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

107. Chapter 107

(Warning: Described scenes of violence)

We pulled apart reluctantly. Very reluctantly. Again there was a feeling of parting, an era ending. But it needed to be done. Ciri helped me pick up Ursa's huge shield and prop it into place ready for us to raise it up. It was a huge, round thing. Heavy, iron bound wood that was scarred beyond belief with arrow holes and gashes and chunks pulled out of it by axe and sword blows.

Looking at it from the back, I could see some parts of new wood where the binding had been taken off and a new board added. I guessed that the entire thing had been replaced over time. There's a metaphor there somewhere and I very much doubt that I am the first person to make it so I'm not going to. The point being that the shield is still the same shield. The wood and the cover has been replaced, the iron bindings have been reforged and tightened over time and the handle has been re-wrapped and reseated. It would be all but certain that the central boss of the shield has been replaced along with the leather straps and all of the other things that go into making the thing a shield.

But it was still the same shield. The essential... shieldiness continues.

I kept my spear in it's separate halves, tucked in it's pouch so that it was easier to sling on my back. If I was going to be jumping over onto an enemy ship then I would need both hands to be free and a huge, ungainly spear would be an awkward obstacle rather than anything remotely useful. Not for the first time, a joke was made that if I had learned to use Father Gardan's axe instead, then I would not have the problem of having to assemble the weapon in the face of the enemy swords and axes. Then I could just get on with the business of killing people.

As it was, if it was the time for assembly that was going to kill me then I was going to die anyway. The spear is still a useful weapon when in it's separate pieces and I had little doubt in the capability of Ciri and Kerrass to buy me the necessary heartbeat or two to get the job done. I was going to lose yet another spear scabbard but I could live with that.

Even I could see what was happening now. It was a game of chicken. Helfdan was going to get closer and closer to the shoreline until just before the Nilfgaardians were going to start firing their arrows. Just before the mage was going to start casting and then he was going to turn. I didn't know what he was thinking but I guessed that it was something along the lines of hoping that he would be able to confuse that first shot.

Regardless, we watched, and we waited.

Helfdan actually went further than that though. He actually had us go one step further. He allowed the Nilfgaardian captain to think that the water currents had just allowed us to drift that little bit closer to the shore and that he, the Captain of the Wave-Serpent hadn't noticed. So the Nilfgaardians actually fired a warning shot in order to fend us off. I couldn't believe it as we watched arrows being set alight along the decks of the four sailing ships as archers raised their bows and the small points of flickering light seemed to shimmer before our eyes. I was not the only person that looked to Helfdan to try and see what was going on. To try and figure out what he was going to do.

But he seemed to be ignoring the Nilfgaardian ships. Just watching the shoreline and the line of sailing that he was following. He seemed to be nodding to himself, gently rocking backwards and forwards. He was also rubbing his hands up and down the rough wood of the tiller as he did so, but the hand movements were a different rhythm to his nodding.

We watched as the water and the small amount of wind carried the cry over the water to us, the order to fire stood out in the relatively still and quiet air.

Then the arrows were up and arcing towards us. A long, slow arc that ended up falling well short of where we actually were. Most of those arrows hissed as they hit the water with small puffs of steam as the cold and the water snuffed out the flames. Some few bounced on the ice into the water. Some even bounced and lay on the ice. Their flames burning for a short while in a small act of defiance against the cold and wet.

I saw one that stuck.

I was not the only one that started to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the gesture and Svein hissed at us to be quiet. Helfdan jerked the tiller a little and we started to move elsewhere, away from the Nilfgaardians in a short, panicked gesture. I can't have been the only one that wondered what was happening. But we just had to watch, wait and trust that Helfdan knew what he was doing.

I don't know what he was thinking. Whether he was waiting for a specific feature of land to pass him by or whether he was waiting to lull the Nilfgaardians into a false sense of security. I simply don't know. Whatever it was that he was waiting for though, despite my preparations and impatience. Despite the waiting and the long, drawn out nature of it. Despite all of that, when it actually came...

I wasn't ready for it. So much so that I nearly fell over when finally, Helfdan threw himself into the tiller and the ship began to turn. Svein took a hatchet to the rope holding the sail up and it fell down to the deck. The men slammed their helms upon their heads and threw themselves into the oars with a roar in the same way that they charged into the ranks of the Ice Giants.

It literally brought a tear to my eye.

I like to think that it also made more than one Nilfgaardian merchant sailor, shit their trousers.

We turned, to my eyes and feeling it was painfully slow. Nothing ever happens quickly at sea, it takes time. It has been said by more than one person that the art of being a good leader is not whether or not you make good or bad decisions. But that you make any decision at all. But then there comes the fact that you have to follow through on that decision and see it through until you have new information that might make you change your mind. If you are a military commander then this is especially true and there is always the risk that hundreds, if not thousands of lives will be lost as a result of your actions.

I am reminded again about that quote that says that the only thing that is worse than a field of battle after a victory is a field of battle after a defeat. So even a field of battle after victory must be pretty fucking terrible.

But there must come a moment of doubt after the decision has been made where the next moment of courage has to come where you are forced to watch as the decision starts to come apart. Where it takes time to implement your orders and to follow through on those things. That has also got to take time and you have to force yourself to continue with those actions even when you are equally as terrified by the possible results.

It is even worse at sea. A captain's word is law and when he orders that the action begins then you have to follow through on that. But the speed of turning ships is slow. Painfully slow and you have to watch as the enemy ships react to what you are doing. As the turn began, I watched the enemy crews go about their tasks. It was all too easy to put myself in their shoes as they stared with open mouthed astonishment as their enemies finally leapt forward to the attack. After all that time where we hadn't attacked, it must have been strange, even frightening that now had been the moment where we had turned about to the charge.

I could almost feel their thoughts as they wondered why now? Why not an hour earlier or an hour later? Do we know something that they don't.

As it was, we could watch as they delayed. Someone had to shout the same order a couple of times in a frantic increase of volume before those sailors, mercenaries or soldiers for hire realised what was happening and actually started to overcome their shock.

It didn't take that long but it was long enough that we could see the delay. We could watch as it happened. But then a man with a torch started moving across the line of archers on each of the ships again. We watched as the tiny stars of flame began to light up as the arrow heads took their flame.

We were about half way through our turn when those first missiles started to rain down among us. It was also clear that not all of them were actually on fire. They had mixed metal tip arrows in amongst the fire in the hope of picking off more men. Not a bad idea. In the sheer mathematics of things. Every single loss of a man would hurt us whereas they had men and fighters to spare.

Again though, the archers had fired their arrows early. In an effort to get rid of the enemy that much the sooner. The fire was much more dangerous than the more jagged barbs of the metal arrowheads. Somebody got hit as I heard them swearing behind me but I didn't turn to look. It struck me as a wasted effort and I didn't want to start feeling the grief of the thing. I was not ready for that yet. I needed to be hard of heart and ready for the killing.

The wind was blowing against us but the removal of the sail helped with that. And then that resistance was gone and the Wave-Serpent leapt forward, widening our turn a little and we were heading straight for the line of Nilfgaardian ships.

The Wave-Serpent reminded me of one of my father's hunting hounds. The way that they leap at the rope, barking at the air with their teeth snapping as they tried to bite out. Straining against the hold that the hunts-master has on them. In every way that the Skeleton Ship had reminded me of a huge slathering beast lumbering towards us with all the unstoppable power of an avalanche. The Wave-Serpent reminded me of the disciplined hound that was eager to carry out the thing for which she had been born.

And the Wave-Serpent was a ship of war.

Saying that she cut through the water isn't entirely true. We were, after all, heading towards the shoreline, there was also the growing ice on the water that we had to contend with so occasionally we would reach the crest of the swell to come crashing down into the water and the ice which made this horrible, wet, shattering noise. I desperately wanted to look backwards to see Helfdan at the tiller. If the Captain of the ship was still confident then I could still be confident. But if I did that, I wouldn't be able to watch for the incoming fire arrows.

There was indeed a second volley coming in and this time they were more accurate, rattling off the hull of the Wave-Serpent, some of them sticking fast in the various pieces of exposed wood. One solitary arrow struck the shield that I was holding. I didn't see it. I had ducked behind it just before the arrows were due to impact. But I felt it. It was a heavier blow than I was expecting but I had no way of telling if it stuck fast or bounced off. I wasn't going to look as that meant that I was going to expose myself.

"Stay down Freddie." Ciri told me, tugging me into place. Not that I needed the warning. I was all too aware that arrows can find even the smaller chinks in armour and cover. That is why Kaedweni Longbowmen have been able to defeat the flower of Continental chivalry for centuries.

There was another crash and shower of icy water as we breached the top of another wave. I didn't look to see where the enemy was. I just made sure I had a firm grip on the shield in my hands.

Then another volley of arrows came in. More struck the shield and I was astonished by how hard the impacts were. Despite the heaviness of the shield, I felt them like hammer blows on the surface.

I was still dimly aware of Svein calling the beat for the oars. I looked sideways and I could see Ciri poking her head over the top of the guard rail to have a look.

"Here comes another vo..." and then she had to duck, her words sucked away by the crashing or another wave. Freezing salt water splashed over us and I shivered.

I was absolutely terrified. We weren't fighting back. We were just letting them take their shots at us, raining blows down on top of our heads. I knew why. I knew that we had twelve men, only one of which was a truly skilled archer and he was needed on the rowing benches. But we were sailing into a storm of fire and death and we couldn't fight back. I was shaking with it. Shaking with the fear of wondering if the next few moments would bring death.

And I was so cold. Anger requires heat and warmth and I had neither of those things. So I was unable to fall back on that rage that I would normally use to force the fear back. And I was so very cold.

More arrows were falling now. I didn't look but we seemed to be slowing. A man was screaming behind us and I heard Svein shout at another to stay at the oars, to not help the hurt and dying man. I didn't look. It seemed impossible to me that anyone could survive in that awful storm of fire, wood and metal raining from the sky.

The enemy volleys were losing their regularity, they were falling with a rattling constancy as the enemy archers lost their rhythm, or lost their discipline, or both. They just focused on turning as many arrows as they could on our heads. As much fire as they could at us. We weren't going to survive. How could we possibly survive in the middle of all of that horror?

And we still hadn't been able to fight back.

The shield was having more and more arrows stuck in it now. I could tell because it was getting heavier. More and more difficult to manage and move around. It was weighing down on me and pushing me down into a ball. From somewhere, the thought came that this would mean that Kerrass wasn't properly protected. That the shield was not as large a piece of cover as it should be and I pushed upright against the now constant pressure that was falling upon it. I had to stand to do so, putting my shoulder into it. I briefly wondered if that meant that I had exposed myself to enemy fire. Then I realised that there was no point worrying about it. That I would just have to hope that the shield was big enough to protect me.

Surely we must be getting closer now. Surely we must be in reach of the enemy ships, even if we weren't in reach of the shoreline that was our eventual target. Surely we must be getting closer.

I risked a peek, under the rim of the huge round shield and I nearly felt despair reach down my throat and stop my heart.

To my eyes it looked as though we had barely moved. I must have fallen to my knees or something because the next thing I know, I felt a hand clutch me by the armour and haul me to my feet. I have no idea who it was and I put my shoulder back into the shield. Because what else was I going to do really.

There was another crash. A much wetter sounding crash this time but that didn't help prevent the water slipping over the side and down the back of my neck.

Kerrass and I have worked on our communication over the time that we have spent travelling and fighting with each other. I've trained my ears to hear him through the din of whatever else might be happening and so I heard him quite clearly when he muttered. "Here we go,"

The first fireball struck shortly after that. Did Kerrass move it? I think so. Otherwise, the mage in question is an appalling shot, but I don't know how that works when it comes to magic. The fireball itself detonated off our left hand side. Above the waterline, the explosion ripped a hole in the upper parts of the Wave-Serpent's deck, showering us all with smouldering, sharp and ballistic splinters of wood. I had kept my head down but I felt the wood strike my side.

"Keep Pulling." Helfdan bellowed over the din. "Do not stop."

The Wave-Serpent survived that impact and she kept ploughing forwards. I had no idea how many men were dead or dying behind me. I could hear one men moaning with pain in time with the oar strokes but I could hear nothing else behind those sounds.

The arrows continued as we got closer, creeping forward under the strength of those men's arms and more and more arrows found their targets. More and more fire arrows found things that they could catch on and more and more arrows hit the shield that I carried. I was struggling to hold it up now. Even with the fact that I had stood and was propping it in place.

Another fireball. I don't know whether the mage had received instruction or had adjusted his aim in some way. But this was much more effective. This time, the explosion struck us beneath the water.

The Wave-Serpent heaved, hurling me from my feet and turning us. A wave surged and the Ship screamed in protest as her boards took the strain of that torrent of water. I fell. Onto the deck of the ship, fortunately. I fell and my death grip on the shield brought it down on top of me.

Holy Flame but that thing was heavy.

"Get up," A man screamed at me. I have no idea who it was. "Get up, you can lay down when you're..."

He was cut off as an arrow pierced his throat. He coughed, blood spraying over me. I could still see the words forming on his lips though.

I ignored him, he was dying. Medical training is occasionally good for some things and there was absolutely no helping that man. The shield was covered in arrows and I could barely lift it let alone get it into place. Ciri was there, her sword drawn as she brought the blade across the face of the shield, shattering the arrows and making it lighter so that I could lift it back into place where Kerrass still waited next to the figurehead.

The best that could be said was that we were closer.

We weren't going to make it.

But the impact had done one thing. It had helped me find my anger.

It took us far too long to right the ship. All the while the Nilfgaardians were just pelting us with arrows. It became necessary to tilt the shield so that Kerrass and I could hide under it. I lost track of where Ciri was and I was swearing. Promising every insult and injury against the Nilfgaardian sailors. The worst possible things that I could imagine were promised upon them, their wives, their children, their pets and parents. I was going to hunt them all down and hold them under the water until the final bubble rose to the surface.

I wanted them in range so that I could get at them. I wanted to vent my own anger and sense of helplessness and beat some understanding into those men. I wanted them to suffer.

So much so that I actually feel a little ashamed of my feelings in that moment.

Survival was a lottery. Not a matter of how skilled, how armoured or how lucky we were. The arrows rained down on us without ending. But I had a luxury that the men of the Wave-Serpent did not. I could take cover.

I don't know how those man managed it. But somehow, they stayed at their oars and continued to work under the direction of Helfdan in order to get the Wave-Serpent moving again.

I didn't look. I couldn't look. I was still so focused on my own survival. But it must have been awful. Being forced to just sit there, pushing and pulling at your oar knowing that the next moment could be your last. That the next arrow could end your life or could wound you to the point of uselessness for the rest of your life.

Which would be short, cold and painful.

The courage of sailors. What can I say.

But they worked. Their acts of courage, strength and endurance were beyond those of normal men and we started to move again.

There was a delay before the next fireball landed. Kerrass was struggling. We had had two balls of fire thrown at us but it was impossible to tell what had happened or how much influence he had had. His face was terrifying. The white face with black veins running through his skin was normal and expected to me now. I have seen that face before with the skin the colour and texture of new paper, hair like straw with pulsing black snakes living under the skin.

Normally, Kerrass seems distant in those moments where he has taken too many potions and is struggling to hold on to his humanity and sense of place in the world. But now, he had his teeth gritted in a snarl and he was breathing heavily, the air whistling between his teeth. Blood ran freely from his nose which he ignored although he did occasionally turn his head to spit large blobs of it on the deck next to him.

And there had only been three fireballs so far.

I finally found Ciri, she was plastered against the hull, keeping as much of her body under cover as she could. Her face was a mirror of mine I suspect. A solid grimace of fear and frustrated rage. Wild eyes and wild hair. Her sword was drawn and she held it in a death grip.

"Go." I screamed at her. "Get away from here. Go."

"Not yet." She screamed back in words that I felt rather than heard over the din of roaring oarsmen and the constant clatter of arrows against wood.

"Ciri..." I begged her.

"Not yet." She snarled back.

"Damn you." But I did not have the breath for anything else. The Wave-Serpent was moving again which helped me, at least, to feel a little bit better about what was happening.

But the enemy had realised what the problem was. The fact that there had been a large delay between the fireball that had all but stopped us in our tracks and the next one was explained by the probability of the mage realising that Kerrass was on the ship and diverting their magic away towards relatively harmless impacts in the water and off the side of the ship. So there was also a small delay in the arrows approaching the ship as though the tide slackened a little. Not by much. Just that the arrows from the ship that contained the mage seemed to change their shooting patterns.

Not the other ships though. The other ships just kept pounding away indiscriminately.

But then those arrows, and the magical bombardment came back. On the one hand, this was good for us because Kerrass could now use the Heliotrope sign for what it was designed for. Deflecting magic away from himself. I didn't see all of it but I gather that there were several bolts of pure energy that were diverted away by his quick movements and concentration.

But there was another problem. The reason that I didn't see what was happening was due to the fact that the sheer weight of arrow fire coming at me became... extreme. It was like trying to walk into a hail storm. Only the hailstones are the size of fists rather than their normal size of peas. I would be pushed back. Suddenly finding myself on the back foot so I would have to take a step back in order to find my balance. But then I would need another step and another step. Or the shield would have moved. Arrow impacts on the left or right of the shield would almost turn me around so that I would be looking in the wrong direction. Then I would realise what was happening and have to force myself back to the rail.

Kerrass was suffering. He was leaning against me as the ship moved. I heard him vomit, coughing up something from behind me. Ciri appeared from nowhere and helped me prop the shield up but even with her help, we were still being pushed back.

The Wave-Serpent was speeding up. More arrows sped towards us and I saw the first sign of metal punching through the shield that I held. No more than the top of the arrow had made it through, just a glittering tip of metal shone like the stars in the night sky. But it was enough to let me know what was happening.

I swore. I swore long and loud. Then I swore under my breath for a bit because I couldn't afford to take the time to breathe in and out for the purposes of venting my invective any further. But this was not enough for me. I wanted the world to know how angry I was.

"FUCK." I screamed into the cacophony of falling arrows, the howling of the Wave-Serpent as she fought against the injuries that she had already suffered in order to drive us on. The groaning, screaming and bellowing of the other men of the Wave-Serpent. All of it conspired to drown out my own words. But I bellowed them anyway because it seemed fitting.

The mage must have realised that his new tactic of throwing the magic at the person thwarting him was actually less effective because he threw another fireball. Kerrass swore as it it detonated above us, showering us all with flames.

I did not have the luxury of worrying about it though. I smelt burning hair, burning flesh and all the other scents that came with it. I felt hands, small hands, probably Ciri's hands batting out the flames that had crept up over parts of my clothing. But I could only hold the shield up and close my eyes. I did not dare look back.

I did not dare.

The mage tried again and this time I felt the explosion somewhere beneath my feet, fairly lifting the Wave-Serpent out of the water with a gout of flame and icy water. We came back into the water with a crash. This time, I kept my feet and it was Kerrass and Ciri that fell. I don't know why one thing or the other but there it was. But I couldn't go to them. If I did, I would have to drop the shield and if I dropped the shield, the arrows that were still falling would creep through and get to them, gouging into their flesh.

The fact that those same arrows would probably also kill me did not even occur to me. Instead I screamed at Kerrass to get up. I bellowed at Ciri that now was the time for her to leave. I swore, pleaded and cajoled for them to stand up. Then I begged the pair of them to not be dead.

I literally wept with relief when Kerrass moved. The fact that he moved to vomit did not blunt my relief in anyway. Ciri woke with a start and I returned to my task.

My feet were wet and I looked down. The Wave-Serpent was taking on water. That last explosion had ruptured the decking beneath our feet. She still floated but we were taking on water.

That small voice that lives inside my head. The part of me that watches and comments on everything with the slightly arrogant and detached academic view had two things to say about this. The first was that it wouldn't be long now. Sooner now, rather than later, the cold arms of death would reach me and I would no longer have to struggle.

It didn't occur to me to stop fighting but the fact that it would soon all be over occurred to me then.

But the other thing that this, sometimes hated, sometimes useful and encouraging part of me had noticed was that the Wave-Serpent was another ship entirely. Some ship builder tore up the plans after building the Wave-Serpent declaring that he would never build better.

I don't know who built the ship. As Helfdan had told me, she was an old ship when Helfdan was young let alone when Helfdan took command of her. But something about those old shipwrights made me wonder what they knew then that we have since forgotten. We had worried that she would barely survive one fire ball and now she had taken four. She was hurt, maybe even fatally so but manned by some of the finest Skelligan sailors that the islands have ever seen, commanded and steered by... I will say it... the greatest Ship's Captain that the ocean has ever seen... She carried on. She fought on.

We were moving faster now. The currents and the tides were fighting us less.

There was another fireball which, by accident or by Kerrass' design, was pushed further to one side. There were more splinters, more fire and more burning bits of wood. But the distance between us and the enemy ships had closed with a suddenness that took my breath away. Suddenly, the spells stopped. Too close to the Nilfgaardian ships I suppose.

We were still being shot at but even that seemed more chaotic. It felt like the last gasp of desperation that a man or a woman will make to throw their children to safety before succumbing to inevitability.

"Now Freddie," Kerrass told me, spitting another mouthful of dark red horror to one side. "You ready?" He drank off another potion and his skin started to return to normal.

"Fuck no."

Behind him I saw Ciri taking some backwards steps as she got ready to run. She had one of the crew's shields that she held above her head to shelter from the arrows but even I could see that she was hurt. One arrow was sticking out of her leg. I had no idea how bad it was because she had broken the shaft of the arrow.

"Is it time?" I asked Kerrass. He had thrown the first potion bottle aside and I did not hear it smash. He flicked the top off the next bottle with his thumb.

"There will not be a better." He said before drinking the potion at a swallow. He grinned at me, his teeth stained with blood, slime and potion residue. Black rings of exhaustion stood out under his eyes which were bloodshot now and not only had his nose bled but I could see wet redness at his ears as well.

"You look fucking awful." I told him. Being unable to think of anything else to say at what was probably the culmination of our friendship.

"You look gorgeous." He said with a feral grin.

I was sure I could see fangs. One day, I really will check whether they are figments of my imagination or if they really do exist.

One day.

Ciri ran, casting the shield aside as she did so.

The sun went out, behind the vast bulk of the Nilfgaardian ship and Ciri leapt. I couldn't see if she made it.

I pushed what remained of the shield aside as Kerrass also took a short run and leapt. I saw him catch a rope and felt a small piece of hope as I saw Ciri's booted foot disappear over the top of the deck.

The distance looked impossibly far and there was no way that I could ever hope to make that jump.

I swung my spear on my back.

But there was never going to be another chance.

I ran. Jumped onto the rail of the Wind-Serpent and leapt into the air.

There was a distinct moment after my foot left the railing of the Wave-Serpent. I remember it so very clearly. The yawning black chasm of the swirling, freezing water below me. I remember the touch of ice and that my boots seemed so heavy that I was certain that I would be dragged down into the depths of the abyss. It was as though, in that moment, nothing else existed and that I was looking at a painting of what was happening around me.

Then I saw the rope and I put all my will, all my focus and all my energy into catching that rope.

I did catch it, but then the next thing happened. The thing that I had simply not realised that it might be a thing. Even though I had caught the rope, it had not occurred to me that I would still be slamming into the side of the Nilfgaardian ship. I was supposed to brace with my legs. Kerrass had done exactly that.

But because I was so focused on catching the rope, I simply forgot about this next, necessary step.

So when I did hit the hard, tar covered hull of the Nilfgaardian craft, the breath exploded out of me, my hands went numb and I let go in shock.

I fell. Only for a fraction of a heartbeat but I honestly feel that it was the longest fraction of a heartbeat in existence. Time enough to feel that I was falling, time enough to scream, time enough to force my hands to close around the rope and arrest my descent.

The following moments where I just hung there were almost as bad as when I was simply falling, as I just swung, gently.

And there was nothing I could do.

I've been in worse situations. I have. I've faced down creatures of unimaginable power. Things from other worlds that have powers nigh on to that of Gods. But as I swung there from the rope, frozen in terror, hanging on for dear life where my gloved hands refused to do anything other than to hold on, I remember thinking...

This is it. This is how I die.

It was ludicrous to even begin to imagine climbing up the rope. I was well below the line of the deck so there was no leverage for me to find with my feet. My arms were aching and I could feel the growing inevitability that, sooner or later, I was going to let go.

I was going to fall. Then my choices were freezing to death in the icy water, getting crushed to death between the boats, dying from the impact, or drowning. None of those seemed like good options as I just swung there.

At some point, I had shut my eyes, squeezing them shut with the fear. I was almost certainly screaming in fear and terror at my own weakness.

Gradually, I fought the panic down. I could hear combat above me, the unmistakable sound of metal weapons clashing against other metal weapons and metal armour. I could hear the splashing of the water and somewhere I could hear the sounds of oars in the water and the bellowing of a Skelligan who refused to let his crew die and insisted that they force themselves onwards.

I don't know where I found the courage. It might have been the thought of Kerrass and Ciri facing unknowable odds above me, or it might have been the thought of my friends back on the Wave-Serpent facing those same odds as they struggled through. But I found it, buried in the depths of my soul though it might have been. I found that courage and I opened my eyes.

As is the way with such things, the imagination conjures more horror than could ever possibly exist in the real world. It was then that I found that, although I was dangling over the precipice, the hull was not that far away. There was still no realistic way that I could climb up. I had already delayed the climb for far too long and there was the very real possibility that by the time I got there, it would all be over one way or another.

But Helfdan had been aiming for the back of the boat. And that boat was taller at the back than it was in the middle for reasons of ship building that I've never quite understood.

So if, instead of looking up, or down, I looked over to the side. I could see a ledge that was the anchor point for some of the ship's rigging.

So, speaking theoretically of course. If I swung my legs like this. And then aimed myself like this. Then theoretically I should be able to swing over to the ledge like this. It still meant that, at some point, I would have to let go but that was a problem for a few heartbeats later.

So if I did swing. Obviously I wouldn't because that would be foolish. But if I did, then that would mean that I would be able to jump like...

Holyflameholyflameholyflame.

This.

And catch the rope.

I literally vomited with relief.

But I didn't have time for that. I was on the side of the ship and men were moving up towards the back of the ship where I assumed that Kerrass and Ciri were fighting furiously. A man, he was older I think, turned to look at me. We stared at each other for an eternity. He opened his mouth to shout.

And I ripped his throat out with the dagger that I wear at my waist.

Another death on my conscience. It felt like it had been a while since I had last killed a human. He had been armed with a boat hook.

I vaulted over the rail in a display of agility that I doubt I could have managed cold-bloodedly. Three men had seen me board and were rushing towards me. To my right, men were pushing to get up the stairs towards the upper, steering deck. So I stabbed one of the men who had their backs to me in a place where I hoped his Kidneys could be found before I sent him stumbling towards the three oncoming men.

Not much time. I felt very vulnerable. One decent body check would send me over the rail.

I had time to shrug my spear bag off my shoulder into my hands when one of the three were on me. Two of them had stumbled with the falling corpse of their comrade but one had dodged. Remembering Letho and his lessons, I stepped forward inside his reach. The pommel of whatever he was wielding struck me in the shoulder, numbing my left arm. I still had the knife though and I rammed it into his chest once, twice and three times.

I left the dagger in his body and pulled out the blade part of the spear. The two others were recovering now and I would have to deal with them. But that wouldn't help Kerrass or Ciri and that was vital. I needed to draw men down on me. Deadly to me? Probably but if I didn't then no-one would survive. Not just me.

I kept my most recent kill as a kind of shield, steering him with my left hand on my own dagger as I turned and ran my shorter spear through another man that was struggling to get towards the back of the ship. He stumbled and fell into his mate.

I felt a blow land on my back, somewhere between the shoulder blades. I spun and a young man with a makeshift club looked astonished that his attack hadn't felled me.

The other man looked less surprised and was lunging forward with some kind of curved sword.

I might have laughed. I remembered an old fencing master informing us that curved swords are meant for slashing, not stabbing.

But I was too tired and far too terrified for that. So instead, I pushed the now dead man with my dagger in his belly on to the more competent of the two men. The one with a sword rather than whatever it was that the other was wielding.

Club man froze in terror as the man that he had struck refused to obey the laws of nature. He held out his club towards me as though he was warding me off in some way. I wish I could say that I spared his life. He was one of those people that should not really be fighting. He had been hanging back from the combat and I wondered if he was the son of someone, pushed to the back of the fighting.

But if I spared him then he had already proven that he had no problems hitting someone in the back and he would likely do so again.

So I ran him through, ripping the blade through his guts as it came out, spilling his guts over his feet.

I think he was about fifteen.

The other man had fallen under the dead weight. He wailed as I killed the other. I stamped on his neck as I fitted the two halves of my spear together. It took me two tries to get the necessary snapping sound that I was looking for.

The sailors at the back of the ship had realised what was happening behind them and a couple had turned to face me.

The first, crazed out of terror or disbelief, charged forwards, impaling himself on my spear. I feel no guilt on that death. I just had to hold my spear out and he ran onto it. But more were coming. I placed my foot on the body and snatched at my dagger. I had a feeling that I would need it.

More men came. I was supposed to be looking around for the mage but I had no idea where they might be or what they might look like. So I just reasoned, with a strange sense of calm, that the task here was simple. The more men that I could draw onto myself, the more men that I could kill, the less that Ciri and Kerrass would have to face. And they were the ones that would be able to identify what we were after.

So instead of an all consuming fear that overwhelmed the senses, like what I had felt all those years ago when I had been hanging from this same ship by the rope...

Yes I know, but it felt like years at this point,

… I had very specific fears. Practical fears. Fears that had a purpose. My biggest worry was that I would get overwhelmed so I would need movement. The other problem would be what would happen if the blade of my spear became trapped either between, or in, the bodies of my enemies. Either problem would be potentially fatal. So I had to fight differently. I had to move the blade of the spear. More slashes rather than thrusts.

I had time to think that Kerrass would be absolutely furious with me.

Somewhere in the part of my brain that was watching proceedings, I was astonished that I hadn't simply been shot yet. We knew that the ships all had archers on them. It was part of the problem that we had had to overcome in the first place. I don't know why this didn't happen. I can only guess that the sheer impossibility of what we had already accomplished had robbed them of sense.

The ship, the tiny little Skelligan ship. With a fraction of it's proper crew had dared to even begin to survive the horror of fire and metal that had been thrown against it. But not only had it survived, but it had kept coming on. No matter how many arrows that were sent against it. No matter how much was done to try and destroy those people. No matter the fire storms and the magic that was thrown, that skelligan ship had just refused to die and had kept, coming. On.

Not only that. But they had attacked. How dare they?

So it was more than likely. Maybe even more than possible that in their rage and fear at this seemingly unkillable group of people, they had taken leave of their senses. I don't know. I never got the chance to ask them.

I didn't salute the oncoming men. I saw that as wasted time and effort. Also, I felt more than a little bit that these people didn't really deserve the honour that the gesture suggested.

I kind of wish I had now though.

But I charged towards them to meet them. It was not bravery, nor was it strategy. It was simply that, I was bound to start falling back at some point. The sheer press of numbers would make sure of that. So I wanted room behind me. That meant running forward to meet them.

The first man was surprised that I got so close. I twisted away from his first blow and drove my spear towards his throat. He fell backwards. Carrying on the movement, the next man was racing towards me, also surprised that I had moved forward so that his weapon was out of position.

I can't judge him too harshly as my own blade was in the wrong place to strike at him. But it is always a mistake, in any weapon to assume that only the bladed part of the sword or spear can cause you harm. I drove the pommel of my spear into his face. He dropped his sword in surprise, pain and shock and covered his face with his hands, I'm pretty sure I saw blood.

I side-stepped in an effort to keep him between me and a third man as I was now holding my spear like a quarter-staff. I used that to drive the blade towards a fourth man who fell backwards.

The press was on me now and, as I predicted. It was time for me to start falling back from my enemies.

I spun and slashed and stabbed and spun again. I railed at my attackers as more and more came. I soon found that it was not particularly difficult to keep them back from me. But I couldn't strike back. All I could do was defend myself and hope that in doing so, I was drawing people away from those that could actually fight back. Every man that raised their blades or their cudgels against me was not shooting arrows at the onrushing Wave-Serpent that was driving it's way towards the shore.

I hoped.

Every man that aimed their arrows at me rather than at Kerrass or Ciri was a victory. I had achieved that ideal that Helfdan had needed out of me. I was willing to die so that others might live. I would never reach the objective that we were aiming for. Against a mage I was utterly outclassed, but Kerrass or Ciri would have a chance. I shivered at the thought that Ciri, or Kerrass might take an arrow, so easy to do in the thick of things and that it was all over.

But instead the enemy were coming at me instead. At every moment, I expected the next moment to be my last. I grew to anticipate what it would feel like when the blade sank between my shoulder blades. Or that final crunching blow against my ribs or my skull. I began to anticipate the impact of the arrow and how that would throw me backwards. I even began to look forward to it.

Because I was beginning to tire again. That burst of anger that had taken me off the rope and onto the side of the ship. That had given me the energy and the clarity in order to kill those first men, was now stymied. I could not reach my enemies. I could not get hold of them or bring them to bear. I could not get at them in order to ensure that they fell. But more came.

A time came that I could not see what was happening. All that I could see were the faces of men, bared, horrible, rotting teeth in snarls of hate as they tried to reach me in order to end my life. All I could hear were the baying sounds of those same sailors that were hungry for my blood.

But I spun and slashed and stabbed and spun again. Desperately keeping those blades away from me for just a little bit longer. Keeping moving so that the arrows would miss me for just a little bit longer. Just a bit longer because every single second that I was alive was another second that others survived.

Then the pressure lessened. A man that I had expected to have to fend off was suddenly not there. Or rather, he was, but he was clutching his throat with that strange look of panic and confusion that always seems to occur when a man realises that he is dying. The man next to him was trying to reach round his back to whatever it was that had inconvenienced him as his legs folded under him.

But then I had to turn away. People on my other side were pressing against me again.

Kerrass was there. His sword flashing in smaller, but infinitely more deadly arcs than I could have managed. We did not have the breath to greet each other or crack a joke in order to mock each other. In stories, men have a moment to look at each other in the middle of the conflict and share a joke. That didn't happen, we did not have time. Nor did we have the stomach for it. It seemed crass somehow that we should joke about what was happening. Our last words to each other should not be spoken on a battlefield.

Instead, we fought together. Tired, exhausted even and we fought together in the way that we had trained to fight since we had first started out on the road together. Kerrass following his path and me following mine. I would like to say that we have never been better.

I don't know the truth of that, but I would like to say it nonetheless.

My memories of those moments blur together. I remember Kerrass overextending to his left to finish a man to his left, leaving himself vulnerable on his right. A man moved to attack him and I stabbed him in the chest.

I remember tripping another man as he rushed at Kerrass for Kerrass strike to spill the man's guts out on the deck to steam in the cold. I remember turning to see the arrow that was about to kill me. I remember thinking that one of those men had finally remembered that they had been shooting not a matter of moments ago and that I was about to pay for that memory. I saw, literally saw, the arrow leave the bow only for Kerrass' sword to intercept it with a clang. I don't care whether you think that that's impossible. I saw it. I might have avoided it but I was reaching to try and get at the person that was trying to get behind Kerrass and stab him across the back of the leg.

So many memories come back to me now.

I remember being rushed from one direction, fending another man off before drawing my knife and gutting the man rushing me rather than take the time to bring my spear back into play. I remember a moment where, again, my blade was out of position and I had no time to do anything, so instead, I drove the butt of my spear into the man's throat to see him fall back, clutching his throat and choking.

It might sound like I killed a lot of men on the deck of that ship. I did. I am not going to waste our time by trying to dispute that. I did kill a lot of men. I have no idea how many either by myself or while working in partnership with Kerrass. I would certainly say that it was more than all of the other times that I have killed men in my life.

Why was the count so high? As I say, I don't honestly think that those sailors knew what to do with the fact that we had chosen to attack them rather than admit that we had been defeated. I honestly believe that the shock and horror of finding enemy fighters on their deck overwhelmed something in their brains which meant that they had no idea what to do next. So they lost co-ordination and courage. Going backwards when they should have gone forwards is a common mistake anyway.

But also, do not assume that our count made that much of a dent in a ship's crew count. Yes, the Wave-Serpent is crewed by thirty men but the Wave-Serpent is a small ship, even for Skellige. Helfdan would say that he prefers quality over quantity and behaves accordingly.

But on this ship. Clearly the flagship of this small flotilla of Nilfgaardian merchant ships, we were barely making any headway. We had made a dent. Certainly we had made a dent. But we were three people against a ridiculously larger force and we had taken them by surprise with the sheer ferocity of our attacks and the fact that we had attacked at all.

So what happened?

There was a flash of light. Of light and heat followed by a wave of force that knocked me from my feet and sent me sprawling backwards. I slipped on something. Probably blood or something else that really belongs inside the human body and fell backwards.

"The next man that moves." It was a woman's voice and her voice cracked at the end. "The very next man that moves gets a lightening bolt to the face."

It was Ciri. Of course it was Ciri. Who else could it have been. No Nilfgaardian merchant was going to bring a woman onto a ship. Only Skelligan Captains that don't really believe in superstitions would do a thing like that.

But I swear, I swear that I did not recognise the voice when she first started shouting.

I started trembling. I wanted to burst into tears but somehow there seemed to be a wall in my mind between me and those tears and I could not break through yet. I was on my back, lying across a few of the men that I had killed and I wanted to scream, shout and throw a tantrum. My brain felt as though it was trying to explode out of my skull sending skull fragments, blood and whatever else there is everywhere. I balled my fists and pushed them into my eyes.

"Come on Freddie. No time for that yet." Kerrass' voice. He tugged me to my feet.

Ciri was standing a little way off. She had her sword drawn and was holding it to the throat of a man. He was blubbering and, I may be wrong, in the process of shitting himself with fear. Ciri was filthy, covered in blood, her hair matted with filth, sweat and Flame knows what else. But she looked beautiful in that moment. Stood with the mage at sword point.

He was an odd looking man. He was almost the perfect example of a mage from the south who had learned how magic from the north lived and was trying to live like that. Except somewhere in the process, he had missed some fundamental part of how it was all supposed to work. He was dressed like a civil servant. An entirely unremarkable man, slightly overweight with a trembling chin. He had the cleanliness that all magic users seem to share and his clothing was immacculately clean but in his style of dress, he looked like a Southern Mage.

In the South, before Ciri's return to public life and the then Emperor's acknowledgement that some mages had their uses after all, magic users were expected to be the servants of the Empire. You could either serve, or you could be locked up in the magical academies to "study" or to otherwise be kept an eye on. Much like the southern courts expect women to be seen and not heard, mages occupied a similar, if not lower, social standing. This had started to improve since the Lodge of Sorceresses had proven so invaluable in the recovery and protection of the now Empress. There were even rumours before that when Yennefer of Vengerberg, rather infamously, became court Sorceress to the Emperor when she was leading the efforts to try and recover the Emperor's daughter.

Apparently they got on quite well.

But I digress.

So this man looked like a Southern mage. But he had tried to take on some of the fashions and pagentry of the north. So over his drab, mundane clothes. He wore a chain of office that was dripping in Gold and precious stones that could, if the jewels were not fake, have probably bought a new ship. His fingers were heavy with rings and there were precious stones in his lapels and in his fur hat. It was an odd combination that kind of left me feeling sick.

I managed to climb to my feet. Not because I was strong enough or anything like that. It was more because I refused to appear weak before all of these Nilfgaardian sailors. Exhausted wasn't the word for it. I had become an automaton, like a Golem or an elemental servant that a Mage would create in order to be able to get some work done around the forge. Still trying to recover from the fact that I had survived.

I was hurt. Behind the wall that I had erected, along with the tears and the scream that was bubbling up in my throat, there was also pain. A lot of pain and I had no idea what I was going to do about any of that.

"How are they doing Kerrass?" Ciri called over to us.

Kerrass handed me my spear which I must have dropped at some point when I fell. I took it automatically, glaring the sailors that were standing at bay. Waving their weapons backwards and forwards. Others were tending to wounded, still others picked up bows.

Kerrass moved to the side of the ship, those that stood between us and where he wanted to go, moved aside, watching Kerrass warily.

"They're not doing well." Kerrass called back.

And just like that. Where we were and what we were doing came rushing back in a flood and I ran to join him on the rail.

I should have seen it. I should have witnessed it. It's the kind of thing that should have been recorded really. So that people could sing about it in times to come. I wish I had seen it. It would have broken my heart to watch it happen but I should have seen it.

I should have seen the moment where the Wave-Serpent died. I should have seen her sacrifice herself so that what remained of her crew would survive. She had thrown herself onto the rocks with all of the strength that she could muster shattering herself against the teeth of the islands that she had served in all of her long history. She was already a shattered wreck of what she had been.

Flames had caught up around her from the fire arrows and the fireballs and the Flame knows what else had been done to her. The rocks had been the thing that had finally killed her and now the waves were battering her into a wreck. The waves with their increasing amount of ice that could be visibly seen to batter and bash the wooden hull into splinters.

It was a grand death for a ship as storied as that one but it was a death that came too soon. I know that Skelligans believe that death in battle is the height of life. But I am enough of a Continental man to believe that death should come in comfort and gentleness. With friends and loved ones beside you.

I wanted to believe that she could have died as Helfdan's funeral barge. That is how the Wave-Serpent should have died.

Instead it was at the hands of some fire arrows, a mage's spells, the ice and the rocks that finally killed the Wave-Serpent and it would be these things that finally saw to her ending.

I sobbed as I saw the remains, the shattered beams, the mast standing at a crooked angle. I could see the figurehead, snarling her defiance as the flames licked up towards her.

But I should have seen the Wave-Serpent die. Such a thing as that deserves to be remembered.

Her crew were still fighting though. Further down the coast, The first of the four ships in the formation had realised what was happening when Helfdan turned the Wave-Serpent for shore and had had time to react. Although not quite able to beach, the first ship had launched boats full of sailors that were heading towards the Wave-Serpent's corpse. The ship immediately behind us had dropped anchor and had done the same. As we watched, the remains of Helfdan's crew were struggling to make it ashore.

There were so few of them. So very few. The only one recognisable from this distance was Kunnr. Kunnr the Shining, son of Hlaf the Boar-biter had found a solid piece of land and was wielding his twin axes against the oncoming sailors. The blades glittered in the soft light. But the corpses only made it more difficult to get the rest of the men ashore. All the while, more and more Nilfgaardians were streaming towards the remaining men.

There were so few of them though. I turned helpless eyes to Kerrass who's eyes were bleak. I ran towards where Ciri had the mage and grabbed him by the lapels.

"You cast fireballs at us right?"

He gibbered in fear at me.

"You can do other spells too right?" I demanded.

I ignored his whimpering.

"Then you can help our friends down there or I swear..."

Ciri had realised what I was getting at and hauled him over to the rail.

"Fireball." She told him. "Among those men. Now." She pointed at the charging sailors as we continued to sail past them.

He continued to burble.

"I SAID FIREBALL." She screamed at him, getting frantic now. Every second that there was a delay was carrying us further and further away from where the fighting was.

"I think you broke him." Kerrass commented. Always the first with a wry comment. He still had his sword drawn and was watching the rest of the crew. If any of them had been thinking about it, they could probably have just rolled over us and not even noticed it.

Ciri looked around, panic in her eyes. Then her eyes settled on the back of the boat.

"Watch him Freddie." She told me. "If he moves or says anything, then do something disfiguring and painful. Don't kill him though as I want to talk to him. He as questions to answer."

She all but threw the mage at me who I caught and took great delight in resting my dagger up against his crotch.

But then I couldn't help but watch as the remaining crew of the Wave-Serpent struggled to climb over icy, freezing cold rocks in order to get to the shore. And all the while we were getting further and further away. That problem with warfare at sea. You need to make a decision now because if you hesitate, then it will be too late.

But I didn't know what to do. I looked at Kerrass helplessly but he was staring down at where the few remaining members of the Wave-Serpent's crew were struggling for their own survival. The other ships were firing their bows at them as they sailed past with those ships that were ahead of us in the formation turning back to give their archers another go. All the while the men were struggling to get ashore and Kerrass and I watched helplessly. There was nothing we could do.

Except to bear witness to the bravery of those few remaining men.

Then I heard the ship that we were on groan. The huge trading ship had a different voice to the Wave-Serpent. I cannot disentangle my own thoughts from Helfdan's ship. I think of her as a woman now, who died in all of her glory doing her best to carry her people to safety. That journey with Helfdan and his men has forever changed the way I think of ships. Now, I can see why men give them names and assign them personalities. Why they treat their ships with affection and talk to them in the small hours of the night when no-one else is around to listen.

But there was a different note to the Nilfgaardian's ship. It was deeper, more drawn out. There was a popping noise as well that was new, something that I hadn't heard before. This was not a ship that was in tune with the person at the tiller. This was not a ship that wanted to go this way or that way. This was a ship that was at war with itself.

And it groaned with the efforts that it was being put through.

Then the ship began to turn. Slowly at first but we were turning nonetheless. I felt my jaw drop open as I turned and stared towards the back of the ship where Ciri stood, hurling herself into the steering wheel. Turning it and then holding it there. Teeth gritted with the effort. Cords standing out in her neck as she screamed with the exertion.

Because the ship didn't want to turn towards the shore. Towards the rocks and towards it's death.

Now I know the science of the thing. I know that the Nilfgaardian ship still had it's sail up. I know that the wind was coming from the East which meant that Ciri was actively sailing the ship into the wind. I know that the reason that Helfdan and the crew had found it relatively easy was because they had oars and had taken their sail down. That they were lighter on the water and all the rest of it. I know all this. Rational, scientific brain knows all of these things.

But the more powerful, emotional centre of me knows that the Ship fought against Ciri. That it did everything that it could to avoid it's coming annihilation.

At the time though, I had no idea what was going to happen. All I saw was Kerrass tying himself to something.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"I would find something to hold onto if I were you Freddie." He told me calmly. "Also that Wizard you're holding onto. I would bet money that this is going to be rough."

The sailors had realised what was going to happen now and were running around screaming. They had no idea what to do though. A couple made a half hearted attempt to attack Ciri and died for their trouble. She had tied the wheel to our new course and just stood next to it with her sword drawn and an expression on her face that begged the other sailors to come on and die.

None took her up on the offer. Instead, they took Kerrass' example and started securing themselves. I had done the same. Not that I yet understood what was about to happen but I have spent several years doing exactly what Kerrass tells me to do in moments of crisis and it struck me that now was not a moment to change away from doing that.

Then, when I had a moment, still holding onto the Wizard by the scruff of his neck, it began to dawn on me what Ciri was trying to do. It was not logical, it very nearly got us all killed including herself. But in the heat of the moment she had chosen how to behave and acted on it.

The Ship, that had been groaning with the pressure of the wind trying to push it backwards and the conflict between the sails and the ship's inertia, screamed as the first sound of sharp rock scraping against the hull came to our ears.

Ships do not die quickly.

Then there was an answering scream as this was answered on the other side.

Then there was a delay and I found myself hoping that there would be no more. But there was a new noise then. A noise that sailors all over the world dread. I had never heard it before but I instantly knew what it was. A kind of onrushing noise that seemed to echo through the hull. Sea water was coming through one, or both of the injuries that the ship had suffered.

"Holy Flame." I muttered. "Holy flame keep me warm and safe in this, my hour of nee..."

The ship didn't have enough inertia behind it to properly beach itself onto the rocky shore. But by the Eternal Flame in Novigrad, It made a good effort of it. I suspect it was already a wreck before it finally came to a halt. The holes in the hull had made sure of that with the incoming water and whatever else was going on. But it came to a halt with a jerk and an almighty crash that echoed in my skull. The front left of the ship exploded first.

As I say, ship's do not die quickly. So I got to see the ripple in the wood rushing towards me as planks bent and broke under the stresses of what was happening below decks. The nails that had held those same boards in place were forced free and pinged around the place including gouging me across the forehead. Then one of the great boards of decking would break and the splinters would fly everywhere. I saw several crew shredded by the ballistic wood, flayed alive by the splinters that flensed the skin from their bones.

One man, fell to his knees with his hands clutching at his face, blood running freely between his fingers. Another ran over to help his friend and pulled his hands away before having to turn away in horror. The man had a shard of wood. About the length of my index finger sticking out of his eye socket.

Men were screaming as we started to come to a halt. I began to think that surely, surely we must have slowed down by now. Surely the effects of those rocks beneath the surface would have robbed us of some of the momentum that was carrying us towards the waiting arms of death.

But no. When we finally struck that final resting place it was with the force of a giants boot, kicking me in the chest.

We were thrown into the ropes that held us down. So hard that I blacked out for a few seconds. Not for long though as I was quickly woken up by the icy spray of water coming off the rocks and the ship's hull. It was terrifying. The ship had come to a halt and was gently beginning to tip to one side so that the corpses of the men that we had killed were beginning to roll over. As I looked up, I could tilt my head over to one side and look into the abyss of swirling water and reaching stones.

The mage, that I was tied with, was screaming. He kept trying to move his hands and begin some kind of incantation but he never quite seemed to manage to get the concentration together. The words choking in his throat and his hands beginning to tremble with fear. I could see that blood was beginning to run from his nose and ears.

I shook myself and started to work my way free. All the while gasping for breath that just wouldn't seem to come while desperately trying to blink the salt water from my eyes

"Hold on." Someone shouted. Then I felt the ropes slacken and I felt myself begin to fall. I scrabbled to get hold of something. Anything to arrest my descent.

If I'd thought about it. It would have been easy. But in the heat of the moment, struggling to breathe having recently lost consciousness, I panicked. Kerrass caught me, catching hold of one of my reaching hands as he made it to my side.

Ciri was half helping, half dragging the mage to his feet. The Nilfgaardian sailors were making their own way. Some were desperately trying to salvage the ship. An effort that was clearly useless but I suppose that the saying about "What you learn to do first, you do in a crisis," holds true in the high seas as well. Men were running around frantically, screaming and shouting. Someone was trying to shout orders and more people were trying to jump overboard. As I watched, I saw a plank from the decking snap under the stresses, the tumbling end collided with the skull of a passing sailor. He fell and rolled towards the side of the ship. I was frozen by the sight, watching him as he hit the railing and just continued to tumble down towards the waiting rocks and swirling, angry water.

"You alright?" Kerrass screamed so that I could hear him over the noise.

I glared at him regarding the ridiculousness of that question. I was clearly not alright. I was clearly terrified and trying really hard not to actively shit myself in fear. As an anchoring technique, focusing on your bowel movements are actually quite helpful. He seemed to take that as a positive though and helped me to a standing position.

The ship groaned again as it continued to complain about it's fate. It jerked spasmodically over to one side as it settled further into whatever setting it had found.

"Come on." Kerrass shouted at me and I followed him stupidly. Ciri was already dragging the mage towards the splintered horror of the front of the ship. More water was rushing into the hull now and booming against the walls of the cargo bays. But there was the thumping sound that I had remembered from sailing on the Wave-Serpent. There it had seemed peaceful and meditative as the ice had bounced off the sides of the ship. But now? Now it was a slow booming of a funeral drum.

The ship lurched more as we staggered forwards. We caught up with Ciri and I put my arm under the mage's shoulder to help drag him along. One of the sailors was charging at us with his sword raised and a wail of despair echoing in his mouth. Kerrass killed him quickly and I suppose that there are worse methods of committing suicide. But I thought that he might need some help if some people decided to avenge themselves on the three of us and Ciri was far more sure footed than I was.

"What the hell did you do that for?" I demanded of her when I got closer.

"You wanna help them out don't you?" She demanded. "I wanted to get to shore to help Helfdan and the rest fight."

"You could have just teleported." I told her. "That's the entire point of this isn't it?"

We staggered as the ship lurched again, the four of us drenched in spray. I didn't quite lost my feet. This because the Mage caught me. I have no idea why, maybe he thought that he could garner some goodwill if he saved my life. Maybe it was a reflex reaction of some kind. I have no idea. But I didn't fall.

"Do you know." Ciri yelled as she answered my question. "I actually didn't think of that. But in all fairness. That would only have had me helping them. You want to help them too, don't you?"

"Yes." I admitted. "But turning into the shore and getting us killed in the wreckage doesn't seem like a particularly efficient..."

"Turning around would have taken too long." Kerrass was resheathing his sword. "And it would have taken us the other way, into the path of the Skeleton Ship. I too am not done with killing yet."

We had reached the front of the ship.

"So what now?"

"Well," Ciri said. "We're closer to shore now so we won't hit the freezing cold water."

"So?" I demanded.

"So we jump. Or rather you do." She vanished in a flash of green light.

"It's alright for her to say that." I told Kerrass. My voice sounded dry and restrained. Something that I found astonishing. I even thought I could detect humour in my own voice. "She can reappear on dry land."

"She can." Kerrass had grabbed hold of the mage before looking over the side of the ship, choosing his ground and pitching the mage over the rail. He watched as the mage screamed. "Come on Freddie, it's not that far." He was grinning as he vaulted over the side.

"There's a joke here." I told the empty air. "A joke about it not being the fall that kills you."

I turned and looked back at the rest of the ship. You could see the back of the ship being battered by the waves. Even if the waves weren't that high, they were powerful enough to be moving the back of the ship independently from the front of the ship where I stood. More and more wood was splintering and I didn't think it would be long before the entire thing would break in half. Then, anyone left aboard would be dead.

Further back, I had a glimpse of the Skeleton Ship bearing down on us. The big ship that had been ahead of us in the formation had turned in order to get back into the fight, such as it was. The wind had blown it wide and into the path of the Skeleton Ship and I could see that it was already being held fast in the ice. Men were jumping over board to land and run for it on the ice that was reaching towards where I stood with fingers that grasped and strangled the life out of the world.

To jump was probably deadly. To stay still was to remove the word "probably" from the previous statement.

"Fuck it." I said and vaulted over the rail.

It was both, much further down than I wanted it to be, but at the same time, not as far as I feared. The main concern was making sure that I didn't hit any of the rocks or splintering wood when I got there. I was not entirely successful on the part of things about the wood but I did manage to miss most of the rocks. I did manage to twist my ankle as I fell and landed awkwardly. An awkwardness that was made worse by the sheer cold of the water that I landed in which robbed me of all control of my muscles and breathing.

Every muscle in my body tensed. As though I was desperately trying to lift something heavy. But at the same time, I had no control over the way that those muscles were tensing. So, I started to shake. Shivering is the wrong word for it. These was full body trembling. I had to be careful that I didn't bite my own tongue off.

And that was only in water that came up to my knees. If the water had come up any further then I don't know what would have happened.

As it was, the injured leg collapsed underneath me and I fell, a wave splashed me in the face and I screamed with the pain of it.

I pulled myself to a kneeling position, my protesting leg still submerged under the water and the icy temperatures causing the muscles to bellow into my brain at the agony that they were feeling. My hands were in the water now and they were going mercifully numb. With just a hint of the agony that was beyond the numbness.

At the time it didn't register. I was all in the process of struggling to keep my head out of the water but I think that that was the closest I've ever been to dying. I now agree with Kerrass that the instance where the imitation Jack almost ran me through in Toussaint was him toying with me. I don't think that he was actively trying to kill me. He could have done that at any time. The cult of the First born, the time I was strapped to a torturers chair... The poison at the hands of fuckface. All of those things were pretty close.

But crawling through the icy waves off the coast of Skellige, lumps of ice battering at my body. Falling timbers of wood from the ship that was still going through it's death throes. Men screaming and dying all around me. All of that made me frantic with the panic. It was also another occasion where if I had stopped and actually taken the time to think through what I was doing, then survival would have been much easier to achieve. You hear about all of these stories about how people just freeze, or run away in a straight line from the boulder that is about to crush them when they could have jumped off to either side and be safe. You hear about all of those things and mock and laugh and tease. But when you're actually in the moment, your brain is not thinking about that kind of thing. Your brain just wants to survive.

I think that that might have been the closest that I've been to dying.

And like most of those other times. It was Kerrass that was my salvation. Sometimes, I honestly don't know why he continues to hang around with me.

I felt a hand grab me by the scruff of the neck and haul me out of the water. Tucking his head under my arm he all but dragged me through the water to the beach, avoiding falling wood, barrels, crates and the bodies of humans.

Twice he had to kill Nilfgaardian sailors that came through the spray to try and take their vengeance. Twice, Kerrass had to drop me and kill another man so that their blood could freeze along with the water which was already beginning to crunch under foot as we did our best to make our way through the shallows.

It is not a good memory that. How we made it I will never know. Not something that I could have done in cold blood. I was hurt by the time that we were done. So was Kerrass with a gash across his forehead. I had a nastier gash that left blood running down my leg, the same one with the twisted ankle.

The pain was an extraordinary thing. Not because it hurt particularly badly. But because, it was both not as bad as I thought it would be due to the numbness of my limbs, but at the same time, it hurt like a bastard with the sea water stinging in the cut.

Kerrass all but dragged me out of the water and put me on a rock. Ciri was there with the mage, who had been tied up again, all but hopping from one foot to the other as she waited for us. She was leaning on my spear and ran down to us with it. Kerrass snatched the spear from her grip and passed it back to me.

"The next time you lose this," he told me. "I'm keeping it."

"The next time I lose it, you can have it." I told him.

Kerrass ran back and tore some clothing from one of the corpses that were now washing ashore and used it to bind my leg.

"That will have to do for now." He told me. "Can you walk?"

"Fucking well better." I told him, using the spear to lever myself up. It took a, not small, amount of effort to force myself to put weight on the injured ankle. A not small amount of effort at all and I hissed with pain.

But on the catalogue of pain that I was suffering... It was having to fight for attention amongst the fact that I was freezing cold from both the water and the dropping temperatures .As it was, the water in my clothing was freezing solid which meant that there was an audible popping noise coming from my shirt and tunic as I moved.

I also had the gash in my leg and now that I had room to think about it, I had suffered several other cuts and injuries from the flying splinters of wood. My chest was bruised from being thrown into my bindings. Which might have also suggested why my breath seemed to burn in my throat. But that was just as likely to be due to the probability that I had swallowed some of the freezing cold sea-water.

Kerrass was doing slightly better because it was Kerrass, and his mutated body was designed for these kinds of hardships. Also, judging by the size of his pupils, he had taken another couple of potions to help with the pain of whatever he was suffering. From somewhere, the question occurred as to how many potions he had taken that day and also, how many did he have left.

Ciri was fine. She was just as wet as the rest of us but otherwise she seemed uninjured. The benefits of being able to teleport I suppose. The Mage was bound and gagged but he was looking pale. He might have been injured but I didn't really care enough to check.

"What now?" I wondered through chattering teeth.

"Now?" Ciri wondered. "I refuse to leave what remains of the Wave-Serpent alone. If any of those men survived then I will do my best to help them."

"There won't be many by now." Kerrass told her as he stood up.

"Then we will help at least them." She told him. "Freddie? You with me?"

I nodded and hobbled after them.

Twisted ankles take time to heal. But, although it really is agony as you do it. The best thing really is to walk it off which is where the saying comes from. Keeping the joint moving is the best thing to do to prevent swelling and seizing although I didn't have to worry about swelling too much. I was freezing cold which I was more than confident was keeping the swelling down to a minimum.

Instead, I was more concerned with my joints seizing up and the occasional spasms that I felt. But again, the movement helped keep me warm. There was no doubt in my mind that I would pay for this later but I hadn't really thought that far ahead. It wasn't all that long ago that I had expected to die and had been in the process of preparing myself for that. That I was still there at all could be considered, not unfairly, as being miraculous. So the thought of some point in the future where I might be struggling to fight off another cold, or whatever cramps and pain in my limbs that I might be struggling with. All of that was secondary to if I could just survive the next few hours.

It was not a foregone conclusion. We had sailed through the fire of the Wave-Serpent's charge and the Nilfgaardian ships fiery vengeance at our temerity. Then we had leaped aboard an enemy ship and still we survived. Then we had survived running that self same ship aground and leaping to shore. Our next task?

We had to fight through the other Nilfgaardians that had been put ashore in order to finish off the men of the Wave-Serpent, so that we could save those self-same men of the Wave-Serpent.

It should be said that I, at least, considered myself one of those men and that the enemy would have to go through me in order to kill any of the survivors.

So that, dear reader, is the reason why I didn't "run for the hills" or hide or any of the other things that people have told me that I should have done in those circumstances. Was I thinking clearly? Absolutely not. My anger was coming back and I was thinking with that more and more as time went on.

I don't know how many men had been deposited on the shore in order to destroy the remaining crew. But it was not a small number. Many of them were moving towards the wreck now and so, when we were coming up behind them, they were spaced out. Ciri and Kerrass moved almost as one. They moved as dance partners with Kerrass as the solid centre that just moved forward into groups of men and killed them. Ciri flitted around the battlefield, such as it was, the green flash of her teleporting would light up the place. Sometimes they fought together in order to see off a larger group of men, other times the split up in order to defeat stragglers.

There is a strange thing that happens in a fight. Skelligans are the exceptions to this rule so don't think of them in this batch of things. But generally, the people at the front of a battle are those people who feel as though they have something to prove. Men who are yearning for fame or fortune or whatever. Young men who think that they are immortal and still think that the world will bend according to their whim.

The veterans are in the middle generally. This is because they are more confident in their roles. The old folk are towards the back. These are the men who are just trying to get by. Men who are well aware of the terror's of battle. Men who have been injured before, or been covered in the brains of their best mate. They are the men who set aside and let the "youngsters" get on with it. These were the men that we were fighting at the moment...

I say "we." I mean Kerrass and Ciri really. I was mostly dragging the mage along behind me.

But they soon realised what was happening and that there was this new threat coming up behind them. I even heard a few of them put two and two together in order to get the necessary sixteen when they saw Ciri flitting around the battlefield with her green flash teleportation. They had, presumably, heard stories of the Empress of Nilfgaard doing that kind of thing and had realised what was happening. They, wisely, took to their heels.

Others just ran to get help to where the main mass of men were, still desperately trying to kill the survivors of the wreck of the Wave-Serpent.

Even then though, things were slow to turn around. The attacking crews and sailors had smelt blood and were not going to let up for any reason at all. There was an enemy to smash. An enemy that had dared to challenge Nilfgaard's ultimate supremacy of the seas. An enemy that had stood up to them and now they needed to be punished for it.

Helfdan and his men were having none of it though. But they still weren't ashore. They were still struggling to clear themselves of the wreckage from the Wave-Serpent.

The waves were lifting the Wave-Serpent now. Even though the water was more liquid slush than actual sea water, it was still raising the remains, the skeleton of the ship up and down. Every time it did so, it threatened to come crashing down on the heads of her surviving crew. Every single time. And every single time those men would dart forward trying to drag more people, more corpses really out of the wreckage.

But the Nilfgaardians weren't letting them do that. The Nilfgaardians were like the sharks of the ocean, they had scented blood in the water and were now pushing forward to try and destroy these last few men.

I didn't understand it. I still don't in all honesty. Sailors, as a whole, are supposed to be a cooperative species. They are supposed to work together in the face of oncoming elemental disaster. Whether that's a storm or what. Among the earliest stories that I had heard about Helfdan was an account about how he had prevented men, prevented enemies that had tried to kill him and his men, from dying at sea. How he had picked up survivors from the wreck that he himself had sunk and deposited them on a nearby stretch of land.

The other problem was that the Skeleton Ship was still coming. One of the remaining Nilfgaardian ships... surprisingly the last one in the formation, had seen the coming threat and put on it's full sail to flee before the oncoming ship. The other large one that had turned to come back at us was already caught in the ice and the last was floundering, trying to get away from shore. You couldn't miss the Skeleton Ship. As I say, it's huge. Huge, black and utterly terrifying. We didn't need to fight. We needed to run for shelter in the face of that awful, awful cold.

But the Nilfgaardian sailors were trying to kill with a desperation that was shocking to me. I don't know why. As I say, it's possible that some of them knew the penalties for attacking the Empress. It's even more likely that they would also know the retribution that would come down on their heads should any Skelligan survive to be able to tell how a few merchant ships had tried to prevent them from getting to safe harbour so they had been ordered to kill these men, whatever the cost.

It's also just as likely that these sailors were glorified pirates that were hungry for blood. Sometimes, a pirate can attain a veneer of respectability for taking a few jobs for a crown or a merchant family. Acting as escorts to the traders or raiding opposing ports and ships.

But it was madness, utter madness.

We were no better. We should have run too. We had our proof in the form of the Mage, so that we would be able to prosecute the necessary people. Leaving aside the fact that the Empress' vengeance was bound to be somewhat... extreme.

But we had to see what had become of the Wave-Serpent and see if there were any survivors. We had to. I can't say it any fairer than that. Just one of those moments where I wasn't in control of my body or mind. I had to know if anyone else had made it to shore and then I had to help them survive to.

Well... It turns out that some of those brave men had survived the crash against the rocks. Some of them had made it through the storm of fire, ice, arrows and churning water to hurl themselves onto the teeth of the islands of Skellige. They had torn themselves free of their ship and had turned to help their fellows when their enemies had fallen on them like wild dogs.

Then they had fought.

It was both the most uplifting and saddest sight that I had ever seen. Because it was doomed. Utterly doomed. The remaining crew had found a small rocky island just off the shore that they were standing on. Calling it an island makes it sound grander than it actually was. It was a rock that was large enough for a few men to stand on. They couldn't get off the rock to get to shore because of the pressing attackers, but the attackers had to go through the icy water to get to them in the first place.

There were arrows of course but the Skelligan men had some shields. Many of them were splintered though. I could see one or two people still working to get things or people out of the Wave-Serpent but it was hopeless. The ice was coming. Waves were drenching the fighting men who screamed in terror as much as they were screaming in rage.

And there were far too many attackers. Far too many. The Skelligans knew that to stay on their rock was to doom themselves but they couldn't push back. They had no room and as we watched, trying desperately to make our own headway down the beach, another effort was made by some warrior that I didn't recognise from this distance who was cut down under the raw savagery of the Nilfgaardian pirates.

It was impossible to tell who was who at this distance. Impossible to tell. As I say, I was so proud of those men who had managed to make it this far, let alone being able to survive and to keep on fighting. But it was achingly sad. I felt tears on my face.

Kerrass and Ciri were fighting like people possessed. And the Sailors fell back from their fury as they killed and killed and killed but there was just too many of them. It was like there was a wall between them and us and there was nothing we could do. I lost the mage at some point. I think I just dropped him somewhere, so desperate was I to be able to bring my own weapons to bear on these men that I hated.

We were tired as well. Fighting is hard work, not to mention the climbing and the jumping and the running around. The cold was sapping our strength, the water in our clothes were making it harder to move. And all the small injuries that we had suffered over the time. The cuts and bruises, even the small ones, were slowly beginning to take our toll.

We didn't talk. We didn't speak at all. I can't speak for either of the other two of them but I did not have the energy for a war cry or any kind of vocal expression of my anger, pain and despair. I was shaking with the cold apart from anything else. So I gritted my teeth and stabbed another man in the back. Short, hard thrusts, as men tried to get behind Kerrass and Ciri. The small of the back was my favourite target.

I know what you're thinking and I don't care. Yes, I was stabbing people in the back but right then and there, I find that I didn't care about the honour or the perception of the thing. I wanted these men dead.

But we weren't making any headway. I have no idea how much further I had to go when my body gave up. It just gave up, my twisted ankle and injured leg just crumpled underneath my weight and I fell to my knees in the surf. I didn't scream in agony. I didn't shout or yell or bellow. I might have grunted as that took me back into the sea spray and the water among the rocks was still icy cold.

But I had nothing more to give. Nothing more that I could do. This was it. Taken to the very limit of my endurance. Maybe even beyond it.

For the second time in the year, I despaired of my body and gave up hope. The first time was in the woods of Northern Redania as Kerrass and I fled from the Cult of the First-Born with the aid of the Elves and the bastards. There, when things had gotten bleak, Kerrass, Chireadean and Rickard would be the ones that would pick me up, dust me off and force me to keep moving when all I wanted to do was to find a small, dark place to lay down and die.

That time, when my body gave up, I gave up with it. I gave into despair.

This time was different. My body had failed me...

Which is harsh. It had already killed more and done more in the most extreme conditions than I had any right to expect of it.

But at this last hurdle, my body failed me. Like before, my heart and mind were despairing but this time, I didn't want to give up and crawl away to die. This time I wanted to do something different. I wanted the strength to keep on killing. I wanted to make it through to the remaining survivors of the Wave-Serpent. I found that I had no problem with my death, in that time and in that place, no problem at all. But it seemed monstrously unfair that those men would die in my stead.

I tried to force myself back to my feet and I almost made it too before stumbling and falling again a few steps later.

I tried again but the fight was moving beyond me now and getting further and further away.

I was on my hands and knees again in the freezing sand and stone of a beach on the western coast of Ard Skellig. Breath hissing between my teeth. Pain shooting up my legs and taking root in my back in way that suggested that I would struggle to uproot it.

"Not like this." I tried to verbalise the thought that kept bouncing around inside my head. "Not like this."

And I began to pray.

They say that when you get to the absolute ends of despair you can do one of two things. The first is that you can appeal to some kind of higher power. When your body and mind have failed you. When your friends have failed you...

Through no fault of their own I might add...

…. When everything else has failed you then you turn to prayer as the last possible refuge. The only possible alternative is to take a blade to your wrists.

I have even seen this in action. At those points of despair in my life... This time, the Cult of the First-Born doesn't count. MY friends had not failed me then and when I was feeling a little bit stronger, I was still able to depend on my body at the very end of things.

But when I went to my room after my father had forbade me from academics and had told me to properly pursue my marriage proposals. Several times in various exam halls reaching for an answer that I could not grasp. When my heart had been broken... I had turned to prayer. I still do it too and this time I turned to prayer.

There is comfort in those words. Comfort in the ancient rituals that you say to each other in the churches and chapels of your youth where you kneel on soft cushions with the gentle light coming through the stained glass windows and the smell of candles, incense or oil burning. There is comfort there and sometimes, an answer presents itself.

I'm not going to explore the theological implications of that here. I'm not going to try and guess whether those answers came to me in the exam hall, or that my eyes struck my book and therefore my salvation in my chamber after that last most catastrophic row with Father came to me as a result of divine intervention or as a result of my mind going elsewhere for a moment and therefore finding a different avenue through to the solution.

Nor am I going to argue whether or not the one necessarily invalidates the other. The divine invalidates the reason.

Instead, I will tell you what happened. On the beach as I slowly began to freeze to death. As my body began to shut down in the face of all the overwhelming things that we were facing. I'm going to tell you what I saw and what I did.

First, I reached for the Holy Flame. I tried to think of those prayers that I have used so many times before and how they had brought me comfort and given me strength in those hardest of times.

But try as I might. I just could not find the focus or the clarity to be able to get to that. There were none of my normal aids to concentration. There were no bells, it was cold rather than warm, there was no smell of burning candles or oil, there was no... There was no peace, that's what I'm trying to say. I find that prayer to the Eternal Fire, my version of it anyway, requires peace and calm. It requires me to be a bubble in a storm.

But I wasn't a bubble in a storm. I was a freezing cold man being covered in icy water while I froze or bled to death from thousand tiny cuts.

And anyway, it was not peace that I needed. I needed anger, I needed rage and energy. I needed power to get me back to my feet and get me moving again. That was what I needed. I needed the proverbial spear up the backside to get me back and moving again.

And I couldn't find it.

I found myself drifting free from my body. You can call it an out of body experience if you like and I will not say that you are wrong. You could also call it a near death experience and I can't entirely say that you are wrong at that either. There is no telling what state I was in at the time. I think that I was pretty close to death but other people have disagreed pointing out that it can actually take a while for the body to freeze to death and that my injuries were not that severe.

They certainly felt severe but that's a different discussion for another time.

So I felt a sense of drifting. I probably closed my eyes and I remember thinking about some of the things that Ragnvald said in the halls of the berserkers. I don't know why I thought of that. I certainly didn't do that consciously. There was no decision to do that. There was no conscious thought. I just found myself thinking of that.

There was little to no rage in me at the time. I was exhausted and the rage and fear had kind of been burnt out of me by the sheer muscle numbing fatigue that I had felt up until that point. So I also know that that wasn't what I was feeling.

I've spent quite a bit of time since then thinking about what happened on the beach that day.

Instead, for that moment, I thought about Ragnvald and the cave and for whatever reason, I felt that there was warmth there. And because I was freezing cold, I went towards the warmth.

I found myself in a cave. It was dark, warm and dry and there was a fire in the middle of the cave which was the only source of light. It flickered against the walls throwing large and objectively terrifying shadows everywhere.

But I was not afraid.

I realised that I was witnessing some form of conference and that the speakers at the conference were familiar to me. Although, at the time I could not remember from where. Regular readers will certainly remember them.

The main conversationalists were a Viper, a Cat, A Spider and a Bear. There were other animals as well, same as there were last time that I had seen these creatures back in Ragnvald's cave when he had invoked a vision in me. There was an owl, who this time was perched on the Spider's main body. The Wolf was still there, but much smaller than he had been and he was sat next to the Cat, sitting calmly rather than prowling on the edge of things. There was a mouse perched between his ears.

I don't know how I knew that the Wolf was a he. I just knew it.

The Cat was much larger than it had been last time. He was still a battered old Tom-Cat, scarred and fierce but he was sat with his tail wrapped around his paws. He looked, for all the world, like some house cat that people keep around to keep the mice and rats at bay. He seemed to be in charge, the chair of the meeting if you like.

The Viper was much smaller and was keeping himself close to the fire. He seemed tired. Last time he had reared up so that he could look me in the eye but now he was resting his head on the warm stones. As I watched, the mouse jumped down from on top of the Wolf's head and went over to rub the top of the Viper's head gently. The Viper hissed in a combination of relief and contentment.

The Bear was much smaller than he had been. Much smaller, still ragged and glowing with a dull red energy but he was smaller, more withdrawn from anything.

By far the largest of the creatures was the Spider. She, because again I couldn't tell you how I knew, was pleading with the others.

"I don't know what else to do. I have carried him as far as I can. We both have."

The owl nodded in agreement.

"He has given everything he has to give." The Spider went on. "What more can there be?"

"It is a close run thing." The Viper spoke up. "He is losing his instincts and with all due respect to the lady. This is not a situation that he can think his way out of." I swear that the snake bowed to the Spider. Don't ask me what that looked like.

"He should hide." The Cat said. "He has done enough for one day."

"He would never be satisfied with that and we all know it." The mouse said in a surprisingly deep and low voice."

"Hiding is logical." The Wolf said. "But he will hate himself for making that choice."

I realised that the bear was looking at me. Watching me.

"I can help." The bear said. "I can give him what he needs."

"No." The Spider shook her head. "He will hate himself for that even more."

"Will he hate himself more for that? Or will he hate himself for leaving his friends to die?" The Cat asked. "I would be more concerned at the capability. With all due respect to our friend and colleague, the Bear has been chained for a long time now. Could he carry all of that?"

"I am stronger here." The bear said. "This is my land and I draw power from it."

"He will be changed." The Owl said.

"And that cannot be allowed." The Spider agreed.

"One time only." The Bear told them both. "If it's done this one time, taking power from this place where I am at my strongest. The Witcher will protect him as he always has. He will need me anyway to get him off the beach. Use this time."

"I don't like it." The Cat declared. "Once that door is opened once, then it is far easier to open it again without meaning to."

"He won't." The Viper and the Wolf spoke together. "His self-control and self-awareness will prevent it." The Viper said.

"He knows of you now and he is afraid of you." The Wolf added. "That fear will provide the chains. His rage will be stronger if he stays in The Bear's place of power but if he leaves without having another reason to use it. Then he will re imprison the Bear."

"And I am content with that." The Bear was still looking at me. "At the very least, he has learned to be less afraid of me and has learned some discipline as to how to use me properly."

"For this one time only." The Spider declared.

"One time." The Owl agreed.

"Yes." The Cat and Wolf said.

The Viper nodded.

"Why not?" The mouse was grinning. "It should be fun at any rate."

"You have a strange sense of fun for a mouse." The Spider seemed to say it fondly. Again, don't ask me how I know all of this.

"Done then." The Bear agreed and seemed to grow in the cave as the others, especially the Spider, seemed to shrink. "Open your eyes." He told me.

I did so. I was still on my hands and knees in the surf with the now freezing water was beginning to film over with ice.

"Look up." Came the voice.

Ahead of me was a corpse. Definitely Nilfgaardian because they were wearing the necessary clothings. It was a man that Kerrass had killed. He was a marginally more efficient killer than Ciri so the wounds were smaller than those wounds that Ciri inflicted. He was lying on his face and there was a small cut at the base of the man's skull.

In the man's hand was an axe. A large one. I felt the lips of my mouth curl up in a smile. The air of my breath whistled through my teeth and from somewhere I found the strength to push myself forward in a kind of scuttle like a crab or a lizard and I grabbed hold of the axe.

I blacked out. I know that that isn't helpful, nor is it particularly informative. But that's what happened. There was no descending red curtain of rage. Nor was there any more kind of hyperventilating or any of the other things that happen when I lose my temper. I have the distinct impression of the cold of the axe's pommel in the palm of my hand. I remember the feeling of the cheap leather and I remember the weight of it and I remember the surge of energy that accompanied it.

I have flashes of the rest of it. I remember it in black and white. Not in red which was something that I always felt was a bit strange. I thought that a berzerker fit would be red. But it wasn't, it was Black and White. It's also a falsity that berzerkers don't feel pain. I felt plenty of pain. Believe me, there was no getting away from it.

But I remember little else.

Just flashes.

Apparently, the brain is very good at defending itself from horrible things. Memories and horror are dismissed and forgotten quickly and easily whereas you would think that they are things that you would remember. I recently had recourse to reread the article on the beast of Amber's crossing and I can remember little to nothing of what happened in the woods. So in reading the words, it was as though they happened to someone else.

So I wonder if that's what happened. I have no idea though.

So, as I say. I remember flashes.

I remember delivering a huge stroke of the axe into the back of a man. I didn't cut him in half, but I did sever his spine and he collapsed with an odd look of surprise and confusion on his face.

I distinctly remember realising that the man in front of me had little to no leg armour. So I should cut him in the thigh. I did that, except I didn't just cut him. I cut his leg off.

I remember knocking a man down. I didn't manage to kill him with the stroke. I think it's possible that I hit him with the wrong part of the axe as I was certainly wielding it badly. But he fell into the water and I stood on his chest in order to keep him under water where he drowned.

Little flashes.

I remember being struck on the head with a club and seeing flashing lights...

Incidentally, it has also been suggested that this blow to the head could be the reason why I don't remember much and why I hallucinated the animals in the cave. I find I don't like, and don't believe, this explanation but there it is. Just for the sake of completeness and balance to the narrative.

I remember a dagger cut across my left bicep and I remember that my reverse stroke cut the offending arm off.

I remember the fear on a man's face as I killed him.

All these and other flashes that keep me awake at night and wake me up in the darkness with a scream on my lips. Not that I needed more nightmares.

So I remember little useful of those few moments. Because it wasn't very long before my body finally stopped working.

But it worked.

I woke up, because that's the only real way that I can describe the feeling, I woke up only a short while later. Standing on the beach and staring after the retreating Nilfgaardians. My throat was raw, my limbs ached and were sore with exertion and I was shaking. Really shaking.

"Freddie?" Someone called my name.

Does anyone else cry with anger? I sometimes feel as though I'm the only one that ever does it. That moment where you are so overwhelmed with something, the frustration of it or whatever.

I remember as a child, being mocked for my tears of frustration and stymied rage. When I had taken a battering on the practice fields or after a particularly unpleasant confrontation with Father. I couldn't talk back, I couldn't get my opinion across which meant that I was just standing there, taking whatever an older brother, tutor or family member was dishing out. So I would often burst into tears.

Nowadays, it happens less often. More and more because I don't ever really fall into a position where that kind of thing is going to become a problem. I have also learned the lesson that yelling back at someone, or walking away from things, is also a viable technique.

As is violence. Kerrass taught me the proper use of violence. I know that he sometimes regrets teaching me this and sometimes, somewhat rarely, I regret the need to learn it.

But on the beach, that is what I felt. I had fallen to a knee. I was hot, and freezing cold at the same time. I don't know but it felt as though steam was rising from my body. I felt as though I was a long way away, as though I was trying to hear and speak and move but that I was controlling a puppet.

In front of me was a long stretch of beach where the right wall of the beach was a cliff that eventually led up to the lighthouse. Along the beach, the Nilfgaardian sailors were fleeing. Full on retreat, with never a look back.

"Freddie," Someone said again.

It started to rush back to me then, everything that I had done over the last few moments, minutes really. It hadn't been very long. It all seemed to come back to me in a rush, everything that I had done since I had seen the axe and taken it up in my hands. I had a feeling of dizziness as that time seemed so long ago and yet it had provably happened a matter of seconds ago. I staggered as the two points of view seemed to rush together and collide in my head.

I realised that I was trying to force myself back to my feet and I fell again, using the axe as a crutch. Which was when I realised that I was still holding it. It was covered in gore, slime and all kinds of other things that would normally be contained in a human body. I groaned in a combination of pain and horror as more of the memories of the moment came back to me in a rush.

"Freddie," Someone said calmly, a little closer this time. "Freddie, it's done. You can come back now."

It had all seemed so safe in amidst the rage. I had an enemy that I could face. I had a tool that could be used for their destruction and in the meantime I could destroy them at my leisure. I had an enemy and I was going to end them. It was all so simple, so safe and so easy.

I longed for that feeling again. I wanted it. I wanted those enemies that fled from me to come back. To come back take their punishment like the men that they claimed to be. I wanted that safe blanket of security but it had gone from me now and those tears of frustrated anger were coursing down my cheeks. I was shaking again.

I was holding onto the axe with a death grip and I was shaking with the effort. I was sweating, breath coming in short gasps and I couldn't calm myself. I just couldn't.

And then it happened.

It all just stopped and I was myself again. Drenched to my skin in sea water, sweat and blood that was drying to my skin. I still felt the after effects of everything. I was still shaking and I could barely lift my eyelids but I could breathe again. I could think at the very least.

"Freddie? Are you with us?"

Speaking was exhausting. It took, what felt like, an immense amount of effort to get anything out. The prospect of thinking what I wanted to say, constructing a sentence and then finding the breath in order to say that sentence, was almost too much for me to manage. So when I did speak. It took a long time to say what I wanted to say.

"I don't...know." I managed after a while. "What?" I managed a little later when it occurred to me that that answer was a little bit... it didn't entirely answer all the questions that I had been asked.

"Freddie," It was Kerrass' voice. Of course it was Kerrass. "Freddie, we need you to let go of the axe so that we can get to you."

I looked down at the axe and realised that it was still in my hand. I don't know why but I felt as though I had dropped it. I couldn't remember why I thought that but I did. I started to weep again as my body refused, absolutely refused to let go of the axe.

"I can't," I wailed. "I want to. I can't."

"It's ok Freddie. I'm nearly there."

I wept some more and then I felt a hot hand on mine. I flinched. But Kerrass carefully took the axe out of my hands and passed it to someone out of my line of sight.

"Oh Flame Kerrass, what did I do?" I was looking in my blood covered hands in horror. Horror doesn't seem as though it's the right word. It doesn't seem to convey the right thing that I was feeling.

"You saved us Freddie. You saved us."

I fell. Kerrass caught me. Just as he always has.

I woke a little later...

No that's not right. Saying that I woke suggests that I had fallen asleep. It was closer to the fact that I lost awareness of myself. I had lost consciousness I suppose. I moved and walked but I didn't take part.

I was propped against a rock and I stared into space until Ciri approached. "Here." She told me. "Svein said that they occasionally used to give this stuff to Sigurd after he had had a Warp Spasm. He said it helps."

I remember staring at her hopelessly until she put the bottle to my lips and helped me to drink it.

"I'm sorry." I managed.

"What for?" She asked. She seemed a combination of astonished at the apology and aghast at my feeling the need to give it. "That was amazing. I didn't know you had it in you. I should be apologising to you"

Speaking was so much effort then that my head sank.

I was conscious of very little. Someone came and helped me bathe. I suspect it was Kerrass but it could have been anyone. I was found some clean clothes. I have no idea where I got them from but they were Skelligan. I found the woollen trousers itchy and the shirt coarse. But they were warm and above all, they were clean. After that I was wrapped in a cloak and a blanket.

The drink that Ciri had given me helped. I felt it warming me from the inside out and I slowly started to come back to myself.

Eventually I was helped to my feet and we, as a group, started to move further down the beach and climb away from the shore.

Kerrass walked with me, plainly ready to catch me if I couldn't make it. He had found my spear and I was using it as a walking stick to keep me moving. He did not make a joke about keeping it.

So it was that we saw the final destruction of the Nilfgaardians that had sailed against us. We had killed many, but we did nothing compared to the casualties that the Skeleton Ship inflicted upon them. We had steered one of the large ships until it beached against the shoreline. The other had, automatically turned away from the shore in an effort to come back round and contribute towards the Wave-Serpent's death but that had steered the thing into the way of the Ice flows.

As we walked off the beach and up the hill we watched as more men jumped overboard onto the ice. You could see the ice forming in the ship, the massive sails slowly becoming still before they began to shine in the weak sunlight, Huge icicles forming off the ends of the cross-beams before the added weight started to pull the ropes down and shatter the beams. In the end, the sheer weight of the icy sea shattered the ship in the same way that a mailed gauntlet would crush a wooden toy.

The fleeing men were quick, but the combination of the cold, that they weren't equipped to deal with the cold let alone run across the ice meant that they too were caught. We saw many men slip, fall and then struggle to get back to their feet.

The smaller ship that had dropped off the men that had assaulted the Wave-Serpent was unable to get off the shoreline. Most of their crew had fled north under... after my attack and so it was impossible for the ship to get clear. The icy water battered the thing to death against the rocks that were beneath the shoreline. The same thing happened with the remains of the ship that Ciri had sailed onto the shore.

The fourth ship who had had more time to see what was happening had carried on sailing down the shoreline towards the old Clan Drummond harbour at Holmstein.

The remains of the men that fled north towards the lighthouse eventually froze to death. Apparently they ran out of shoreline to flee down and tried to make it around the headland around the lighthouse. This didn't work so they found themselves stranded when the Skeleton Ship got too close.

As for us. We got away from the shoreline and away from where the Skeleton Ship's power would be at it's height. We still had our captive mage who was tied and gagged. Both Ciri and the survivors of the Wave-Serpent wanted their way with him and he walked dejectedly. Hoping for a reprieve. I wanted no part of that.

We built a huge fire, burning driftwood by the armful as we watched the final death of the Wave-Serpent. We sat against rocks, logs and whatever else we could find as we let the fire, built from driftwood and the remains of an old sheep hut that was nearby. It was huge and we could use it to fight off the cold for a little bit longer as we watched the final destruction of that brave ship.

Men wept and I wept with them. We were seeing the passing of something great.

Not many had survived. Only one of which was unwounded and that man was Thorvald. He wept bitterly at this massive injustice as he saw it. Many men had thrown themselves or their shields between him and danger so that when the end came, he could pray for them, tell their tales and care for the wounded that had survived. So he wept and railed at the men that he worked on, asking them why they had allowed themselves to be hurt and to die for him.

They had no answer of course. There was no decision, no order to that effect. But the men of the Wave-Serpent had spoken and Thorvald had made it to shore.

Svein was another survivor. He had fought clear and was covered in injuries but his eyes were hollow and blood shot. He was a man that was going through the motions now. He set sentries and ordered people around but he seemed to be broken. Tears were streaming down his face and into his beard but he did not wipe them away, as to acknowledge them was to give them strength. I couldn't blame him. He had lost another brother in the last mad charge to shore. Ursa had died under the arrows of the enemy. Shot down when he couldn't move or fight back. One of those men who had died to the lottery of the rain of arrows.

Kar had survived. He was bitterly angry and almost inconsolable about the death of another of his elder brothers. He kept insisting that it should have been him that died under the hail of arrows. That Ursa should have died at the hands of a hero like himself. That he should have died in a contest of champions, not according to some lucky arrow shot. He wept and raged and stomped around.

There were many more that were dead.

Perrin the archer hadn't made it to shore. Instead he had stood on the remaining deck of the Wave-Serpent and fired arrow after arrow into the charging Nilfgaardians. Arrow after Arrow as the Waves overcame the dying ship. Eventually he had run out of arrows just before the sea claimed him.

Kunnr the Shining, son of Hlaf Boar-biter had finally died. The men told us of him. They told us about how he had been the first ashore and had stood as a bulwark against the oncoming enemy. About how his axes had drunk deeply of enemy blood before he was finally pulled down by numbers and pushed underwater. They could not kill him otherwise. He was pulled off his feet and held underwater until he drowned. The survivors said many things about that. About how he had been dead since facing the Ice-Giants. About how the life of him had been stolen then and that since then he had been looking for a way to die. That in dying he had saved the lives of others.

I can't answer for any of that.

All told, five members of the crew of the Wave-Serpent came back. Only five of them. Svein, Kar, Thorvald and two other men that I had never known. Five men and their Captain.

Because, in the same way that the men had ensured that Thorvald lived. They had also ensured that Helfdan lived too. He was hurt, no doubt about that. He had scars from arrow wounds and the striking of blades. But he lived. He had said nothing as Svein had taken charge and led us inland. Then he stood so that he could watch the last moments of his ship's life. As the remaining fires burnt her down to the waterline.

He was like a statue as he did that. Standing on the edge of a small ridge as we waited for the sun to set on the last voyage of the Wave-Serpent. He took food when it was brought to him and allowed Thorvald to see to his injuries. But other than that, he watched his ship being battered against the shore and the rocks that lay there, resting up against the line of the beach.

We all did. It just seemed right that we bear witness to something like that. There were tears and stories. But no laughter. Men that cheer the good death of fellow warriors had been struck to tears by the loss of their ship.

It was hypnotic. In the same way that men stand and watch as a fire will burn. Staring into the depths of the flame and watching the eddies and currents of the heat turn wood into charcoal and then eventually into ash.

I looked at that part of the ship that I had taken shelter, just a few short hours ago. You could tell because of all the arrows that were embedded in the hull. The feathers of which would first catch light in the flames with a bright yellow flare before the wood itself would carry the fire further down the haft and into the hull of the ship.

I was astonished that the ship still carried the fire. It was bitterly cold and with the water around the Wave-Serpent turning to ice as we sat there and watched it. It seemed impossible that the wood would be dry enough to burn. But burn it did.

Burn it did.

From the arrows and fireballs of the Nilfgaardians. Which I suppose gives a possible explanation for the continuing fire. That it was magical fire. It seemed fitting though. I didn't know her for long but it seemed wrong that the Wave-Serpent would just be another wreck against the shore of Skellige. That it should just be another hulk that would later be stripped of the larger timbers by local villagers and fisherman as a foundation for a house at best, or larger fires at worst.

It seemed right that this was her fate as well, rather than for her to freeze and shatter in the grips of the Skeleton ship's ice.

The other sailors had a theory that they talked about as we all watched the ship burn. They said that it was the soul of the Wave-Serpent that saw to the fact that it was still burning. That it was that soul that had kept us warm and protected over the many days, weeks and years of her sailing. That what we were watching, really watching was the funeral pyre, not just of the Skeleton Ship but also of all the men that had died during the mission. Whether standing on her deck or elsewhere. All those men that had been lost over the years to cold, illness or enemy action. It was their funeral pyre too and just as we wanted the ship to keep burning, it occurred to me that those men also wanted the ship to keep burning.

I looked up and down the line of the men that had survived and it seemed to me that I saw some of the others that had lost their lives standing with us with the campfire at their backs and the flames of the Wave-Serpent reflected in their faces.

I saw Ivar standing there. Huge, hairy and ancient, his face drawn with age and grief. Perrin with his crooked teeth and calculating expression that betrayed more shrewd intelligence than many men who claim to education. I saw Haakon with his long, solemn face. Ursa, wrapped in a bear skin looking indomitable.

I thought of them all as I turned back to watch the flames as they finally started licking up towards the figurehead. I remembered their stories, much more than I have been able to record here and all the things that they had done for me. That they had given their lives for my quest was only part of that and there were hot tears on my face as I thought of that fact.

As night fell, just as the sun began to set in the west and the Skeleton Ship was out of sight, having finally moved away due to the lack of victims, Helfdan turned and beckoned Ciri over to where Kerrass and I were sat together watching the remains of the Wave-Serpent smoulder. Then he led us a little way away from the group. Not far, but enough so that we could speak privately.

"I wanted to thank the three of you." He said carefully. He didn't appear cold but massive shudder's were assaulting him. He would close his eyes, grit his teeth and just wait for it to pass.

Ciri put her hand on his shoulder. "Helfdan?"

"I'm..." He paused as another shudder struck him. "Just a little overwhelmed thank you."

Ciri nodded and pulled her hand back.

"I wanted to thank the three of you." Helfdan said again. "Without you I, and the rest of my men would be dead."

"Without us, you would all be alive." I told him. Ciri gave me a withering, disapproving look but I ignored her.

Helfdan stared at my collarbone for a few moments. "No." He told me. "Our lives were decided long before we were born. Long before we met and our deaths were written there as well. We could have fled from that finality if we wanted but the ending would have found us nonetheless." Then he frowned slightly. "I thought you knew this of Skelligans."

I sighed. "I do." I told him. "But I struggle with that philosophy."

He nodded. "It is one of the weaknesses of Continental folk. It means that they often flee when they should be atacking. Thinking that we decide our own fate is the parent of fear, confusion and indecision. But that is not why I came to the three of you tonight."

"Oh?" Kerrass asked.

"I will start with Ciri..." He shuddered and gritted his teeth as he did so, "... if I may."

Ciri seemed to kind of square her shoulders and then nodded.

"Ciri..." He shuddered again. "I have hated you for many years." He told her. "And I have been afraid of you for even longer. I feel it is only fair to tell you of this."

"I know." She told him. "I am sorry for all that happened."

He waved her off. "We were children. I was... I am strange and it is the nature of children to laugh, or fear, that which is different to themselves."

"We should not have been so cruel." She told him.

"But that is the lesson of time, distance and experience." He told her. "I am not here to talk about the past though. It is, literally, the past and does neither of us any good to dwell on it. Instead, I am here to tell you that I no longer fear you. Nor do I hate you. I find, now, that I have more in common with you than I ever thought possible."

Ciri couldn't look at him anymore. I think he was staring at her shoulder but she couldn't look at his face. His deadpan, emotionless delivery made the statement more profound somehow.

"I would call you friend if I can." He told her. "I know that I am a lowly Hersir, not even a ship's Captain anymore and that you are the Empress. But I would like to think of you as my friend if you will allow it."

"Of course." She seemed aghast that he was asking that. "Of course you can."

He nodded in the same way that you or I might nod if we were ticking something off our "to do" list.

"I would like to think the same of the two of you, Witcher and Scholar." He told the pair of us.

"I would be honoured." Kerrass told him while I tried to get past the lump that was forming in my throat.

"As would I." I sputtered.

There was a pause as he turned to look down at where the Wave-Serpent burned. You could just about see the silhouette of the Figurehead against the flames.

"When we get back to Kaer Trolde." He said. "I am going to order a new ship built. I will not be land-bound for longer than I can possibly manage it. I'm not sure what I would do with myself apart from anything else."

He turned back to face the three of us.

"I know that the three of you are important people in your own worlds. That none of you can stay. The Empire needs it's Empress and the wrong of what happened to your sister, Scholar, needs to be righted. But I want all three of you to know that although you started this voyage off as my passengers, you finished the journey as part of my crew. I cannot think of you as being anything else now."

Ciri smirked. "I thought that women couldn't serve as crews of longships."

"That is the tradition." Helfdan agreed. "But since when have you cared about traditions?" A small smile tugged at his lips. "Or have I for that matter? The men will accept it anyway. You have shed blood for us and that is worth more than any kind of tradition."

"I cannot be obligated." Kerrass began but again, Helfdan waved the objection away.

"It doesn't work like that and I relinquish that right anyway. I require no oaths, I never do although I do not prevent people from doing that if it is important to them. I might ask for help but if it is impossible then you should not trouble over it. Instead I will make an oath. If any of you need a longship Captain and a crew, then we will be there for you. I swear it."

"Be careful Helfdan." Ciri warned despite being moved by what she heard. "Although I will admit enjoying the image of you and your crew turning up to court to dispense some justice."

"I would like to see that." I commented and Kerrass chuckled.

Helfdan did not.

"I once told you that I would feast you in my halls." Helfdan told us. "That is still true when this is all over. The other thing is this. All members of my crew have homes in my village. When we return, you can choose where you want your house and we will build it for you. You may never be there. You may never see it again. But you will have a refuge there should you need some solitude..." He looked at Kerrass, "Some peace," He told Ciri, "Or somewhere more private to rest." He told me. "The three of you will always have a home, near my home. There will always be welcome, good food, a warm hearth and people who love you."

"Thank you Helfdan." Ciri said.

"It's been a long time since I've had a home." Kerrass commented, clearly a little moved as well.

"Then it is high time that someone gave you one." Helfdan told him.

"Thank you Helfdan." I liked the thought. My brain went on imaginative fancies of a honeymoon location for Ariadne and I to get away from it all. I liked the simplicity of the thought.

"Is it..." Ciri began before starting again. "Is it acceptable for a crew member to hug her Captain?"

Helfdan shuddered violently. He seemed to wait patiently for it to subside. "A short one," he told her.

After the, very short embrace, he walked away to stand in front of the fire. Ciri using the moment to wipe her eyes.

"Listen to me," Helfan said. "All of you, listen to me and look at me."

It took a moment. There were only a few of us but most of those few had tears in their eyes and sadness in their hearts. Our ears were blocked by thoughts that we did not want and grief that we could not bear. So it took a while for us all to look at him. Ciri, Kerrass and I were the easy targets there as we had just been part of a conversation with him but some of the others took some time to come back down to land.

"I don't suppose," Helfdan began, "That someone managed to grab my mead-horn from the wreckage did they?"

There was a long pause. "I did actually." Svein said rising and moving to the small pile of bags and luggage that had been salvaged. The thing he pulled out was not a small object, not a standard drinking horn or anything quite so... ordinary. This was, at the same time, much more brutal, large and... I want to say primal. There was no ornamentation on it, no leather straps or jewelled workings. It was not smooth or polished. But it was a horn.

"Now," Helfdan took the horn from Svein's hands. "Did anyone keep any mead?"

There was some looking around before Kar sighed and stood up. "Yes." He said. "Of course I have some mead."

Svein glared at him.

"What?" Kar asked. "I thought we might need it in a little while." He handed the sack over.

"And you were right." Helfdan told him as the mead was poured into the huge horn, rather carefully, by Svein. Helfdan waited until the mead was poured before he tore his eyes his burning ship.

"I want you all to listen to me." He said. "Some of this, I have just told our outlander Crew-mates."

There was some cheering and jeering as the men caught onto the nuances of what Helfdan had just said. Helfdan waited for the noise to subside before he spoke again.

"In the morning," he began, "we will find some horses and set off towards Kaer Trolde to see to the ending of our mission and tell the Queen what has happened. I suspect that there will be blood."

The men nodded grimly.

"But after that, I mean to go to Skurl the Ship-wright and order us a new ship built. That will, I suspect, take him a while until he gets it right according to our specifications. So it will be next year, the next season, before we can properly take the measure of this new ship. We will take the time to get to know her, we will even grow to love her and we will work hard with her until she sings to us, sings to our tune and the seas themselves will tremble at the sound of her oars."

There was a muted growl of agreement.

"I look forward to meeting that lady." Helfdan said reflectively. "But she has a hard road ahead of her. Because first of all, we must forgive her. She will have committed no crime, she will have done us no wrong, but still we will have to learn to forgive her. We must forgive her for that most basic of crimes. That being the fact that she is not the Wave-Serpent.

"But we will grow to love her, whoever that unnamed ship will be. She will not be the same when we meet her. She will never have sheltered us from the storm. She will never have ridden the waves or carried us from enemies that we could not defeat. She will not have fought beyond the endurance of any lesser ships in order to keep us safe and to carry our blades to different shores. She will not have kept us warm, or seen to our ills. She will not know the thrill of people seeing her on the skyline and quaking with fear.

"We must teach her how to do that. We must teach her the joy of being a ship and we must teach her what it is like to have a crew that loves her.

"Just as the Wave-Serpent taught all of us everything that she knew."

I felt the lump in throat then. Even though I had only known the Wave-Serpent for a short time, she had become real to me. I had not realised it until Helfdan had spoken but that was what was happening. I was grieving.

"The Wave-Serpent did all of those things. She sheltered us from the cold. She carried us through the storm and she put us where she intended us to be. Every single time. And make no mistake, she put us on the beach. We helped her, but she put us there. She carried us to shore and even while she lay dying, she was still protecting us from the cold and the arrows and the waves with their blades of ice."

He stopped talking for a bit, no longer able to keep his eyes from looking down at the stricken ship. "She was my mother." He said quietly. "She was my mother and my first lover. She was my sister and aunt and greatest friend. I will miss her. I will miss her, even when I stand at the tiller of the new ship that will be built, I will still miss the Wave-Serpent.

"The men, and woman," his eye glinted slightly, "that have sailed the Wave-Serpent are now bound in fellowship and comradeship. We, who have sailed aboard her and with her, know something that no-one else will ever know. We were the sailors and warriors of the Wave-Serpent and our enemies trembled in fear at our coming."

He turned away and looked back to where the flames continued to burn the figurehead.

"They say that the ships that die in battle are sailed to the next world by those who have sailed upon them. I hope that this is true. Just as I will hope to sail upon her again when my time comes. There is some comfort there I think. So for now, I give her to those men who have died in this journey."

He raised the drinking horn.

"And soon, very very soon, the people that killed her will answer for it."