this time. As for the story bit… if it makes you feel any better, despite how people here go on about Destiny, it's not set in stone. I already did something earlier that never happened in the story so that proves it can be changed at least, and given what is coming I think you will want to do your damndest to change it. If not for yourself then for all your men." Markus said ominously, "unless you like the idea of you and the souls of all your men being stuck in an eternal battle never to find rest."

William looked down at his hands. They were shaking. He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve all of this. Had he missed Mass too many times? Killed a saint by accident? Was it for not making a true lifetime commitment to the Templars, instead seeking the 'deathbed membership' loophole so he was technically a lifetime member? Whatever it was, he must have done something truly horrible for God to punish him like this - at least if he had the likes of this 'Vlad the Impaler' to keep him company.

His hands clenched. It didn't matter. Even in his own time, he had been called 'the greatest knight who ever lived.' In this world, he was 'the invincible white knight'. It didn't matter if he had failed to live up to his reputation or aspirations in the past; past failure didn't keep a person from striving for future successes.

He looked back up at the Witcher, this otherworldly person who had been trapped in the same situation as himself. "It seems my work is not yet done. Assuming you are correct about this having been a story, what do you know of my future?"

"From what I recall Henselt will invade proper on the third day of the autumn equinox, something that Demavend's spies learn and inform you about so you can meet them in the field. Assuming I have been following the calendar correctly that is less than a week from now, right?" Both William and Ivar nodded at his words. "Okay then, so we have a time frame. I'm sketchy on the details of the battle itself, but at some point during it Vandergrift cuts you off from your forces and fights you one on one in plain view of both sides. It's described as a battle of titans but you eventually get cut down, I assume cause you were at least a bit tired from fighting before that point while Vandergrift was happily sitting on his ass yelling orders till you arrived. You die, and morale pretty much breaks among your forces and the Kaedweni start pushing hard."

"Of course it did," William muttered. "I've heard a few reports that the last of Henselt's troops are arriving in the next few days from Kaedwen; it makes sense that he would make his push as quickly as he could afterwards. And after my death, Henselt's army defeats my own? Does he move to take the rest of Aedirn?"

Markus shook his head. "No, but what happens next is unarguably worse. Sabrina Glevvisig, Henselt's royal court sorceress, hates Vandergrift and has… competing loyalties I will say. Said loyalties don't want Kaedwen to control Lormark and so Sabrina unleashes a magical firestorm over the battlefield that indiscriminately targets both sides, plunging both into chaos and killing over 3,000 men, including Vandergrift. Henselt is naturally pissed that this happens since it forces what is left of his broken army to retreat back home, but not before he sentences Sabrina to death for her actions. With her dying breath she enacts a blood curse over the battlefield, forcing all the souls that fell on it to reenact the battle over and over again for eternity until the curse is broken. While most soldiers, you included, are turned into wraiths, a select few become draugir and Vandergrift himself turns into a draug. Other than a few minor details that is the whole of it." Markus finished.

William's jaw dropped. Well, that certainly made his current situation look like a jaunt through paradise by comparison. His face pale, he asked, "Is there any way we can avoid this? My men…"

"However," Markus continued, "we are in luck that this whole situation can be avoided with one event. Namely your duel with Vandergrift. Sabrina only calls down the firestorm to prevent Kaedwen winning because the Aedirnians were breaking after seeing you fall, and the blood curse only happens because Henselt executes Sabrina for said firestorm. Therefore if you win none of that happens. The worst part is that you just have to defeat the rest of Kaedweni army so badly Henselt is forced to retreat, which after beating Vandergrift should be possible assuming it is as big a morale breaker for them as your death is for your side. Simple!" he saids with a smile.

"I hope it's as simple as you make it out to be," William said with a grimace. "But if Vandergrift manipulates events like you suggest he will, I'll be hard-pressed to beat him." A thought struck him. "Is there anything you could do to help?"

"The Witcher Code prevents me from directly getting involved in things like wars between kingdoms, but preventing a powerful curse from occurring is certainly within my job description. Therefore I will do what I can to assist you leading up to battle, but everything else will mainly be on you and your men. That sound fair? Oh, and this naturally stays between the four of us since no one would take us seriously." Markus said with a slight smirk. "A good start is to send whatever men you trust and are skilled enough to follow up on that scouting report that detailed a backdoor into Henselt's camp, maybe sabotage as much as they can or anything else they can do to screw with the Kaedweni army before the battle. You can also take steps to make sure you aren't cornered on the battlefield itself in any number of ways, though I would recommend sticking close to some dwarven heavy infantry. Heck, I can even spar with you if you want to give yourself practice against superhuman opponents since, no offense to your people, I don't think there is anyone here who can give you a challenge."

"All of those are good ideas; some I had even considered earlier when I saw the report. Let's resume this conversation in the morning. I need some time to contemplate what has been learned here." William - Seltkirk, now - rose to his feet and gave Markus a considering nod. "If we have the time later, I would quite enjoy learning about your world, and perhaps learn what has transpired since my time."

"Sounds good. Now, we need to get washed up, fed and then rest. We can worry about picking up our pay for the contracts tomorrow and you still got time to talk with people to plan and prepare for the upcoming battle. Oh, there is also an important job we have to do tomorrow but assuming all goes well we will be back later in the day." Markus explained as he made his way to the door.

William raised one quizzical brow. "Oh? What job would that be?"

"What else kinda job for a Witcher? Killing monsters to save innocent lives. Sleep well, Ser William." Markus said with a respectful nod, one copied by Ivar, before they and their hound left the room and William to his thoughts.