A Scholar's travels with a Witcher

by Spike368

Sent out to gather the knowledge of the real world. A young scholar from the University of Oxenfurt finds a wounded Witcher on the steps to the inn where he was staying. So he starts gathering the material for his journals. Rated T for language I will be publishing this story on Royal Road /profile/349358

99. Chapter 99

In many ways, the story of our time in Skellige is a story about stories. About the telling of them and the recounting of them. About the truth that is found in the deepest of the stories and the accounts of the past. That even when people have embellished the story beyond all recognition from what had actually happened all that time ago, there is still a truth contained in every story that the Skelligans told.

It's how they define their lives. Stories of the past. Of the great heroes that founded each of the clans, including those clans that have died out or been destroyed. Stories of epic raids against each other, of raids against foreigners who are much more advanced than they are. Of quests to destroy mighty monsters and to recover artefacts long thought lost to the mists of time.

It was through the telling of a story that this entire affair began. When Ciri was a young girl, she first heard the story of the Skeleton Ship and what it represents. It was this story that had made her travel to Skellige in time for the second passage of the Skeleton Ship during the reign of Queen Cerys. It was that story that resulted in Kerrass and I being summoned to Skellige with such urgency which is where the story began for us.

It was in the telling of the story in the halls of Kaer Trolde when I first felt the spell of the Skeleton Ship. How we had first felt the pull of the mystery as well as the hypnotic power of wonderment and horror. I'm not just talking about the power of the Ship itself although that is powerful in and of itself. But also the power of the story and the storytelling.

I do not feel as though I am saying any of this quite right.

But there is a truth in all of the stories. Even if Heimdall himself did not climb aboard the Skeleton Ship and have his question answered as to where he should build his keep. Maybe he was just a highly talented and slightly magical engineer who simply knew more about the building of fortresses in inaccessible places.

But maybe it is also true that he climbed aboard the Skeleton Ship and asked the Tall robed man and the shorter woman as where his castle should be built. Maybe it's also true that he was given his instructions by the Goddess Freya on how to lift the stone into place.

Maybe one or other of these stories is true. But having listened to these legends as told by those men and women who know them best, I will say this. First, that it does not matter which of these stories is what actually happened all that time ago. The truth is that a great man built an incredible castle, so does it matter where he got his inspiration from? It is still true that he brought the castle into being, the divine or supernatural influence merely told him where, as well as the first stages of the plan. The keep, the tunnel and the tactics all belonged to the man.

That is correct but I feel as though the other thing is also correct. If not more so.

All of the stories are true. All of them are correct.

Including the contradictory ones.

It might seem strange that I am saying this as a historian. It is true that historians are trained to work towards the single truth. That truth being the discovery of what actually happened in such and such a place, at such and such a time. But we do this by listening to accounts of eye-witnesses, reading documents as to what happened, and visiting the sites to see what they actually looked like. Then we combine all of these factors in order to try and get as close to those events as we actually can.

This is made difficult by the fact that what is true to one person is a lie to another. That context and perspective change everything in these cases. So the most we can say is "According to this person, this is what happened."

So I actually find that I am quite comfortable with this concept. That truth can be found in the strangest places. Sometimes it is a metaphorical truth. Sometimes it is a historical perspective and sometimes it is a view of the story teller as to what should be true.

I remember my time on the islands as being defined by stories. Yes there was music and dancing, feasting and other things. But even at a feast, men were competing with each other in order to tell the funniest story, the funniest anecdote. Everything was illustrated with a little story, a little tale about how this, or that piece of wisdom slotted into place and how they could prove that their point of view was the most important.

So many stories. It is therefore my intention to record some of these stories and to tell you about the people that I met, as well as to record the events that transpired. In the same way that I once spoke about the tools of a Witcher at the beginning of each of these articles, I shall write up a short story from my notes that will talk about some of the things that happened in the account to follow.

I am still enough of a historian to say that obviously each of these stories is at the whim of the person who told us the story as well as specifying the fact that people should try and find their own truths in the story.

We begin with the tale of how Helfdan became the Captain of the Wave-Serpent and how he was betrayed by his brother Dreng. This story was told to us by Ivar, the oldest member of Helfdan's crew. He leant forward as he spoke, his hands working with a carving tool as he worked on his club, shifting it and turning it in his hands. The firelight was reflected in his beard and off his eyebrows as the smoke and the sparks rose in the night, giving him an otherworldly look. As if he was one of the fire giants from Skelligan legend.

Kerrass listened to the story with a frown of concentration, no doubt gleaning what details he could from the party. Ciri's expression was unreadable although I got the feeling that she was no less intent than I was. The rest of the crew had heard the story before, many times from the look of them and some of the interplay that Ivar had with the men there, but they loved it. The way a crowd will love the antics of the best of minstrels and their activity even though the story might have been an old one.

The man himself sat a little distance away, slightly turned away from the speaker and the rest of his crew. Not because he was making a statement of any kind or trying to ignore the story. Nor did he have an air of weariness as though he was bored of hearing the same words over and over again. I decided that there was no pride in him, no humility either. It was just that there was a nice comfortable tree stump for him to lean against and he was in the middle of reading his book, writing in his journal or thinking of deep thoughts in advance of mornings sailing.

It was a cold evening, the wind blowing down from the mountain carrying the hint of snow and the smell of dampness as well as a sharp smell that I could not identify at the time. It later turned out to be the smell that Harpies carry with them everywhere. If you're wondering, it was close to, but a less sharp scent than, cat piss. It was somehow less unpleasant if you can believe that. We had already fought off a group of Necrophages and I had seen the way that the sailors worked with each other when it came to combat. It all felt... there was a comfort here that I had not felt elsewhere, not even with the Bastards and Sir Rickard.

There was no doubt in my mind that The bastards were a band of brothers that enjoyed the job and enjoyed the fact that they did it well. They were fond of their leader and they were equally as fond of each other. But there was no doubt in their mind that this was their job. It was a job that they loved and took pride in, but if you gave any single one of them, including Sir Rickard, a large sack of money, then they would be gone faster than it would take you to say farewell.

But here there was more of a feeling of fellowship. They belonged together. They loved and cared for each other although I can hear them laughing as they read this, or as Helfdan reads this too them. They tease and mock each other in the same way that the Bastard's did, but it would never cross any of their minds to do anything other than what they were doing now.

That was the difference. If I gave them enough money to retire then they would take that money, maybe by themselves a shiny new Helmet or a more ornamental piece of armour so that they could stand out from the crowd but they would still go where Helfdan led, do what he told them and sail where he sailed. It was inconceivable to them that they would do anything else.

They loved this. They loved the sailing and the hard, fast and sometimes brutal life that they lived. They loved the sudden joys and the savage beauty of it and I found those sentiments attractive.

I sat, along with the rest of them as Ivar took up the challenge. That challenge?

"How about a story Ivar?" Someone called. It might even have been Svein or one of his brothers. But the cry was soon taken up by the other men that sat around the camp fire. Cries of "Tell us a tale," and "Spin us a yarn," were heard before Ivar bowed his shaggy head before the onslaught and smiled through his beard.

In honour of our guests I suppose I should start with our first story. The very first story of our crew and the story of how all of this began.

We have all heard this story many many times and we tell it ourselves, to our sons and our daughters. We tell it to those members of our families who live far away and do not understand the happy madness that affects us all. We tell it to the strangers in the tavern, we tell it to our opponents in the halls and we tell it to the prisoners that we take. So that rivals never feel the shame and the sadness of being beaten.

For there is no shame in this defeat. For that defeat was inevitable from the moment they chose to fight Helfdan and the men of the Wave-Serpent. It was inevitable from the first moment that weapons were drawn and sails were unfurled. From when bows were strung, fires were lit and armour was donned.

It is fitting, I suppose that I tell this tale at the setting out of a quest (there was some heckling here as the quest had actually started some time ago but some of the others in the group quickly quietened the hecklers) as we remind ourselves of who we are and what we represent. We are the men of the Black Boar, the crew of the Wave-Serpent and the warriors of The Bastard.

This is the story of Helfdan.

The men cheered.

He has many names now does Lord Helfdan. Some men, notably us, call him Lord. Still others call him The Black Boar. Captain Helfdan to the foreigners, Hersir Helfdan to the Queen and Helfdan the Bastard to his enemies. An epitaph that loses it's power given that he has taken what they mean as an insult and turned it into a badge of pride, given that he has no bloodline to fall back on. No powerful family to rely on and call in times of need and privation. He stands on his own two feet and lives or dies according to his own skills and deeds rather than the skills and actions of his forebears.

But when I first knew him, when I first met him, he was Helfdan the Fisherman. He was still a bastard and there were few men who wanted to sail with him given this status. But those that did learned to trust his instincts at sea. Too often did he warn his ship captain of a coming storm that no other eye had seen, that no other nose had smelt. Too often had he guided ships to places where the best fishing could be found and too often did he lead them from ambushes and warn of tides and currents that no-one else knew.

Then one day the lord of that small area of land came looking for a helmsman. He was a powerful chieftain, the lord of that area. Cousin to the Jarl of Tuirseach and a distant one at that, but his blood was noble enough that he had lordship over a village. Powerful enough that he took the first choices of raiding territories and rich enough that he had his own hall and commanded two Longships.

The first, the largest of the two was called the Surf-Strider and oh, she was a beast of a ship. Huge she was like a fortress at sea but no less beautiful and graceful for it. Despite her bulk she seemed to dance on the waves and a skilled master would make that dance seem effortless. She defied the sea and would often be forced to resort to oars in order to get her incredible bulk to move when the sails were not enough to get the proper amount of speed.

The Second, ah, but we know what ship that was don't we?

(The men chanted two words, one after the other. It sounded like Bølge Slange. They chanted the two words over and over again until Ivar held his hands up for quiet.)

Yes, the Wave-Serpent. A smaller craft but no less dangerous. She needed a more skilled hand at the tiller. She was older and more set in her ways. You could not force the Wave-Serpent to go in any direction that she didn't want to go, not even with the strongest of oarsmen. This had been the Lord's ship and he sailed on her still while he had ordered the newer ship, the larger ship to be built for his son to captain, his oldest son, whose name was Dreng.

(Some of the crowd hissed at the name. I had an uncomfortable feeling that I was watching a puppet show with a bunch of children. A well told and compelling show but those hisses took me out of the spell of the story for a moment)

Dreng was a good captain, no no, he was, but he lacked the finesse that the Wave-Serpent needed. The best and most experienced warriors were on the Surf-Strider and the lord felt that the best thing for everyone would be that they look after their young captain, that an experienced helmsman along with an experienced crew would take care of Dreng's inexperience. While the older crew, on the verge of retirement, along with the younger, least experienced hands would serve with the Lord aboard the Wave-Serpent. And the Wave-Serpent needed a new Helmsman.

(A note for the uninitiated. It would seem that the term "Helmsman" is consistent with the old Nilfgaardian title of "Pilot". The idea being that the Captain is often a nobleman who knows sweet fuck all about the actual ins and outs of sailing and so there is a crew-member who gives out all the orders. They tend to be the person that knows how to plot a course and handle a ship. The appearance of this means that the "Captain" says things like "pursue that ship" and "Head North" and "Find us a place to anchor" and the Pilot implements all of these things. This practice has been going out of fashion over the last decade or so. This is because competence is beginning to become fashionable and "Captains" are required to actually know their stuff.

I suspect that we can see the influence of the Empress and her father there.

The Skelligans have something similar. In that the Captain is often a warchief or a lord, expected to lead men in battle. In Skelligan culture the Lords lead from the front and have to know what they are doing, which in turn means that they often don't have time to learn how their ship works or properly learning how to sail. So the term "Helmsman" is applied. The Captain says, "attack that ship" or "Raid that coast" and the Helmsman does the sailing to get that done. Another reason that Helfdan is unusual in Skelligan society is that he acts as his own Helmsman and has ordered Svein to act as the Warchief in his stead. The Warchief seems to be a position with much greater perceived honour. Which seems unimportant to Helfdan and Svein.)

The lord went among the fishermen looking for his new Helmsman, but many were the men who could have performed the task, too many even. Fishermen offered their sons and extolled their virtues and skills to the lord in order to get their progeny a coveted place aboard the raiding ships. But the Wave-Serpent is not an easy ship to handle. She needs a good hand, a steady and firm hand.

So the Lord, in his wisdom, set aside the pleas and organised a race. Obstacles were set out and all potential helmsmen climbed aboard their craft and ran the course. But the Lord found fault with all comers. In frustration he shouted into the wind. "Is there no man here who can sail this course?"

But of course there was.

The men of the village knew that Helfdan would be out of the village, indeed they arranged it, but one older fisherman scratched his chin. "Well," he said, taking his time in the way of old men everywhere.

A couple of the men jeered at the old man telling us this story.

"there's always the bastard." He told the Lord.

The Lord's men blanched and paled. "It's a bad omen," they told him. "He will bring bad luck down on our heads. The ship will flounder in weather and no matter how skilled he might be, the sea will object to our defiance of the old ways."

The Lord listened calmly before sending a runner to fetch "The Bastard."

Helfdan came. If it was another hero I would say that the storm heralded his coming or that the gulls cried out as his feet touched the sands. But in truth, nothing of the kind happened. He just came back, walking across the sand where he stood before the Lord.

He listened calmly as he was told what was required. He nodded and then went to his small craft, sailing it to the starting point.

You had to sail the ship close to floating barrels and snatch tokens from the barrels. The person who got them all in the shortest time while making it back to shore was the winner.

Of course he won, it was not even close although that victory is a tale for another night. Suffice to say, Helfdan sailed that course in a way that none of the preceding sailors had done, fetching the tokens in a different order. The other sailors had run the course in as short a physical distance as possible. But Helfdan had sailed the course according to the wind and the waves rather than the physical distance between the barrels. Helfdan's only response on the subject was that his course was more "efficient".

Despite the efforts of his court, the Lord took Helfdan with him when he set off.

Dreng hated him on sight. He saw it as a slight that Helfdan had been chosen. He shared the view that Helfdan's lack of lineage would curse the raids. He argued, not incorrectly, that Helfdan could not hunt, could barely fight, was physically clumsy, had the curse of literacy as well as his general... Strangeness. He suggested that men would not fight with him, would not follow him and would refuse his orders...

It was this last that finally summoned the Lord, his Father's rage.

"They will follow his orders," The Lord declared. "Because they are honourable men. To say otherwise is to insult them. You will apologise."

Helfdan sailed on the next raid and proved his lord's trust to be well founded. His skills and his instincts meant that the Wave-Serpent felt a new life in her decks. Even the oldest, most tradition bound warrior on the ship was forced to admit that Helfdan was an exceptional helmsman and the old girl danced on the waves as though she was newly birthed.

For four seasons, the Wave-Serpent sailed under the masterful hand of Helfdan. He was still far from a great warrior but the other men of the Wave-Serpent said that he could sail his ship through the eye of a needle.

I was one of those men.

He was so successful in his raiding that The Wave-Serpent began to pull ahead of the Surf-Strider in the amount of goods and money that they had taken despite the fewer men. They found that Helfdan could put the ship anywhere that the Lord wanted him to. He could sail into fortresses that men said were impossible to plunder. He could sail to coasts that were impassible. He could find passages through solid ice and dodge any storm. Stories began to be told of him that he was the son of the God of the sea, so well did he take to his new role.

A rivalry began to spring up between the men of the Wave-Serpent and the men of the Surf-Strider. It can be good for there to be a competition as that self same competition would drive each onto bigger and larger feats of daring. The two ship still served the same master though and there was a brotherhood between the two decks. But they say that this was the true seed of Dreng's resentment.

For his part, Helfdan enjoyed his new tasks. He enjoyed his endless tussle with the sea, the first mistress of the islands. He enjoyed confounding her, finding new ways to flirt with her and surprise her and it did seem to all that the sea loved him back, just as much as he was devoted to the wind and the waves.

(There was a long pause here as Ivar stared into the flames sadly.)

Of course it couldn't last. Many men have since set themselves the task of trying to assign blame for the disaster. The men of the Surf-Strider lay the blame at the feet of the Wave-Serpent, at the feet of Helfdan. Those of us that were on the deck of the Wave-Serpent at the time protest this and point out the mistakes that Dreng had made during the entire incident.

The truth, though. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but his new found successes at sea and on the raid meant that the Lord began to become overconfident. He would boast that there was no port that he could not sack. No town that was safe from his ships and no enemy that he could not confound and slay. His pride was well founded as his ships were fine ships, sailed by fine men and fine warriors stood on their bows. But his arrogance made him sloppy.

But he paid for it in the end, it is just a shame that so many good sailors paid for it as well.

It was the end of the season and the Lord decided that he wanted one more raid. One more haul of treasure so that he could expand his mead-hall rather than having to wait for the next season. One more journey out onto the open sea, a sea that was beginning to get tempestuous and angry.

All his men advised him against it. Including Helfdan and even Dreng saw the wisdom enough to admit that attacking at this juncture was foolish. But the Lord felt the strength in his arm and the warmth in his bones. So he ordered that the raid would be carried out, against the augers, against the advice of his men and advisers. His first lapse in judgement for many a long year and we sailed out on the morning tide.

The black ones were waiting for us.

Three ships, all of them bigger than the Wave-Serpent. One of them bigger than the Surf-Strider and they waited for us. We never found out how they knew that we were coming. But they did know.

Three ships, only three of them. Even then I would have wagered my money and takings from that raid that we would have been more than a match for them. We were the better warriors. We were the better Sailors. We should have laughed in the face of their defiance as our warriors prepared their weapons.

But they had something that we did not expect. They had brought a mage with them.

(The watching men groaned, even Kerrass shook his head in sadness. Ciri was just watching Ivar, her eyes bright with fascination)

The Black ones were cunning though, begging the Swallow's pardon. The Black ones were cunning and they hid the mage until the last possible moment.

The Lord was not foolish. He knew that we could defeat the ships but that that battle would cost us. That we would be injured, losing men and our ships would be hurt. Which meant that we would no longer be strong enough to raid the target that we had in mind. His rage was colossal. He checked with Helfdan and the Helmsman of the Surf-Strider, both men agreed that it was impossible to get round the Black ships without battle.

The Lord's rage was colossal. He declared that he would not back down from a fight. That he refused to leave this field with his tale between his legs. He wanted the Black ones to suffer, he wanted them to bleed.

Do not judge him to harshly. He had come all this way and was seeing his objective vanishing before his eyes. How many of us would have been able to keep our temper if the thing that we wanted most of all was snatched from our grip? How many of us would have turned away from even the smallest measure of vengeance?

He ordered the Wave-Serpent to attack one of the smaller ships, The Surf-Strider would follow and cover us from attack.

We were near in a small group of islands that was close to the port of the Black ones. We had intended to use the rocky outcroppings to hide us from the watchers from the shore. It was a good strategy and had served us well before which was why we found ourselves so caught.

Our enemies had taken up a simple formation, The large ship in the middle with the smaller ships on either side. The Lord ordered us to attack the small ship on the right hand side as we were looking at it. The Wave-Serpent leapt forward to the attack.

They were too confident. We should have seen it really but we were so angry. On the deck of the large ship, a man stood forward. He was dressed plainly, dark shirt and dark trousers. But there was no surprise as to who he was and what he could do. We were closing on our target but the mage raised his hands and fire spit forth from them.

The seas exploded, steam filled the air and we were thrown about, some men fell over the side and we could hear them screaming in the boiling water. There was another explosion and another and another. The Wave-Serpent groaned as our enemies gouged chunks out of her hull. Leaks sprung open below decks and we started taking on water. Men burned in the flames and choked in the smoke.

At one point an explosion all but lifted the wave-Serpent out of the water and we returned to the waves with a crash. The Surf-Strider was not doing much better. She's a heavier ship and an easier target for the mage.

Another explosion. We were done for, defeated, not by force of arms and not by skill or cunning. But by magic. It rankled, it tasted bitter on our tongues. But not one of us considered surrender. We readied our weapons, determined to sell ourselves as dearly as we could.

The Lord was hurt, impaled by a flying lump of wood, blood ran down his leg and from a thousand and one little cuts. He had been next to the rail, looking at the enemy as part of the ship exploded. He dragged himself to the rear of the ship and bellowed his orders to the Surf-Strider. Telling them to flee before the magic finished them as well. Then he collapsed next to his young Helmsman who was tugging at the tiller.

"Fight them Helfdan," the old Lord said. "Fight them so that my son and house will survive. Consider it my final command."

Helfdan simply nodded. Most men would swear oaths. Most men would bellow orders and scream their defiance against the men that were coming for them.

Helfdan drew his own axe, a gift from the lord taken from the loot in Helfdan's first raid, and gave it to the Lord who was slumped against the deck so that the old man could die with a weapon in his hand if it came to it. Then he rose to his feet.

We were all looking at him. Our enemy had decided that we were done for and could be destroyed at their leisure. They were setting course to pursue the Surf-Strider. They would fail of course. Dreng was no slouch and would follow the commands of his Father and was already turning to flee back to Skellige.

Helfdan looked around. He looked at the islands, then he looked at the sea. Then he turned his face to the wind before peering at our sail, increasingly tattered and gently smouldering from some of the flames.

Then he nodded.

"Archers." He called and those of us that were still standing called our answer. "Keep that mage's head down."

I had already strung my bow and I looked for my target. Old age has taken my sight now as well as the steadiness of my aim, meaning that I am far from the archer that I was. But I was good then, even though there are a few years between then and now. There were another five of us that could shoot a bow and we started raining arrows down on the large ship's deck. We were aiming for the mage but it was a long shot, even for our skills.

Helfdan was pulling on the tiller, turning us so that we would be sailing across the front of the enemy formation. It was easy to see what he was doing. If the enemy ships tried to sail on then they would run the risk of our ram, such as it was. There was a small ship behind and to our right that was falling behind us.

The large ship was looming closer and there was another, smaller ship beyond that.

The mage realising that he was in danger now as well as no longer being able to get his head up in order to cast any spells. It looked as though he was ordered to do something and then he left, disappearing from view. But Helfdan didn't pause.

"Oars," He shouted. "Plug those leaks and give me speed."

We were surprised. We were expecting a fight, not to exert ourselves at the rowing bench. But the habit of obedience to the Helmsman runs deep.

But Helfdan still wasn't done. "Archers, rain fire on the furthest ship."

I felt the question as I ran to the fire basket to light the end of my arrow. My fellows were wrapping rags round the ends of their other arrows and setting them aflame. But others had the question.

"What about the ship behind us?" They called. "What about the other, bigger craft?" Still others shouted.

Other Helmsmen would have yelled for silence or obedience. "Leave them to me," he told us. He was almost quiet as he said it before he took a deep breath and bellowed.

"GIVE ME SPEED, CURSE YOU. ROW FOR YOUR ANCESTORS SAKE."

We did as we were ordered. We shot our arrows into the distant target. Only one in three arrows struck home, landing in the sails with a hiss, or on the deck but those arrows were deadly. Fire is death on board a ship. Fire is death and now our enemy was aflame. But the enemy was not done.

Helfdan was watching the retreating back of the Surf-Strider. There was a strange look in his eyes as he swapped his gaze between the Surf-Strider and the small ship that we had left in our wake. Then he nodded.

And pulled on the tiller again.

"Speed." He cried. "More Speed. Keep those arrows flying."

He was peering through the smoke, squinting against it, legs wide and braced against the deck. I was not the only one who looked at him and saw a hero of legend.

"Surf-Strider is away." Someone called and we roared our approval. We could see the small ship and the large moving to intercept us, giving up the pursuit.

"Time to die then," I said. "It is a good day for it."

Some trick of the wind carried my words to Helfdan. He looked puzzled. "Die?" He asked. "Die? I do not intend to die." Then he grinned, possibly the first time I had seen much more than a slight smile on his face. "I intend to punish them for the hurt they have done to the Wave-Serpent. I intend to conquer."

He laughed then, one of the few times that I have heard him laugh and I am one of the few remaining who have been with him longest. It was a chilling sound.

"But we will only conquer if you give me MORE SPEED."

The oarsmen roared and bent to. We missed the front of the large ship by feet. No more than that and the sailors on that ship were far from idle, raining their own arrows amongst us. More than one man fell with an arrow in his body but we had the drive now. We had the rage to see us through.

The Wave-Serpent was angry and we laughed and sang with our rage.

Those of us who were still shooting had got the furthest ship well ablaze now. The sail had fallen from the mast and lay on the deck. Brave men could be seen trying to put the fire out, but even if they succeeded it would take hours to get another sail in place to pursue. Other men could be seen leaping over the side.

Helfdan ordered us to put our bows down and to raise buckets of water for when the Nilfgaardians followed our example. The Black ones were slow but they were not stupid. We were past the main ship now but they had seen what happened to their fellow and their own fire arrows started to fly.

Helfdan ordered our sails furled and we ran about with buckets putting the arrows out as quickly as we could.

We were making for a row of rocks in the surf. We could see the waves breaking against the small row of black stones that jutted out from the island. They were killer stones. Every sailor dreads that noise, the grinding noise of stone against the bottom of the hull, not the soft, wet noise of sand as a ship is breached, but the tearing, groaning sound. The sound of boards splitting and tearing before the rush of water overwhelms everything.

And Helfdan was heading us straight towards them. And he was still calling for more speed.

As we looked back the smaller ship was now overtaking the big one in their pursuit of us. But we were moving quickly. We were out of their arrow range now but that didn't faze Helfdan. He still wanted more speed.

It was a race now, the small Black ship versus the Wave-Serpent but we had no idea what the finishing line was going to be.

We had lost some men to the enemies arrows. Our crew was tired. We were the old men and the young boys, we were facing defeat and our lord was bleeding on the deck from a thousand cut as well as the cunk of wood in his chest.

But still Helfdan wanted speed.

I will not deny, I thought that we were committing suicide. One last effort to prevent ourselves from falling into the hands of the enemy. Capture and torture awaited us if we were taken and I thought that Helfdan was protecting us from that. There was no way that we would survive impact with those rocks. Even if we survived the impact, the waves would batter us against the stone. Hope was fleeing from us and we had nowhere else to go.

"Lift Oars," Helfdan called at the last moment, we lifted our oars out of the water and the inertia carried us towards the cold, sharp stone.

Then we hit the rocks.

And just as quickly, we passed through them. Somehow, by some instinct or skill that no one-else could possibly have seen, Helfdan had found a gap in the killer stones. He had seen the gap and he had urged us forward.

It would be a lie to suggest that that crossing was easy though, there was still currents there as the prevailing currents on one side of the stone were different to the other.

The impact his us like a hammer, and the crash of our hull hitting the new water was like the crash of a shield wall meeting a shield wall. The Wave-Serpent floundered. Just for a moment but she staggered and spun in place, but then we were through and moving.

We would have cheered if we had the breath. But Helfdan was not done.

"Stow oars and recover," Helfdan called, "Full Sail,"

The sail billowed out, the sheet was safe now that we were out of the range of their arrows and the canvas rippled as the wind caught at us again. The Wave-Serpent was battered but she was still a proud ship and she leapt to the fore. Moving quickly again.

The oarsmen rested a bit, some men took hammers and nails and set about repairing the worst of some of the leaks. Water was passed around and we looked back to see what our enemy was doing.

The Black ones were not great sailors. The large ship was floundering, trying to turn away from the rocks and it would probably make it as it wasn't moving as quickly. But the small ship was too fast to recover and on she came, still trying to chase us.

We will never know why their captain or helmsman made that choice. We will never know whether it was because they could see their quarry and were desperate to catch us. That because we had made the gap then they thought that they could make the same gap. Nor do we know if the Captain lost his nerve at the last moment and turned aside when he should have spurred his ship on. Nor do we know if the captain was watching us rather than watching the rocks.

All that we know is that small ship hurtled into that same line of rocks that we had passed. It seemed to me that the Ship had gone for the same gap that Helfdan had seen but at the last second had lost his nerve and turned, trying to turn away when it was too late. A friend of mine also suggested that the ships of the Black Ones are wider and run deeper than we did and maybe she was caught on some underwater rock. I do not know the answer.

I do know that the sound that ship made as she hit the rocks was awful.

I can enjoy an enemy defeated. I can take strength from a broken opponent and joy to see him fleeing before my club and my shield. I am a warrior after all. What kind of a warrior would I be if I couldn't do those things. But I am also a sailor.

I cheered when that ship of the Black Ones broke itself onto the rocks. I laughed and I jeered along with everyone else. Their captain had been foolish. He had tried to follow a better sailor than he and had lost his ship and his life because of it. It was a victory and I rejoiced in it. But if felt a little hollow. I had yet to receive my own measure of vengeance, my own solace for the attacks of the mage against the Wave-Serpent.

I might have set a few fires but that's not what I wanted to do. I wanted to meet my foe in combat.

I was not satisfied and it was all too easy to imagine what it would be like to be dashed against the rocks like those Black sailors were.

Helfdan looked back. It was his victory. He had taken the fight to the enemy and won out against odds that he shouldn't have won. He had escaped. Dreng and the Surf-Strider were safe, which was what we were ordered to do, and he had sunk one ship and severely damaged another. Anyone else would call that a victory and head for home. The Wave-Serpent was hurting and damaged. Our Lord lay on the deck bleeding. No-one could have expected more and as it was, the honour was Helfdan's.

But Helfdan was not done.

He was not watching the small ship wrecking itself against the rocks. He was watching the large ship that was struggling to turn. It was floundering in place. Helfdan looked at it closely before turning his face towards the wind again. Then he nodded and leant into the tiller, the wind caught the sail and we started to come round the island.

It wasn't a very big island. But we went fast. Keeping close to the shore, cutting as much distance off as we could.

"Weapons." Helfdan called. The word that was used for us to prepare for combat. We looked at each other I remember. We could barely believe we had heard that order. Weapons? We had been chased off. We had been defeated. We were hurt, injured, our ship was in pain, you could hear it through the hull.

We looked around in a panic. Had he seen something that we hadn't. Was there something coming that we had not prepared for.

But again, the habit of obedience to the Helmsman runs deep and we leapt to. Helmets were placed on heads. Weapons were left to hand. Shields were slung on backs.

Helfdan was watching the island. If anything we were moving faster. How he managed it I will never know but the Wave-Serpent reacted to his eagerness. He was leaning forward, his face was a grimace, halfway between a smile and a snarl.

We felt it too. That hunger for battle. We had all thought that we were going to die in a fight to keep the heir to the Lord safe. We had thought that we would be captured and tortured as pirates. Then we thought that we were going to die, battered to death against the rocks or drowned. We had felt the anti-climax of that but then our Helmsman had promised us battle.

"Weapons" he had called and that meant blood. We did not question his thinking then. He was the Helmsman and he knew things about the sea and the waves that we could only dream. Maybe he was worried that Dreng was not properly away.

("He's certainly a shit enough sailor." Someone heckled to general laughter.)

But we were on the attack and there was only one target left. The large ship. The ship that had the mage on it.

I found a rage in my chest then. I am not a berserker. No offence to Sigurd (the groups berserker) but I have never wanted that burden. But I dearly wanted some of that ship.

Then we rounded the island. Lookouts could just about see the Surf-Strider off in the distance. It was a long way away but you could see it. I doubt that any ship could catch it. We certainly couldn't. But then we turned again and saw our enemy.

The ship of the mage. He was back from wherever he had gone to and was waving his hands around. Blue light danced through his fingers and the sail was beginning to pick up. There were men running up and down the rigging, climbing across the sails. Men in black armour were yelling. The ship that had lost it's sail was drifting and still smouldering. It was a little too cold for the craft to properly catch fire but it was smouldering and smoking.

They had caught themselves in the water. The effort to turn aside from the rocks had meant that they were all but stranded. They were desperately trying to turn their ship so that they could do something. Maybe rescue some of the drowning men or, more likely, get to pursuing either the Surf-Strider or ourselves. It had not occurred to them that we might attack them.

But then again, they didn't know Helfdan then.

Neither did we then but we reacted to his orders with ease.

"Ready oars." he all but whispered. We moved quietly. They still hadn't seen us and the smoke from the smouldering ship formed a light mist. "Be ready Archers." He told us again and the four of us ran to the front of the Wave-Serpent. He didn't need to tell us what we would be shooting at. I wanted that mage.

But we were getting closer. The Mage finished his spell and the wind picked up. He was using magic to help in the pursuit. It was comical really. He looked out at something. We almost saw him smirk just before he turned, he saw us, he opened his mouth.

Then we made him duck. It wasn't my arrow. I was quick but my fellows were quicker. I remember laughing.

"Full speed. We're going to ram them."

Then, like now, the Wave-Serpent had a ram underneath it's bow. Both to help us beach the ship but also for moments like this. The enemy ship was turning towards where the Surf-Strider was disappearing over the horizon and we were all but on them with a perfect strike. The oarsman roared, the Wave-Serpent screamed her fury out over the waves as we cut through the water.

The rowers pulled their oars with all of their might and the Wave-Serpent reacted as she was meant to as she leapt to the attack.

The Black ones rained arrows on us. The mage tossed spells at us but he couldn't see as he didn't dare lift his face above the rail. We would have shot it off if he had.

A rower died. Another man took an arrow in the leg and I leapt to take up the strain. Speed was our ally now. We had to hit that ship with everything we had.

And truly we gave it everything.

Battle is not the word for it. It was a slaughter.

We struck that ship almost plumb on. The Wave-Serpent shook and groaned with the impact. We sprung more leaks and a couple of us were thrown overboard by the force of the impact. But what happened to us was nothing compared to what happened to the Black ones.

Helfdan had almost split the enemy ship in two with a crash like thunder from a clear sky. If I close my eyes, I fancy that I could still hear the echo of that sound today. The sound that is a boon for the victors but is like the hammer of death to the defeated. It's the kind of sound that you pray to all of the Gods that you never hear. But this time, we were the ones that were inflicting that wound on other people.

We climbed to our feet and leapt to the attack so that we could take our vengeance out on our enemies. So we could wash the stain of our dishonour, to be so nearly defeated by the hand of a mage's fire. I myself took up my bow, I could not get onto the ship at first but I took up my bow and began to shoot. The deck of the enemy ship was actually above us, well above my head but we could easily climb amid ships where we found our enemy still staggering and stunned. Screaming with fear and shock at the awful, terrible ram of the Wave-Serpent.

After some time of doing little more than counter shooting at enemy archers, I saw that the way was clear and took up my club.

My club was hungry for the brains of my enemies and for those seamen who thought that it was ok to rely on magic to take their victory. It would have been a decent fight but we were cheated from having a proper battle as the enemy ship was already going down. Enemy sailors were jumping overboard and swimming for the island but we still found many brave men who tried to fight back. Mostly young men who believed that their youth made them immortal. Men who were too young and ignorant to feel the proper fear of death. Who have not felt death's fingers clutch at their throat, who have not felt the pressure of deep and icy water on their chest or been injured by cold, sharp metal entering their bodies.

I fought no more than two men. The first was a man who rushed at me with his sword above his head. He was whirling it around and it was elementary to cave in his skull. He was a brave man for a black one, foolish, but brave. The second man was no more than a boy. I would guess that he was as young as my son who, at the time, had seen no more than thirteen seasons and I would not have allowed him to go to sea even if he had begged me. I grabbed him by the scruff of his nexck and threw him back out the hole and into the sea, hoping that he would swim ashore.

"The Mage," Helfdan called. "Bring me the mage's head."

But the mage had seen which way the wind had turned against him. And then, like all of his ilk, he proved himself to be the coward that he was and teleported away.

We couldn't stay. We wanted plunder. We wanted to finish the battle and take our vengeance. Apart from that there were practical concerns. Timber to repair the Wave-Serpent's injuries. Tools, nails, sailcloth. We hoped for medicines to help heal our wounded, provisions and the rum that Black Ones gave to their sailors in order to make long journeys easier.

But we had no time. It was all too easy to suppose that the mage would fetch reinforcements and so, with our enemy defeated, dead or fleeing, Helfdan called us back and so that the sinking larger vessel wouldn't drag us down with it. We rescued some drowning enemy sailors because that's what you do when you're at sea and then we limped for home, using the last of the magical wind that the mage had summoned for his own use.

And limped is the right word. Some men say that in bringing us home, Helfdan managed a greater miracle than winning the fight at sea. But that is a story for another time.

We limped home to find that Dreng was already home and taking on the lordship of his father's realm and so was actually quite angry when we arrived. The Lord survived but it was clear to everyone that he would not sail again. He gave Helfdan a sword in return for his feats and his skills and began calling him son. But Dreng's pride never really recovered from that.

He never quite got over the fact that he had been ordered to flee in the face of the enemy. He felt that some people branded him a coward for that action despite the fact that he had been ordered to flee for the horizon. He did what his Lord wanted. But he never forgave Helfdan for winning his battles and snatching his victory from the jaws of defeat.

Less kind men than I, would also comment that he never forgive Helfdan for returning Dreng's father back alive either.

Helfdan was never formally adopted and there was no word as to whether or not the Lord actually intended to do that or not, so that when the Lord died a couple of years later, Helfdan had nowhere to go. He had been given the Wave-Serpent according to the Lord's wish and many of us chose to follow him.

He went because Dreng cast him out. Dreng's bitterness was such that he could not allow himself to have a rival so close to home. This despite the fact that Helfdan was a loyal Hersir to his war-chief, Dreng, and a man of honour. But Dreng would not listen to those advisers who told him to let his grudge go. The grudge that had not been helped by the fact that when the two ships sailed separately, Helfdan would regularly bring in the bigger haul of goods.

So Helfdan left. He had his ship, he had his crew and the waves and the world welcomed him. Clan An Craite took him in as a skilled Longship captain and although he was consigned to the patrol fleet rather than raiding like he should have been, he proved himself an able captain and was soon raiding again. He was awarded lands in the wild and remote parts of the former clan Drummond's domain and has thrived ever since.

So ends the tale of Helfdan and Dreng. Men who should have been brothers but found themselves as rivals instead.

Throughout the telling, Helfdan barely moved. He was writing in his journal and looked as though he wasn't really listening. The entire thing had the feeling of a long told tale that men loved to hear in the same way that everywhere he goes, people always ask for Dandelion to tell the tale of the White Wolf of Rivia and his dark haired Sorceress.

Ivar subsided from his tale telling and the men stamped their feet or drummed their fists on their chests in order to show their approval.

"Seems like we chose the right man for the job of ferrying us around." Kerrass commented.

"What's this "we" stuff?" I demanded but Kerrass was already listening to the next story.

Ciri said nothing.

Do you know the term "Natural habitat?"

I ask because I keep getting reminders that not everyone reading these words are academics and that some people don't have as wide-ranging a vocabulary, like wot I do, so I just want to check.

The term "Natural habitat" is used to describe an animal or monster and where they prefer to live or work.

It's where they can find the proper food sources that they need to survive, generally there is water and they are able to live and hunt for themselves and the number of natural predators that can kill and eat them is relatively small.

For example. Necrophages, as a whole, hang around those places where there are large amounts of dead bodies to feast on after the fact. You can generally find them in grave yards, crypts and old battlefields after the looting has been done. Griffins prefer mountainous, remote areas despite the fact that there is some evidence that this is shifting a little bit. Because they are discovering that humans like to pen up all the tasty animals into one place which makes hunting them all that much easier.

I can go on and on and Kerrass could add even more examples to my already growing list.

Giant Centipiedes like warm, dry, sandy ground to work with which is why you find them in Toussaint and not in Redania. Rotfiends like damp environments where things are generally in the process of decomposition which is why they like sewers and swamps. The various different mutations along the form of Swamp Hag live near some kind of dirty water source.

The term can change from the obvious. "Fish live in water, birds fly in the sky." but it becomes more finicky as different things get more complicated. A human's natural habitat varies for instance. They need water, and the ability to acquire food, either through the hunting of the food or the growing of the food. This is why you don't find humans out in the great desert.

But you can also apply it to different individual people. As an example, my sister Emma's natural habitat would be in a meeting room surrounded by lawyers and merchants talking at her. She sits there in a pose that is taken from my father, legs stretched out or crossed with her fingers steepled together as she takes everything in and forgets nothing. Ariadne's natural habitat is inside her laboratory or her library. She would claim differently but the truth is that she is never more happy or relaxed than when she is wearing a simple robe and working on some project or another. She can adapt to other places but those are the ones where she feels most at home, most in command of herself and her environments.

You know it's true my love.

Kerrass' natural habitat is out in the forests. He enjoys the comfort of civilisation and the company of other people but he could not stand it indefinitely. If you gave him a bunch of money so that he didn't have to make a living and the monsters of the world vanished meaning that he did not have to kill them then I firmly believe that he would build himself a log cabin in the woods somewhere. Close enough to a city in order to get some of his creature comforts but far enough that he couldn't smell the people that live there. Not in fields or farm lands. Maybe near a stream or a well for the fresh water or a river for fishing. But he prefers trees and forests than plains or fields. I don't know why I think this although the man himself suggested that I might be right.

When I was discussing this with Kerrass and Ciri, they declared that my natural habitat was my study. Not a library as I had first suggested but in my study. With a desk full of papers that only I knew the location of or understood the order and the sorting of. Shelves full of books and scrolls, maps on the wall, a comfortable fire, a comfortable chair, plenty of writing implements with food and drink near to hand.

It doesn't sound bad after all and I don't think that they are too wrong in their assessment.

For those wondering though, Ciri's natural habitat is wherever she damn well decides it is. I've never met a person who adapts to her surroundings quite as easily as Ciri does. Equally at home drinking heavily with a group of Skelligan warriors twice her size as she is in the most formal courtroom in the land. She's provably comfortable in the communal baths, walking in the gardens, watching a sporting or martial event, listening to the minstrel or bard in the tavern, watching a play at an opera house, getting sweaty on the training yard, riding on horseback or in a carriage, on the hunt for some game beast or sleeping in a hay loft.

She did admit, when pushed, that she doesn't enjoy time spent in libraries studying paperwork. Learning for the sake of learning is not something that interests her. She needs to see the point behind the activity and the reason that she is studying for the thing. The knowledge needs to be applicable so that she can enjoy the application of that knowledge in daily life.

But, and the reason for this little preamble is this. You have never seen a man more at home, more in his natural habitat than when I saw Helfdan stood at the tiller of the Wave-Serpent as we shot out of the harbour of Kaer Trolde. As I said before, it was like an arrow was fired from a bow, or a ballistae bolt fired from a... well... ballistae. I later found out that Helfdan is one of the few Longship Captains that dares take their ship out of that harbour under full sail rather than with the oars because the winds through that canyon are chaotic and strong. As well as the cross winds that occur across the mouth of the gorge that can catch hold of a ship and dash it against the rocks.

Svein told me that there were thousands, millions of crowns worth of treasure at the bottom of the ocean at the end of that gully due to merchant and trading ships getting cocky, but because of the cross currents it was almost impossible to run salvage operations. I was beginning to get used to Svein and his tall tales by now though and looked at him sceptically. He wasn't far wrong though, it's just that most of the treasure is of the food and cloth variety that would have rotted into utter disuse over the years making salvage pointless.

But it was partly because of these wrecks that Queen Cerys' grandfather had changed the traditions regarding the harbour of Kaer Trolde so that small ships loaded and unloaded the goods while the larger ships and longships were kept at anchor in the harbour.

But Helfdan rode the ship, the currents and the winds like a champion. Like all experts in his craft, he made it look easy as well, but he was the very mythical image of the Skelligan ship's captain. Legs wide and planted firmly, tiller under his arm, eyes straight ahead. It was raining so water was running through his hair and down his face, dripping from his nose and occasionally seeming to spray out with his breath or because he snorted.

But we felt the exit from the gorge as much as saw it. It was like the ship was hit with a hammer and at first I was concerned as the sail rippled and the mast creaked. But the men of Helfdan's crew cheered the departure and didn't look too concerned.

We turned eastward out of the harbour and ran along the cliff's edge. A course I found surprising since our goal was to the west but I have since learned that the quickest course at sea is not necessarily a straight line. Something that was confirmed when Svein brought us some food. Turns out that one of the secrets of keeping a settled stomach on rough voyages is to keep something in your belly. Not a lot, but just enough to keep things settled. He sat on his haunches and told us what was happening.

"Two reasons we're heading East rather than west. The first is that any pursuit is going to expect us to head straight west. They'll be waiting for a bit so it doesn't look as though they're following us directly but then they will assume that we are heading west. The other thing is that there weren't that many supplies that were free for us to buy in Kaer Trolde," he told us all this with his never missing grin on his face. Like most of the crew, he simply ignored the driving rain. That's not to say that they stood in the open when shelter was available, but if a job needed doing then it needed doing. "So our first port of call is our home port where we can simply commandeer some more supplies. We've had a surplus for a while so there's plenty to go around. It's also an unexpected departure so there are certain things that need to be taken care of."

"Will that delay us much?" Ciri wanted to know.

"Not as much as you might think. Even if we sailed straight west out of Kaer Trolde, it would still take us three days to get to the watchtower. We're talking a difference of a few hours at most."

"That sounds a little odd." Kerrass commented.

"That's because the coming of the Skeleton Ship comes with a couple of extra problems that make a sailor's life difficult."

"Oh?"

"The prevailing winds, during the time of the Skeleton ship's coming, is from the west. As are the currents which means that even if we rowed, we would barely get anywhere and merely exhaust ourselves."

This piqued my curiosity.

"Does the Skeleton Ship not move magically then?"

"No." Svein laughed, obviously enjoying himself. "It's definitely a ship and obeys the normal laws of the sea."

"How many times have you seen it?" Ciri asked him.

"Many many times," he told her, his smile fading a little. "Far too many. It holds a special dread for sailors like us."

"Why?" I wondered.

"It's a constant reminder of our mortality innit." He told us, recovering his humour. It's the constant fear that one day, I might be the one lost at sea and it might be my wife and children that are throwing offerings before that great, black hulk. We have to believe that we're immortal to do what we do. But there is no denying that the sea is a fickle mistress. She gives and she takes away with equal abandon."

Someone called to him and he glanced round before turning back to us.

"I have to go." He told us. "Believe me when I say that there will be plenty of time for stories during the journey."

"You Skelligans do like your stories." Ciri commented.

"We really do." Svein laughed. "We camp ashore due to strong currents and potential for drifting ice so..."

"We understand." Kerrass told him. "Don't let us keep you."

He left after that.

The northern edge of Ard Skellig is mostly Cliff face as it backs onto the mountains. Kerrass told me that there are caves all through that mountain range, many of them had been left unexplored, but the reason for that was obvious. You could see the siryn and harpy population flying and flitting around amongst the caves. Going from one opening to another. Kerrass told us that there wasn't too much to worry about as both species of monsters are reptillian and therefore uncomfortable and sluggish in the cold air.

I noticed that despite this, he was constructing his crossbow though.

Svein also stationed bowmen as look out to protect us from any airborne menace. He needn't have worried though. One lone harpy ventured towards us. Svein called a name out to one of the archers who took a shot. The winged beast shrieked at us and flew back towards the caves.

I stared at the reptilian forms of the Siryns and wondered, not for the first time, how sailors ever fell for their spells.

The sailing settled down a bit after that. We came round the North eastern tip of Ard Skellig where there seemed to be a flat plateau at the bottom of the cliffs. I thought that I could see a camp fire there, occasionally hidden by the swirls of rain and the swelling of the ocean. One of the crew saw me looking and told me that it was a favourite haunt of smugglers and pirates. That it was a dangerous place to try and land though because if the sea decided to surge against the ship that had found it's beaching point, then the ship could be picked up and dashed against the rocks with little to no warning at all.

We also began to get to know a couple of the other crew-members. Including Svein's three younger brothers that he had contacted and had joined him on Helfdan's crew when space had opened up. It was an interesting family as it also turned out that, although the four of them had the same father, Svein shared a mother with Haakon the next oldest. But then the youngest pair both had different mothers and all four men had bonded over a mutual loathing of their father.

Haakon was the straight brother to Svein and he shared Svein's lean frame. He was a sallow man with sunken cheeks and from some of Svein's hints I gathered that he had suffered from some form of childhood illness that made it almost impossible for him to put on any kind of serious weight. He had a long pale face and although he had less charm than Svein, he had a bone-dry sense of humour that Kerrass, in particular, found amusing. He was content to live in the shadow of his older brother and follow his orders.

Unlike Svein though, he had not gone bald and his hair had formed into Long dreadlocks that he tied back from his face. When he was armed he wore a shirt of chain mail, expensive wrist and shoulder guards and plate metal guards over his shins. He fought with a large two handed axe that boasted the peculiar hook shape that the Skelligans favoured. When I did see the men train, Haakon turned out to be a very dextrous fighter, sometimes with his shield slung on his back but sometimes without. I once saw him parry an axe strike with his shins and the armour covering them. He also war a helm in battle that made him look like some kind of undead creature as it put his face into shadow. To the other Skelligans he looked like their Draugr of legend.

A Draugr is, to them, the dead returned to life. According to Kerrass they are mythical creatures or are other creatures that have been mistaken for Draugr. It's the kind of thing that happens all the time.

The next of the four brothers had been the man who had been wrapped in the bear skin. He was called Ursa which, in the way of Skelligans, had been decided to be a corruption of the word "ursine" meaning bear.

Others claimed that the reason he was called "The Bear" was because he was covered with long and unusually thick body hair. He wore metal shoulder plates and a thick leather coat, fighting with a large, metal headed hammer and a huge shield that covered him from his shoulders down to his shins. He had chosen to embrace his nick-name and wore bear skins in just about any circumstances. He was a fiercely intelligent man and, according to everyone that we spoke to, was the best one on one fighter on the crew. When such things were required, it was Ursa The Bear that acted as Helfdan's champion.

The reason he deferred to his older brother was that he claimed that he didn't have the gift of being able to impart his skills to other people and was too lazy to be a proper warchief. But Helfdan would regularly rely on his advice. The other men said that when Ursa started to walk forwards then even the mountains struggled and fought with each other to get out of his way. Because sooner or later, the hammer of the Bear would beat them down.

The last brother was the ill looking pasty faced man who's skin seemed to be peeling away from his face. He looked nothing like his older three brothers unless he smiled, which displayed a cheekiness to him that he seemed to share with Svein. Another fiercely intelligent man like all of his brothers but he had been born as the son of a whore. The pregnancy had been tough and the birth had killed the mother and almost killed the baby as well. The father had left the baby to die but somehow the child had survived as a thief and drifter.

His name was Kar. He shared Haakon's problem that he struggled to put on any weight but he also lacked the strength of his older brothers. Which meant that he struggled to wear any kind of heavy armour or wield any of the heavy weapons of the other members of the crew. He was, however, ridiculously quick with his movements and fought with a pair of long knives. The other brothers had taken him in hand when they found out that they had another brother and he had joined the crew and had stayed.

He was another man that shared a puppy like devotion to Helfdan due to the fact that Helfdan had given him trust and purpose. His older brothers watched him closely as otherwise enemies of Helfdan had a tendency to simply disappear suddenly.

Or so they told me. I was beginning to learn that any time a Skelligan told me a story, that I needed to take it with the proverbial pinch of salt.

We sailed South and we did so with a speed that, dare I say, put the speed of the Imperial messenger service to shame and with an ease that meant that if it wasn't for the rain, the journey might have been quite pleasant which was a stark contrast to my last sea journey. I don't know why there was such a difference. I know that if I asked any of the crew of the Wave-Serpent they would talk about the skills and seamanship of her Captain. That the best crews and the best ships are no competition for men who know the waters and know their ships.

A Nilfgaardian captain I spoke to late was good enough and experienced enough to admit the shortfall and difference in skills. He told me that the difference was that Skelligans are taken to sea while still in swaddling, the salt of the sea runs through their blood and you will learn to sail and you will spend a significant amount of time on the water if you are Skelligan. Whereas the Nilfgaardian and Northern sailors are matters of necessity. We do it because we have to and that that was the difference.

Kerrass had the insight that it was like the difference between a heavily armoured knight versues a skilled fighter. A knight, covered in plate mail is like a small fortress walking. They struggle to see out of their helms and so they come to depend on their strength and their armour to protect them. Skill is useful but almost as useful is their strength as they just move forward, battering their opponents to death. The Nilfgaardian craft had been like a knight, charging forward on their heaviest steeds and swinging their weapons with abandon whereas the Skelligan ships sail with skill, with dexterity and knowledge. To him it was the difference between a man who is a good fighter because of his strength and a man who is a good fighter because of his speed and skill.

Ciri's perspective was particularly interesting being a child of both worlds. She said that it was about love. That the Skelligans love the sea and see sailing on it as being a great privilege. There is a reason as to why their nobility is made up of the captains of the Longships. That the Skelligan sailors are all about the journey. Whereas the Nilfgaardians have a job to do. They are all about the destination so they push through the sea directly.

I don't know who is right. But I felt my new worries at the prospects of extended sea journeys that had been born out of the voyage on the messenger ship dissipated in the swell and lull of the Wave-Serpent under the skilful hands of her Captain and crew.

We came round the headlands and sailed along shores of deserted looking forests. Occasionally you could see old, abandoned and long ruined houses and cottages but they were often obscured by the increasing rain and sleet, we rounded another mountain before I was surprised to discover that I must have dosed as the gentle movements of the ship along with the rhythmic sound of the rain on the oilskin over me, sent me to sleep.

To be fair though, there was very little to do aboard ship other than to gossip and sleep, writing would have been impossible and the quarters were too cramped to do any kind of serious training. But I was woken up from my doze by the sounds of cheering and waving and I climbed to my feet.

We came round another mountainous headland into a narrow bay. The top of the headland had a small tower erected upon it which we could see a torch being waved. A horn sounded from the Wave-Serpent to be answered from further into the inlet by a much deeper, two note horn. The rain had stopped while I slept and I looked out with curiosity as we sailed into Helfdan's home harbour.

It was a small fishing village really, not a great deal to it but what was there was well built. In amongst the mountainous valley the harbour seemed to stretch up into a wooded valley that, in the long run, would take men out of the village and carry them off to the North west. The buildings were mostly built with stone foundations and occasionally the stone had also built the lower parts of the buildings. Then wood and thatch had been harnessed to build the upper walls and, in a couple of places, the upper floors.

To my eyes it was a fishing village and along with the jetty there were several small fishing boats and people working to get the boats out of the water. They were covering them in tarpaulin, presumably against the coming of the ice and cold of the Skeleton ship. The village spread up and into the valley a little way, at the time, I had no idea how big it was compared to some of the other villages and towns on the islands.

But it turned out to be a relatively small place. A hall, a tavern, a smith, a tannery and a small ship-building place. It was obvious, even to me, that the place made it's living out of the sea and that they were largely self-sufficient. I thought I could see a lumber yard well beyond the confines of the village itself and there was a large, well built wooden palisade that covered the approach to the village from land, complete with watch towers.

Ciri was nodding her approval. "If someone wanted to raid this place then they would need to approach from both sea and land at the same time to do serious damage." She told me in a low voice. "Fire arrows from the cliffs would keep ships at bay while villagers escaped into the woods. Whereas that palisade would keep out all but the most determined attackers while the villagers fled to sea if you were attacked by land."

Not that people would bother. It turned out to be a kind of remote place and there was little to no mineral wealth here. Svein informed us that it had been meant as a place to get Helfdan out of the way. Away from the larger and more populous areas of the islands where his success at raiding would put some of the other Captains to shame. But Helfdan had grown to like the place and enjoyed the fact that it gave him and his men some measure of privacy.

It was also a place where those members of the crew who had more of a problem keeping their hands to themselves were removed from temptation. Svein kept them all on a short rein in the larger areas of places like Kaer Trolde and would often take people like his youngest brother Kar and search him thoroughly before leaving town. But it was also clear that out here, if someone got out of hand then they could be looked after properly by people that cared.

As we glided into the harbour, still under sail and Helfdan's careful guidance we saw people coming out to meet us, including a group of warriors in full mail, spears and shields shining. Other men and women came rushing towards the jetty where they could be relied upon to be hauling on ropes in order to get the Wave-Serpent into the dock. Others were cheering and calling to the men on the ship, only the warriors were calm and quiet.

The ropes weren't needed though, the ship glided to dock with ease and the only purpose of the ropes was to secure the ship in place. Travelling bundles were unloaded first along with the various bits of cargo that had been carried out to the village. "Never sail empty of cargo," Svein commented to me with a grin. Emma would approve.

But then men started to disembark where they were greeted by wives, children and friends. I didn't see much of it as I was watching the warriors, the leader of which greeted Svein warmly as she took her helm off to show long, braided blonde hair and gave him the hugest, sloppiest kiss that I had seen in a long while. A kiss that Svein returned with warmth and affection.

Then she hit him, much to the amusement of the onlookers and the other guards.

"Stupid man," she yelled at him. "Coming back and not sending word. We could have filled you all full of arrows,"

"Secret mission my love." He protested, nursing his bruised jaw.

"Does that matter? I was all set to give the order myself."

Then she kissed him again to cheers of onlookers. There was a lot of passion in that kiss before she broke apart from him and clapped her helm back on her head. "Is he...?"

Svein gestured over his shoulder to where Helfdan was prowling round the deck inspecting things, tugging on ropes and running his hands along the wood. Although the majority of the crew, including Kerrass, were disembarking over the side, I decided to wait for the gangplank.

I could probably have jumped over the side to land on the quay but the ship was still shifting and I was more than a little aware of just how stupid I could look in those kinds of circumstances, my pride was not such that I felt as though it could not take the beating of admitting that I am not a natural sailor.

Ciri shared my opinion and followed me off the ship.

The mood of the crowd shifted instantly as Ciri appeared, her ashen hair glittering in the firelight as men hissed and women started shouting.

Skelligans are not people of subtlty. They love, laugh, fight and hate without restraint and their mood can shift without warning, and they hated Ciri.

She stopped in surprise and who can blame her, normally the people of Skellige are well aware of Ciri and treat her with affection, or at least they had until we saw this.

"The fuck?" I heard her mutter behind me as people were beginning to show signs of becoming an angry mob.

Fortunately for everyone though, Helfdan had finished inspecting the things that he felt needed to be inspected and was in the process of following us down the gangplank. It would seem that he was another person who's vanity did not need to be assuaged by appearing manly and vaulting over the side. He was just following us, looking back at the deck of the ship when the mood of the crowd seemed to get through to him a little bit. He seemed surprised and startled then he looked around to see if he could figure out what was causing the upset. As though some enemy had sprouted out of the ground behind him somewhere.

It was like that moment when you hear a horn going off and you look around to see where the threat is. No, that's not quite right. He reminded me of a cat. That has been startled by a noise and was trying to look around to see what had caused the offending thing. He was curious, cautious and a little concerned before his look changed. His eyes widened before a look of frustration seemed to come into his eyes.

"Yngvild," He called, pushing his way past Ciri and I on the gangplank, showing us both that if he really wanted to, he could easily have jumped over the side. Svein's wife was at his side in a moment, the other members of the guard forming around him.

I thought that Helfdan looked annoyed by this, but also a little resigned.

"Yngvild,"

"My Lord?"

"Lady Swallow," Helfdan pointed, "Witcher Kerrass and Lord Frederick are my guests, come in from the cold ocean waves." The guards looked at each other in surprise and beat the hafts of their spears on the quay. Helfdan's voice took on a more formal cadence.

"Bring them fire to warm their frozen hands." The spears clashed on the ground again, clattering against the wood.

"Bring them Hot water and soft towels." Another crash as the warriors of the Wave-Serpent took up the clashing as well, hammering their chests or striking weapons against shields.

"Prepare them meat and mead, and," his voice took on a harder feel. "And treat them well with gentle speech," The crowd cheered the close of the speech.

And just like that, the mood lifted. There were a few exchanged glances followed by a few shrugs before a kind of communal decision that Lord Helfdan must know what he's doing and that was the end of it.

It left me feeling a little dizzy.

"What was that all about?" Ciri asked Svein as he made his way back to us. Apparently he had taken on the self elected role as our guard, translator and guide.

"Hospitality ceremony." He told her.

"No, I know about that, I mean the rest of it."

He smiled at her. "Any number of reasons. Pay it no mind."

"No," Ciri told him. "Sorry, but that's not enough. Am I in danger?"

"Not any more. The boss has decided that you are a guest and that's the end of it. Look, a lot of these people are born out of the families of the Wave Serpent. Wives, Uncles, Parents, brothers, cousins. They hear about this remote place where the politics of the great clans leave us alone. That is attractive to a certain kind of person and they come here. Helfdan is selective about who he invites to come here and who he lets into the village. Every single household gets a vote on who is allowed into the village as we are far too small to allow any malcontents in. But our method of gathering people runs the risk of that.

"But it also means that people are quite insular. Many of these people resent the Nilfgaardian influence and the changes that Cerys has brought. And you represent those changes. Of course they know who you are. But the nationalists are afraid that you are the sign of Nilfgaard's subjugation of us. Others hate you because they fear that you bring politics to our little corner of Ard Skellig."

"I thought that Helfdan was a royalist."

"He is. But people can love their Lord and not like his politics."

Ciri laughed abruptly, "The things you forget. I forgot that Shelligans pride themselves on their individual thinking. There are other reasons why people don't like me though aren't there."

"There are." Svein admitted. "But Helfdan has declared you a guest and that will be the end of it."

Ciri nodded as though she was reassured. But when Svein had moved off to confer with Helfdan about something she seemed to sag in place.

"Lord Voorhis is never going to let me go outside." She wailed. "I'm not going to be able to train, I'm not going to be able to get drunk, he's not going to let me out of his sight again. He'll complain that all I do is to get myself in trouble."

I laughed at her as we were given a guide to take us off to guest quarters.

We had enough time for the hot water and clean cloths that we had been promised before we were brought out into the hall. It was a relatively small gathering but Svein told us that many people were preparing the Wave-Serpent for the unexpected journey that she would be taking in the freezing conditions. Still more would be continuing to prepare Helfdan's lands for the coming privations but I thought that the crowd was lively enough. Mostly the crew of the Wave-Serpent and their immediate families who were permitted to spend time with their loved ones.

I think this was an element of compassion on their part. Everyone was making light of things but there was still the potential for quite a bit of danger during the coming journey, even if we weren't ambushed by Traditionalists, friends of the man that Helfdan had killed on the docks, or angry merchants that were afraid of having their profits cut into. But the cold that was going to be coming onto us was definitely a concern. Skelligans also like to treat quests as the epic undertaking that they are, as well as the general understanding that the sea could object to our presence at any moment so each man was taking care to say tender goodbyes to their loved ones.

The exception was Svein, whose wife was doing her duty, acting as Helfdan's guard.

It was an odd sight seeing him among his people. It was like a constant feeling of culture shock as he walked around with his simple garments and his lack of ornamentation. Those Sea Captains that I had seen in Kaer Trolde, let alone the two Jarls of the clans that I had met, wore their clothing with ornate patterns and expensive dyes on the wool. They had rings on their fingers, torques round their necks and jewels on their tartans. Their armour was ornate and their weapons were beautiful works of art as well as tools of war. But Helfdan carried his short axe head with a plain, featureless metal and simple wooden grip lacking in all the tracery and runes that you would expect from a lord of men.

I've just realised that I'm repeating myself but it does bare repeating. He looked poor.

But he obviously wasn't. You could tell that by the quality of equipment his guards wore. Most of them, if not all of them, were women. Those men who served in the guard were those men who sailed with him. Svein explained that it's considered extremely unlucky for women to serve as a crew-member on a ship but many women, as well as men, still want to fight and so some of the women had gotten together and demanded the honour of protecting Helfdan's person while he was on land or in a more formal battle situation.

Apparently, Helfdan's expression as he acknowledged this request had been comical.

According to the story that we were told, Helfdan had been informed of the importance of having a well equipped and well trained guard by the village Skald. Helfdan had listened very carefully before turning to the new Captain of his guard Yngvild, who was made the captain by virtue of a wrestling match with the other contenders which, at the time, still included several men, and ordered her to form, train and equip the guard so that their enemies...

Not his enemies you notice. I certainly did.

… Would be afraid of them.

Her first decision was that the personal guard of Lord Helfdan should all be women. The other men of the village were allowed to help guard the gates, the palisade and man the watchtowers but Yngvild had only wanted women in Helfdan's personal guard. Suits of mail were ordered along with weapons from the finest dwarven smiths of Novigrad. Helfdan paid for it all without comment.

I'm told that, early in his rule of the village, bandits had thought to take advantage of Helfdan's relative youth and status as fatherless, but that Yngvild had led the guard to victory.

It was Svein that told us this story. He did so proudly and with love in his eyes. It was later that I learned the other half of the story from the lady in question. That it was Svein who had designed the defences of the village as well as the watchtower system and patrol routes. That the reason that she had defeated the bandits, and continued to defeat the bandits that saw these lands as a good place to seek refuge, was because of Svein's tactical deployments. The pair, husband and wife, were ridiculously good at what they did and the few times that Helfdan had taken the field with his forces, men had fled before the banner of the black boar.

I didn't see that that couple spend more than a few moments together during that first visit to the village of Helfdan's. But I liked that they seemed to complement each other.

One way or another, I think that Yngvild did her job well according to her orders. I could well imagine that Helfdan's personal guard would strike fear in the hearts of their enemies. The calculating look that Yngvild gave me just before she learned that I was already betrothed was...off-putting.

We ate well that evening despite Helfdan's apologies.

"One day," he told Kerrass, Ciri and myself, "I will feast the three of you in my hall properly. When all of my people can enjoy the moment that a Witcher, The Swallow and Lord Frederick were here. One day, but it cannot be today."

We nodded our agreement before things moved on and the food started to come out. It reminded me of the army food that we had eaten when working with Sam in the north. It was simple, tasty and there was plenty of it to satisfy hungry mouths. It also consisted mainly of fish.

Another short thing that happened during that feast that I found a bit strange at the time. The party was growing as more and more people were finishing their other duties and were coming into the hall to partake in the merriment. They wanted to hear stories from Kerrass about some of his past hunts and also some stories from Ciri about some of her past adventures.

This was interesting because Ciri was still suffering from some kind of social bewilderment. Not a couple of hours earlier she had been getting worried about the antipathy that was being shown towards her but now people seemed to be hanging on her every word.

Although I noticed that no-one asked her anything about Helfdan's past or what he was like as a younger man. I suppose that this is just part of how things work there.

But Ciri, who must have taken some lessons from Professor Dandelion at some point, is also a gifted storyteller.

I know right? It's truly sickening how some people people can be so annoyingly talented. She's clever, beautiful, talented and amazing with a sword.

Bitch. I hate her.

Just to be clear, that was sarcasm that you just read. I wasn't really threatening the Empress of the continent but she keeps saying that she wants me to treat her like a sister so...

You reap what you sew Imperial Majesty.

Anyway.

So I was sat, listening to the court antics of the Nilfgaardian people, laughing along with the entire court.

Kerrass was going to be using the opportunity to tell a few more stories in a while as Ciri was obviously becoming a little dry of throat when I found myself looking around to finally notice that Helfdan had vanished. I was surprised because it's the height of bad manners for the host to leave the party early in the North.

Note I'm saying that the host is not allowed. The guest of honour is actually obliged to leave a little earlier than they normally would so that no-one will feel guilty about having to depart, or that they don't feel pressured into staying too long. This is why Monarchs are often referred to as the guest of honour, even in their own home and that they have some courtier to do the "hosting" for them. It also leads to important summits being held in notable Lord's castles. Again, so that if the monarch wants to storm out angrily to make a point, or as an excuse to go piss, then he's not breaking the more unwritten laws of hospitality.

This is also why Newly married couples are supposed to leave the party early. This tradition is beginning to relax a little now but...

But I was looking around, trying to remember as much as I can in order to write up some stuff on the subject of Skellige when I noticed that Helfdan's seat was empty. I looked around, couldn't spot him and grabbed Svein to wonder where he had gone.

Svein's eyes darted around quickly before he relaxed.

"Not to worry." He told me.

"Why?"

"His guards are gone too."

"I don't understand."

"His lordship sometimes struggles with the big parties."

"He was in the main hall at Kaer Trolde." I protested. "As parties go, that one was quite special."

Svein laughed with me. "Yes, but he had prepared himself for that. Working up to it in the same way that you or I prepare to do an unpleasant chore. He can even enjoy them when he's ready for it and the Queen's in attendance." He leered at me.

"Does he know that you have all figured out about his crush?"

"Worst kept secret on the islands." Svein agreed happily. "He probably thinks he's being really subtle about it," he picked a piece of chicken out of his teeth and wiped his fingers on his tunic. "He's not bad at it to be fair, and you need to know what you're looking for and understand his thinking."

I let that slide. I still had hoped that I would be able to talk to Helfdan about this kind of thing and make the man my friend.

"Where's he gone? I was hoping to talk to him." I asked while pouring Svein a cup of milk.

Skelligans also have a thing about pouring drinks for each other. If you're eating with someone, you should never pour yourself a drink. People are expected to pour each other drinks. As another point, I noticed that there wasn't any alcohol being served that night.

"Well," Svein drank deeply before grimacing at the milk, brushing white droplets from his short beard with the back of his hand. "He's gone off to his house."

"I thought that this was his house."

"And it is. But it would be truer to say that this is his hall. When he sleeps here he sleeps in a small room out back. It's got a small pallet and a blanket. Before I met him, shortly after he had taken over the rule of the village and taken command of the Wave-Serpent, he had gone on two ridiculously successful raids."

I settled in. There's no stopping Svein when he gets the feel of a good story between his teeth.

"Just two raids. He had been here to accept the oaths of the people, they had been neglected and the place was all but a ruin at that point. As I said. The place was supposed to be a veiled insult as well as a way to get him out of everyone's hair. But he looked around the place with that calculating expression he gets sometimes. You know the one, where he gets a little furrow between his brows?"

I nodded to show that I understood.

"Anyway, he comes back laden with goods after his two successful raids along with a carpenter, a new blacksmith that he had found and he was followed by a Foreign Merchant ship laden with Timber and building materials."

Svein laughed at the thought. "It must have been a sight when he turns up with all of that stuff. They had to float the wood across because the wharf wasn't big enough for the merchant ship at that point. But I still like to imagine those villagers and the local Skald, used to being the butt of everyone's jokes and being taxed to pay for whatever their Lords had in mind... I like to picture their faces."

He laughed before pulling a comedically astonished face, caught between horror and awe. He couldn't hold it for long because then he just kind of dissolved into giggles.

"But anyway. Most of the buildings were torn down and replaced by new ones. The foundations were good, solid stone in a couple of places and we still do that where we can, especially when it comes to the bigger buildings... but I digress."

"Which you do so rarely." I commented drily.

"Cheeky fucker. Anyway... They tore down the old hall, which was a joke anyway, after Helfdan had first insisted that they rebuild the blacksmith according to what the new guy wanted. That shocked everyone as well."

"Pragmatic choice though. Then the Blacksmith can help with all of the other building stuff."

"True, but most Skelligans, including me, would expect their lord to build their hall first. A Lord's hall is representative of their status on the islands which is why people get all snippy about it. But not Helfdan. He demanded that they build the forge first. I'm told that he frowned at them until they agreed with him."

"I can imagine that." It was a funny image but I could certainly see it.

"But then they built the hall and built a large bedroom for the Lord with a huge soft bed in it. They were still expecting him to be bedding his way through the local lasses at the time but he never used it. They got all worried on his first morning after the hall had been built until he came out of a back room that had been meant for storage. He was tying up his bedroll and looked at them as if they were all stupid."

He laughed at the story again.

"But that's still where he sleeps when he's here. He keeps his books in there and his writing desk. To be fair, it keeps such things out of the way of the other folk. I'm an enlightened, modern man but even I sometimes get a bit uncomfortable when I see him writing something. For some reason I can be ok with him reading next to the fireipit in the main hall on quiet nights but I struggle with his writing. He likes to sit just over there in that corner."

He gestured.

"So where is he now?"

"I dunno." he shrugged expansively. "Probably in his hut. He has a hut in the woods, about ten minutes ride away from here. He goes there when it's all getting a bit much and he's feeling overwhelmed. He told me that he can just sit there in the warm and the quiet and listen to the trees until the world starts to make sense again."

"You make him sound all mysterious."

Svein grinned but wouldn't be drawn on that.

"But he does go there sometimes when the world hasn't gone according to plan. Don't get me wrong, if he didn't want to help you then he wouldn't have helped you. But he was ready for a nice gentle festival of not looking at the Queen and being involved in the politics."

"I wouldn't have thought that a man like that would have enjoyed politics."

"He doesn't. But he is very good at reading people. As well as for his sailing skills, the Queen occasionally asks for his advice on what people are thinking. Especially around foreigners. Apparently there are body language things (he pronounced it "Body Langwidge") that are universal, no matter the culture."

"And there are a lot of foreigners around the Festival."

"Especially since Queen Cerys took over." Svein agreed. "But it's also a thing that, out of sight really is out of mind. 'is Lordship owes his fealty to Clan An Craite and as such, if we're going to get duty, or decent raiding territory then we need to get it off Hjallmar. So we need to be there in order to be seen and to remind everyone that we are better than they are. Including Hjallmar." His face twisted in distaste.

"You don't like the Jarl?" I asked.

Svein grinned. "Reflex, he doesn't like Helfdan so I don't like him. That's how this thing works."

I took a long drink.

"Interesting society you have here." I commented after a moment's thought.

Svein laughed as though I had made the world's greatest jest.

"But you know that he's safe?" I prompted.

"I do."

"How?"

"His guards have gone."

"But they haven't." I pointed out, gesturing at those women that were still standing in various parts of the hall.

Svein laughed. "Yes, but you notice that they're all calm and collected? If they had really lost their Lord would they be so calm?"

"I have no idea." I admitted. "There is a lot about life on the islands that I don't really understand. For all I know, you lot take pride in making no reactions at all regarding whatever surprises that come across your way."

Svein really was laughing a lot. "We do sometimes, or when we're trying to confound enemies." His face went serious for a moment. "Helfdan's need for solitude is occasionally all consuming. So if his guards, in their big heavy armour, carrying their bulky weapons and shields just stand up whenever he needs to take a shit, then he tries to avoid them. He's not being rude, aggressive or anything, he just wants to be left alone. That is his desire."

He shook his head mournfully as the jug of honeyed milk came round the tables again.

"And we have to respect his desire, while also ensuring his safety. So as well as the guards that everyone can see, the ones who jangle when they walk from all the metal plates sewn into their armour, there are also the other guards. Women, and men to be fair, who are better at moving around unseen. I don't know too much, deliberately. It was my wife's idea and she commands them. Whenever I ask what they're capable of and how many there are she tells me that I don't need to know such things before wondering if I would use that information to plot against Helfdan."

He sniffed at that.

"But after a while, you can spot them around the place. Keeping an eye on things. There was a girl who was serving food to that table, closest to where Helfdan was eating who is now gone. Another woman who was tending the firepit, despite the fact that it obviously doesn't need tending that much. Both women are gone. If there was anything to worry about, we would already be worrying about it."

"Good to know."

The night was a lot of fun and I had a good time listening to the jokes and the ever present stories that seem to almost permeate the air in Skellige. But it was all over soon, much earlier than I had expected in all truthfulness. My experience of Skelligan culture so far told me that such gatherings would often last for days and nights at a time. But then, the men of the Wave-Serpent abruptly stopped eating and drinking before wandering off in ones or twos. Often with an arm round, or holding hands with a family member.

Svein advised me to get some rest and I took his advice gladly. I slept until shaken awake by a thrall to go down and have a hearty breakfast.

Kerrass must have been in something that approximated his idea of heaven as breakfast was large, and made up of good meats and plenty of bread.

It was early in the morning and it was noticeably colder than it had been, only the previous day. Definitely colder than it had been when we first arrived in Kaer Trolde. Cold enough that I wanted to tug my cloak around my shoulders that little bit tighter and could see my breath, still hot from the mulled wine that they had served in the hall.

Not quite hot enough for me to rub my hands together though.

Which was when I saw that the crew of the Wave-Serpent were training. And oh boy, do these men not fuck about when they were training.

I've seen people train with movement drills, it was how Kerrass began training me all that time ago when he told me a series of movements that he wanted me to perform over and over again in order to get them into my muscle memory. The idea being that when attacked, your body already knows that you answer with this parry and follow up with a feint and that strike.

I've also seen men fight, only with training weapons. Training weapons that are heavier and clumsier than normal weapons on the grounds that if you can become strong enough and have enough finesse to wield these kinds of weapons then the real thing would not be a problem.

These men went at it at full pace. They were all wearing their proper armour. Armed with what they were armed with and the only reason that I could tell that they weren't actively trying to kill each other is because I saw one man bring his axe, whistling down towards the helmet of one of his fellows before the blow stopped short with an admirable sense of control before it descended again for a quick tap.

In the distance at the harbour, we could see the Wave-Serpent being prepared for the coming journey. People were loading her with sacks and crates and all of the other things that we might need. Helfdan was visible down there, easily picked out due to the presence of his guard as well as his deep blue tunic but he seemed to be standing next to the gangplank, watching everything being loaded aboard. I had seen it enough to be able to easily imagine his frown of concentration as he watched things being done carefully.

Kerrass called Ciri and I away and we began our own training routines. Ciri had recovered a lot of the strength and grace that I had first seen back in the training yard in Toussaint and I was no longer able to get anywhere near her. It was hard to begrudge her that though as she had been so frustrated at her perceived lack of physical capabilities and now that she was getting rid of what she called "a horrible stiffness in my limbs," she was feeling much better about life. Kerrass himself was now having to noticeably raise his game when fighting Ciri and it was now at the stage where I could not have told you who was the better fighter. I remembered that Kerrass used to say that she was one of the few that could be depended on to beat him and it seemed that she had recovered some of that edge.

We set sail again when Helfdan sent a thrall up to where the men were training to let them know that he was finally satisfied with the preparations and that he wanted to get away. The men picked up their gear and walked down to the dock without comment. Svein jokingly told me that voyages and raids have been delayed for days because Helfdan had not been satisfied by some kind of small detail and the launch had missed the tide. The men didn't mind. As far as they were concerned, it was part of what made Helfdan lucky and that if he "wasn't feeling right", then it was part of that instinct that brought a greater than normal proportion of them home after any given voyage.

We sailed out and came across the gulf. There is a spar of rock and smaller islands that pokes out of the South Western Tip of Ard Skellig and we were coming round that. Getting as close to the tip as we could to lose the least possible time. But then we would feel the full might of the prevailing winds and currents that were trying to drive us back East and we would no longer have the shield of the greater islands to protect the Wave-Serpent from that.

We camped that night on one of the smaller islands to the South East of Undvik. If you drew a line from Helfdan's village to where we camped then it would look as though we travelled half the total distance in a couple of hours whereas the rest of the journey took much longer. You could feel it when the currents of the water changed. In the bowels of the ship, the wood seemed to shift and groan but the crew didn't seem to mind. Nor did they seem to mind the seemingly random course that Helfdan took in order to navigate the islands that seemed to litter the seas around Undvik. They did get the oars out in order to take us into the camp site though. Just a small beach surrounded by cliffs but it seemed a regular place and the crew knew it well. Well enough to know where there was some dry firewood, where they could get fresh water and to confidently state that we were free from any monster attacks. It was a lively evening and I met even more of the crew.

I learned many interesting things during some of those camps with the crew of the Wave-Serpent and we discussed many wide ranging topics as well as talking about the Skeleton Ship itself. But I would be telling the story out of order if I talked about that now.

I met the companies berserker. A man called Sigurd who was anything but what I had imagined. He certainly filled the bill of being tall, broad, hairy and heavily muscled. But after that, he seemed kind and gentle. He spent a lot of time looking at me strangely during those early parts of the journey while treating Ciri with excessive gallantry.

She referred to him as being sweet but I remembered what he had looked like when he had stood there chewing the rim of his shield.

I also met the Company's main Archer. I had expected someone with the lankiness of one of Rickard's men but Perrin was a small little whippet of a man. He grinned often and in doing so displayed stained and misshapen teeth, many of which were missing. He could proudly tell us where he had lost each one as well.

He could move through the undergrowth with astonishing speed for his size and could do so without leaving a trace of his passing. He wore a pot helm that was too big for him and a patchwork leather coat made from leather strips that had been weaved together. He had a shield slung on his back, an axe at his side and carried a beautiful recurved bow. His quiver of arrows was clipped onto his belt while fighting but he carried it in his hand other times. I never saw him without his armour and when I asked why not, he told me that I would have to kiss him first before I would see such a thing.

We set sail early the following day and picked our way round the Southern Coast of Undvik. Apparently the place is occupied again after the depredations of an Ice giant that had driven the former occupants away. But the southern shore of the island is mostly mountainous and as such we didn't see anyone. It was hard going but Svein told us that we had taken the Southern route in order to protect us from eyes that might see us on the northern shore and sell out our location to interested parties.

Helfdan was looking at Ciri as we were told that though, his eyes glittering. I'm not sure whether or not Ciri noticed his gaze. I do know that she seemed relieved when she was told that we weren't taking the Northern route.

That night we camped on the shore of Undvik itself. There was a valley that had been formed by run off water that came down off the mountain. We were beached and the men got into their armour in preparation for what Svein called the evening activities. I didn't ask what that might be because I saw Kerrass constructing his crossbow.

Ciri also loaded her own crossbow and spent a bit of time cleaning it properly.

There were more stories that night and I learned still more about the people that I travelled with. Mostly though, I learned some more about Helfdan's history with Dreng from Kaer Trolde and why the two men had a certain amount of antipathy towards each other.

The camp was attacked twice that night. The first time was a kind of probing thing by a group of harpies. Those members of the crew that could soon chased them off with some well placed arrows and crossbow bolts from Ciri and Kerrass. Then Kerrass ran off and quickly killed the few monsters that had fallen near to the camp.

The second time was a more concerted attack by a group of Necrophages. I don't know what particular type of Necrophages they were, they seemed to be some kind of strange mutation of the normal kind as they seemed to steam in the air and were much more organised and collected than the kinds of Necrophages that I had experience of. There was some kind of intelligence there as they came at us in an organised fashion.

But it meant that I got to see the crew of the Wave-Serpent fight.

It was like watching organised chaos. Like watching snow-flakes in a storm being blown into a flurry by the wind. But the surety is that they are still falling down to blanket the ground with snow and ice.

But out of that maelstrom of movement a shieldwall formed and the Necrophages were bouncing off the men to be ruthlessly crushed underfoot before Kerrass and Ciri attacked from the sides, spinning between the monsters with almost casual efficiency.

I stayed out of the way as I had absolutely no idea what was happening in the dark and it struck me as the height of bad manners to try and interfere in things that I did not understand. So I hung back and stood next to Helfdan who had his sword in hand, almost slouching in a relaxed kind of attitude. Neither of us moved as we watched everything happen.

He did turn away, sheathe his sword and head back to his bedroll before it was over though. I remember that bit where he just seemed to decide that it was all over and that he didn't need to worry about it. He was right though, it was all over although it took another few minutes to actually be over.

There were a couple of cuts and bruises to show for it but nothing too serious.

We set a watch and as is my habit in these kinds of situations I volunteered to take the middle watch. The idea is that I can get it out of the way and people always remember that I volunteered for that particularly unpleasant chore.

But I crouched on the edge of the camp in the cover of a stone. I was thinking of Sir Rickard and his thoughts on the proper placement of sentries when he said that any sentry that is standing in the open looking out for an enemy is a dead sentry. That proper sentries can see, but not be seen and that therefore, the placement of sentries is a balancing act between being able to see things while being hidden. I wished that he and his bastards were with us that night. I felt as though I could have done with a dozen good archers to protect against the harpies and the siryns.

There was another roving sentry that knew where I was. It was Ivar the story teller who was the oldest crew-member of the ship by some margin. He was also the hairiest man that I had ever known with long hair, huge beard and amazingly bushy eye-brows. His was the face of a man who was more beard than face, with a mouth, nose and eyes that seemed to poke out of the solid mass of hair.

He did this thing with his beard. He told everyone that he had the longest hair out of all of the crew but that because it was so bushy, it all just stayed close to his face. He argued that he was so handsome that his hair just wanted to stay close to him and that he couldn't help being so wonderful. He could prove it too. He would take hold of the end of his beard and pull at it until it was clear that it would reach down to his naval at full extension. He was a cheerful man who smiled often.

He had stories to tell about all kinds of things and was the best story teller of the Wave-Serpent by a long margin. The other men boasted that he had once kept them laughing and entertained for days while they waited for a storm to pass but that none of them could remember what any of his stories were about when they set sail the following day. But all agreed that they were hilarious.

He fought with a large wooden club. Maybe five foot long. It was old wood and he had carved strange knotwork and designs into the side of it as he sat by the camp fires and either spoke or listened with equal attention. He was a good man and I liked him a great deal.

But his task for that watch was to wander between the sentries in order to make sure that we hadn't fallen asleep, we would chat for a minute or so, he would crack a joke or something and then he would move on.

So that was what I was expecting when I turned around to find Helfdan himself standing next to me. He had a large wineskin in his hand and a small sack.

"Good morning." He said without inflection. This had the peculiar effect that I thought of the old joke. Did he wish me a good morning? Was he saying that it was a good morning whether I wanted it or not? Was he saying that I was having a good morning? Or was it a thing about the fact that he was asking me whether I was having a good morning. I stared at him for a while in confusion.

He seemed a little different to the person that I had met in Kaer Trolde, closer to the man who had asked questions about what I needed rather than the man who had rescued me from his rival, Dreng. He seemed, if anything, a little more relaxed, a little happier and collected in himself. Despite the fact that he was standing out in the open.

"Ummm, is it?"

"Is it what?" His lips quirked up towards a smile, just a slight one. It created the unfortunate impression that I was being laughed at. Especially with the lack of eye contact.

"Is it a good morning?" I asked, a little harsher than I had intended.

"Oh yes." He told me. "The morning will see us a couple of hours away from your first destination as the wind has shifted slightly to the south in the night. And midnight passed an hour ago so yes. It is a good morning."

I did my best to hide the realisation that this man's definition of "good" was that he would be sailing easily on the morning.

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"The turning of the sky." He told me. "I brought you water and some food to keep your strength up."

He passed the sack and the wine-skin over.

"Uhhh, Thank you." The water was icy cold. The sack contained several small wrapped packages which turned out to contain some light honey cake that was absolutely delicious.

I offered him the skin back and he took it without comment. I had meant it as a gesture to offer him a drink in the same way that you pass a bottle backwards and forwards in companionship. But instead, he just took it off me and turned to walk away without a word.

"Whait?" I said, my tired brain being unable to decide whether or not it wanted to ask "why?" or to tell him to wait so that I could ask more questions.

He turned back. "Is there something wrong?"

"Why are you out here?" I asked.

"To bring food and water to the sentries?" He waited calmly for the next question. Again, he answered the question without inflection and again, I found myself wondering if I was being mocked. More and more evidence as to why people struggle to like this man. I was working really hard at it and I was struggling myself.

"But why you?"

"Oh," he almost exclaimed it as though he had just realised the answer to a tricky problem. "It needs doing. Svein won't let me stand a watch for his own reasons but it seems... unfair that I have a full night's sleep when everyone else has to work."

He stared at me intently for a moment, or rather, he stared at my neck. I don't know why my neck rather than my chest. "You have more questions." Still no more inflection in his voice.

"Oh, so many questions."

He looked at the sky. "One more then before I must move on."

"Shouldn't you be... I'm being more stealthy to prevent enemies from spotting me. Yet you stand in the open. Shouldn't you be more careful."

He nodded, more as an accepting of the question.

"We are in no danger." He told me before turning away.

"What? But... Necrophages and bandits... and..."

He turned back with a frown before sighing and coming back to me.

"The Harpys lost a few of their number and will not attack again as they know we can hurt them. The Necrophages will go off in search of easier prey for now and there are no bandits."

"But how do you know?" I was annoyed at the sound of pleading in my voice.

"Because there is nowhere else to land on this side of the island." He said. "If we were going to be attacked here, we would have seen them by now. Or, we would have heard the shrieks of Harpys and Necrophages attacking them. We are quite alone now."

"Then why set a watch?"

This time he really did smile although his gaze had sunk to my chest. "Because Svein is an old woman." He told me. "And some men need to see safety in order to feel it. Now I really must move on Lord Frederick. I shall see you in the morning."

And then he was gone.

Ivar was munching on his own cake when he checked on me next. He laughed at my confusion. "Yeah. He does that once or twice a night."

"Is he right about us being safe?"

"Probably," Ivar brushed crumbs from his chest. "He's right about most things."

"Then why are we setting a watch?"

"Svein would say that "Just because a thing has always been right, doesn't mean that it always will. But The Lord is right. He is an old woman."

He laughed at the joke and moved on.

"Wait," I called. "In that story you told earlier. Why did you never use the Lord's name?"

Ivar stared at me as though I was mad, which I might have been for all I know.

"You never say the name of the dead when you're sailing lad." It seemed like everyone was lad, or boy to this man. "It's bad luck innit."

"Why?"

"Because it draws the gaze of the dead. They get closer to us and then, other dead sailors might see that and wonder why it's so interesting. Then the Goddess of death herself might take an interest in you. Would you want the Goddess of death to pay attention to you?"

"Not really."

"There you go then." He walked off into the night. Shaking his head at the stupidity of foreigners.

The harpies made another dawn raid on us as we were in the process of waking up. But Kerrass was well in control of the situation and had already warned us about the problem. So hidden Archers were in place, and no sooner did Kerrass give the signal and we were all climbing out of our bed rolls to repel the attack. In all truth, it was a matter for just standing my ground, putting a rock or something equally as solid at my back and then just holding my spear out until the harpy ran onto the pointy end.

One of them even fell for it. It didn't get particularly hurt but it screamed in anger and frustration before it went off looking for a different and easier target.

But after they had retreated there were more delays. Launch was delayed by something nautical which meant that it would be pointless to try and sail. We spent the time with some training before Helfdan declared that he was satisfied and off we sailed. Heading round the Western coast of the island. It was getting noticeably colder the further West we got. Something about the prevailing winds was blowing the cold towards us.

I was surprised. The fact that the place we were looking for was not attached to the main island at all. I shouldn't have been, it seems perfectly obvious now when I look back. But at the time I remember looking back at the shore and wondering where we were going.

There were plenty of towers on the island which my imagination painted as being the home of some kind of ancient order of monks. Where the duty of watching for the Skeleton Ship was passed down from father to son throughout the centuries.

How such men ever get sons without there being any women present always mystified me but such details aren't important when your imagination is spinning itself a good conspiracy theory or concocting ancient cults and mysterious orders where knowledge is preserved through the eons.

But some of the men laughed and pointed out that it wasn't the Western most point of the islands at all. That we were sailing through the western most points after all.

They weren't wrong and Helfdan steered us through the small islands and rocky outcrops with relative ease although I still struggled to make sense of the movements of the ship. The way that sometimes we seemed to be standing still despite a full sail but other times we were moving fairly quickly despite an empty sail and an utter lack of effort on the part of the crew.

Then, through the maze of smaller islands, the small, inhospitable little places that weren't home to much more than puffins and gulls, we began to see the open ocean and the gusts of bitterly cold wind were upon us.

I know that stories always portray the open sea as being blue. Ancient writings have it that the Elves used to refer to the sea as being "The Great Green sea." But on that day as I looked out across the desolate waves and water, it looked grey and bleak. This was a sea that promised death. One of the sailors teased me by telling me that if I hit the water I would last less than ten heart beats before my body would seize up and I would sink.

They told me that I would be lucky if I merely drowned. I didn't believe them but Ciri seemed to take it quite seriously.

We sailed along the line of islands a little sailing slightly at an angle to the wind itself which Helfdan was able to ride by twisting the sail first to one side and then another before we finally looked as though we were heading to the last island to the West of the isles.

I was again struck with the differences between the truth and the stories that they tell us. When I had first heard of this place in the halls of Kaer Trolde I had imagined a huge watchtower on top of a spike of stone that thrust out of the water like a spear aimed at the heavens.

Or maybe the watchtower had clung to the side of the spike. It didn't really seem to matter that much.

I had certainly expected a long climb of steep steps to get to the watchtower itself. Steps that would be slick to the touch.

This looked to be little more than a mound of stone. There was a tower on it to be sure but that was it. The tower itself stood maybe two meters tall and was made out of the same grey stone that seemed to make up all the islands of this place. We could see a man walking around on the parapet of the tower, little more than a dark outline of a man as we looked but he saw us and waved.

The Berserker, Sigurd, was standing next to Helfdan and whispered something in his ear. Helfdan nodded and changed course so that we came round the eastern flank of the island and found a sheer wall of stone.

Sigurd was tying a rope onto a spear before he hurled the spear up to the top of the cliff. Another rope followed and another.

The sail dropped and men appeared at the top of the small cliff.

Cliff, it was no more than five meters tall but that's the right word to us so that's the word I use.

Someone on top of the cliff that we couldn't see started to call off a cadence of some kind and the Wave-Serpent started being pulled towards the cliff. Helfdan ordered men to stick poles out of the side of the ship, presumably so we wouldn't slam against the side of the ship. Svein was called over and Helfdan said something to him but I wasn't paying attention.

I was fascinated by the place that we were going to. Fascinated and a little disappointed. As I say, there was a sense of anti-climax about the whole thing. The soaring edifice out of legend that I had expected turned out to be short, squat and relatively ugly.

But, at the same time, that didn't lessen the impact of us. The men above us were chanting, half singing and half talking something that helped them set up a rhythm that brought the ship into the, for want of a better word, dock. There didn't sound like very many of them but the ship moved well and quickly so it was easy to imagine them being immensely strong.

"Sigurd will guide you." Svein said to the three of us, startling me out of my thought process. Ciri didn't jump but nor did she turn to look at the man. It seemed that she too was fascinated by the stone wall in front of us and what lay at the top of it.

Kerrass turned... "Why Sigurd?"

"He knows this place." Was the response. Quick and cryptic as these people often seem to like their answers. "He will tell you if he has the chance or feels the need, but I suspect that you will soon know what the answer is."

He looked at me as he said that and I felt a chill run down my spine. I have no idea why.

"But in the meantime." Svein went on. "The Wave-Serpent can't stay here."

"I was going to ask," Ciri finally turned to face the man. "Aren't there stones under the water that are dangerous?"

"No. It's a flat landing place. Some hand carved it out that way. It's possible to tie on and we have to put rope fenders between us and the dock so that we don't just get battered to pieces. But whichever God or creature carved this place out they must have intended it that way. We can be here for a while but we can't tie on indefinitely. Nor should we if I'm honest. It's a place where we drop off supplies and new members for the people that live here so it's not meant for extended stay."

He sniffed.

"Helfdan has an idea about checking behind us to see if we're being pursued. We're in the right place for it. People easily get turned around in the maze of rock and get lost. And there's the added benefit that any ship out there is definitely an enemy." He said that with a look of relish.

"Why do you think that?" I had to ask. I couldn't help myself really.

"Because we're the only people foolish enough to be out here." He answered happily. "So anyone who's out here is here for us."

"Is there danger?" Kerrass asked.

"There's always danger." Svein laughed. "Anyway, apparently they're going to drop a ladder aaaannnndd. There it is."

A rope ladder landed on the deck and Sigurd swarmed up it easily. As I said before, Sigurd is not a small man. Easily six foot tall and four foot wide but I swear that there isn't an ounce of fat on him. He looks as though he should be fat. He looks as though nature and the world has designed him to be one of those fat, jolly old friars that sits in the corner of the tavern when they're not preaching kindness and mercy, and drinks the locals under the table. When you weren't actually in his physical presence, you remembered him as this large fat man but I have seen him when he's changed his shirt and as I say, that is an illusion built up by muscle and baggy clothing.

His beard was kind of thin, wispy and curly so that you could easily see the pale skin underneath the dark hair. The same way that my beard looks if I don't shave for long enough to grow a beard. His hair though, was long, coarse and equally curly. My impression of him was that he was a gentle giant. The kind of man that had had to move around carefully since he was young for fear of bumping into someone and hurting them accidentally.

His head was equally as huge and apparently, Helfdan had had to order a helmet made for him especially. It was little more than a pot helm with a nose guard which had been all that he wanted given that it keeps getting lost in the heat of battle. But no one-else could wear it on the grounds that it wouldn't fit.

I tried it on once. Rather unkindly, Kerrass said that my head looked like a pea rolling around in a bowl.

He wore an arming jacket over his massive frame and I know that a suit of chain mail went over the top of that. His arm guards were made from metal and those were the clothes that I never saw him take off. He carried a large two handed axe which he wore slung on his back but that was not his only weapon. He also had an axe on his belt for when he needed to fight in the shield wall and next to it hung a long fighting knife which the islanders called a seax.

He also had a large shield that was wider than he was. A sensible precaution given his size. He fought with the axe and shield when in the wall but he would have it slung on his back when fighting with the two handed axe. I had asked about the axe as I had developed a new fascination with the weapon given my new attachment to Father Gardan's axe and he ruefully admitted that he had been a little jealous of Gardan's axe. As his was a lot simpler and nowhere near as nice. That his axe often got caught in flesh and couldn't be used to jab as effectively as the butterfly blades could be used. He kindly asked me if I wanted some pointers on how to use the axe which I declined, telling me that it wasn't my axe.

He looked at me strangely when I said that although I didn't understand why.

I liked Sigurd a great deal and I struggled to reconcile the image of this large, gentle, teddy bear of a man with the rampaging wall of fury that had been described to me. Or the part of him that occasionally chewed the rim of his shield when he was getting agitated.

But he was immensely strong, as demonstrated by how quickly he climbed up the rope with all of his gear on his back.

Ciri went next, little more than her clothes and her sword on her back as she went and she did it depressingly quickly.

Which was when it was my turn and to no-one's surprise, least of all mine, I struggled. I remembered that although my physical capabilities are a lot better than they used to be when I started the journey, the co-ordination that I needed in order to climb up a rope ladder where the steps were slick with freezing cold water in the freezing cold air, was almost more than I could bear.

There was one moment where I was about two thirds of the way up and I made the mistake. Not the traditional one of looking down although I was reminded of the earlier warnings of just how long I would last if I fell in the water. But instead I looked up. My arms were straining and aching and I looked up to see how far I still had to go.

It wasn't far. I would probably only have to go up a couple more rungs and I would be a the top but it suddenly seemed like a million miles away. I hung there, suspended by the arms, I couldn't go back down, I was tiring further by the second and I knew that if I stayed where I was, then I would eventually fall. There was a moment there when I was honestly concerned that I was going to die there. After fighting through various things, after educating myself on the way that the world works. After going to all of those lengths I was going to die, hanging off the side of a rope ladder, climbing up a depressingly small cliff.

Not the way that I wanted to go.

The thing that got me moving again was not grit or determination. It was the thought of Kerrass having to explain to Ariadne what had happened. They would both be upset of course but neither of them would be able to get past the fact that the image was also rather funny.

Because it was. I barked with laughter and from somewhere I managed to move a leg to the next rung and used that leg to climb the ladder.

Which should have been how I was doing it in the first place if we're honest with each other.

I finally got to the top and in that single moment, no other victory seemed to be as all encompassing as that one. Not proposing to Ariadne, not lifting the curse around Sleeping Beauty or even managing the destruction of the cult of the first born. Just that short climb from the deck of the Wave-Serpent up a ladder.

Obviously this is ridiculous and I hope that my Lady Love is not offended when she hears that I said that because obviously my greatest achievement is to be loved by so amazing a lady and that nothing should take away from that.

But in the moment, as I lay on the cold, wet stone. It felt as though I had conquered the world.

Like the other two, Kerrass was up the ladder in a truly ridiculously short amount of time and he took great delight in looking down at me.

"We need to work on your upper body strength Freddie,"

"Thank you for the observation Kerrass."

There was another man there. He looked old and scarred, short grey hair over a hard looking face despite the grin. "It can take some people like that the first time. No shame in it. We all have our strengths." He held out his hand and with the lack of any better alternatives, I took it and climbed to my feet. My rescuer was wearing a thick fur cloak with a hood that looked as though it had been fashioned from the skin of a bear.

"What brings you out here?" He asked. His accent was thick. "Brother Sigurd over there tells me that you have business but that I should ask you the questions."

"Would it not be better to have this conversation somewhere a bit more sheltered?" Kerrass tried.

"Maybe." The man told him flatly. "But we're having it here."

Sigurd was nearby, chatting with another man in a similar outfit. Again I was disappointed. I had expected monks robes. These men looked like Skelligans except for the lack of weaponry.

We were on a flat plateau of stone. It was only a little uneven and were sheltered on three sides by stone walls. The last wall faced out into the open sea. A third man was stood there, puffs of sweet-smelling tobacco smoke came from him so, even though we couldn't see his face, he must have been smoking.

In the middle of the floor was a great construction of wood that had been covered in a tarpaulin. The stench of Lantern oil was pervasive.

Ciri shrugged. "We have been charged with ending the curse of the Skeleton Ship." She told the stranger. "Although we are unsure as to whether or not the thing should be done we must first discover..."

"If it can be done." The man nodded. "That ship is the Wave-Serpent which means that you are approved of by the Queen?"

"We are." Kerrass nodded. "If we can find a way then the Queen will decide if she wants to follow through on it."

The man nodded.

"This is going to take some more talking." He decided. "Which means that you'd better follow me."

He led us to the back wall where there was a wooden hatch in the floor. He stamped on it three times before someone pushed it open.

It was a much younger man, heavily muscled that emerged. He wore a pair of brigga on his legs but other than that he went bare-foot and bare chested. He had a cloak of bear skin and the same bear skull hood on his chest except this bear skin still had it's fangs.

He was missing an arm and an eye but the remaining eye glittered with intelligence and humour.

I felt cold just looking at him.

The older man bowed.

Then Sigurd astonished me by bowing as well.

Skelligans don't bow. They see it as an insult, both to their own honour and the honour of the person that they are bowing to. To show respect in Skelligan society you stand tall and look the person in the eye. That way they can assess your honour for themselves.

The older man decided that his job was done and went to join the other two men at the look out point.

Sigurd straightened up.

"Still alive Sigurd?"

"Only just Father." The two men embraced fiercely. Sigurd was the bigger of the two, but only just.

"Welcome home brother." The new arrival said. "It has been too long since you were in our halls. Have you come to finally take the change?"

"I have not." Sigurd told him. "I still do not feel that that way is my way."

The man shrugged good naturedly. They talked to each other like monks. The "Brother" bit and the "Father" bit would suggest this as well as suggesting that this man was a superior of some kind.

"Then introduce me." He told Sigurd.

"Friends, this is Father Ragnvald and if there is a leader here then he is it."

Kerrass smiled slightly. "I am getting the impression that this place is more than just the watchtower of the Skeleton Ship."

Father Ragnvald laughed warmly. "More than somewhat although we are charged with that task as well. Do not take it the wrong wa,y but it is unusual to give the secret of what this place is to outsiders but,"

he glanced at me, "I can see why you were allowed in. This is one of the fortresses of the Skelligan berserkers."

"I see." Kerrass said carefully.

Ragnvald laughed again. It sounded like something that he did often. Skelligans do seem to enjoy their laughter "I doubt it. But we shall make it clear. But we should do this in order."

He turned to Ciri.

"Welcome Empress. It is rare that we have a ruler in our halls. There are women here and you have nothing to fear, contrary to popular opinion."

"I would not doubt it." Ciri told him, shaking his hand in the warrior's grip. "How did you know that I am Empress? We sent no word as our mission is a secret."

"And prudently so. Do not concern yourself. We have Shamen and druids in our number as well. But I am honoured that you would come to my halls. I welcome you and offer you my hospitality."

"Thank you."

"Welcome Witcher." Ragnvald told Kerrass. "It has been many years since I last spoke with a Witcher. I find your conversation interesting."

"How many Witchers have you met?" Kerrass asked.

"Oh, more than a few my friend more than a few. I am older than I look. If it doesn't kill you, Berserking is good for you."

"I find that... difficult to believe."

Ragnvald shrugged.

Then he turned to me and looked me in the eye.

Which was when that I saw his eye was brown with Golden flecks in them. They were deep and soulful and I felt as though I was falling. I smelled smoke and blood as well as roasting meat. I felt adrenaline surge through me, the same cold and ready feeling that heralds the beginning of a fight. Breath whistled through my teeth and I felt my lips pull back from my teeth in a snarl.

Then I felt dizzy and staggered.

To be caught by Father Ragnvald. Kerrass was close behind him.

"What did you do to me?" I demanded while gasping for breath.

Ragnvald smiled a little sadly.

"Welcome, brother." He said to me.