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

113. Chapter 113

(A/N: Sorry for delay. Christmas, holiday and work project meant that I couldn't spend as much time behind a keyboard as I would like.)

(A/N2: As I have found before, tying up all the loose plot threads from a long story arc is harder than I initially thought. Hopefully only one more chapter before I can move on from Skellige to answer something that folk have been bugging me about for ages. As it was, I think I have a record for the new longest ever chapter.)

(Warning: Someone makes some anti-LGBTQIA jokes in this chapter. They do so to deliberately pick a fight with another character. I hope it goes without saying, but just to be clear, The views of this character do not reflect my own views on such things and I hope that this can be taken into account.)

(Warning 2: A character gets punished for doing the crime in this chapter. Skelligans, as we know, get quite creative when it comes to punishing crime. Therefore, the character's fate is rather... unpleasant. We do not see it, but it is described as to what is going to happen.)

(Warning 3: Separate small crude sexual joke.)

The thing about Skellige. The thing that you have to remember about Skellige...

Skellige is...

Fuck me but this is hard.

Skellige gets in your blood and it broke my heart when we had to leave those islands. But now, my entire world is changed by the experiences that I had there. Sailing on that ship, living and fighting and loving with those men. Sharing tears and songs and stories. Getting drunk and telling each other jokes and finding small ways to lift the darkness.

But now it's tainted the rest of my world. Nothing is the same anymore. That is true of all of the adventures that I have shared with Kerrass over the years since I first met him now. But this one? This one has truly coloured the way that I think and it is already difficult to describe just how... just how changed I feel as a man.

We are on the ship leaving the islands as I write this. The islands are long out of sight on the misty horizon and already, I feel a sense of loss as I stood and watched them disappear from view. Aggravating the Pilot-Captain as he stood at the tiller while Kerrass and I watched. Unable to explain to him just why it was so necessary that we be able to stand there and watch as the world and people that we had come to love vanished from our sight.

And Kerrass is still there. This parting has hit him hard and I can only guess as to why that might be. I stress that I don't know that this is the case, I think that this is a guess. But Skellige was the first time that he has been accepted by a large group of people. To the men of the Wave-Serpent, he was just another warrior. He wasn't special, they didn't treat him differently, they listened when he had things to say, they valued his input and they took his advice when it became necessary.

But they treated him no differently than when they listened to Thorvald when matters of Gods and religion came up. No different from listening to Svein when they wanted to know about warfare, or Perrin when it came to moving through woodland and other unpopulated areas. His expertise came in the form of fighting against monsters and whenever that kind of thing came up, they would turn to him and just expect him to tell them what to do.

Then they would do it.

They didn't ask questions, they didn't doubt him or call into question his experience or his capabilites. They just did it. He was one of them and more than anything else, that has reached down into the depths of his hardened Witcher Soul and has moved him in a way that he has not been able to come to terms with yet.

I should also say that he has been accepted by others in his travels but in all of those cases, he was a Witcher first and a man second. When working with Sir Rickard and the Bastards, the Bastards treated him as an officer and a knight so he was not one of them. The same way that they treated me and Sir Rickard himself.

In Castle Coulthard, Kerrass is generally treated as a guest by the castle staff and guard so even though he can be friendly with those people, there is still a shell, a distance between him and the people that he interacts with.

He is always a Witcher first and a man second in these areas. He gets on well with individuals. But people as a whole tend to see the sword on the back, the medallion around his neck and the glow of the yellow eyes shining from beneath his brows. Sailing with Helfdan and the Wave-Serpent was one of the few times, if not the only time, where men saw past that and just treated him as a man.

He took our departure from Skellige hard.

He is still there, leaning on the rail towards the back of the ship, eyes fixed on the horizon where we last saw that smudge in the distance that told us that the islands are still there. I left him a little while ago as I tried, and failed, to get him to talk about it, but he couldn't speak and so I told him that I would get an early night.

Instead, I have come to our cabin that the two of us are sharing. A cabin that seems oddly large to my eyes despite the fact that there is just a place to store our things and then our two bunks.

I can't sleep. I tried really hard but I find it stuffy in the cabin. The Captain has asked us to stay off the deck during the night crossing so that we don't interfere with the workings of the ship. We can go above decks when the sun is in the sky but this Captain seems to be a man that likes to use the stars as reference points wherever possible and he was concerned that we would trip over something with our lack of sea legs and night vision.

The fact that we told him that we had sailed aboard the longships was dismissed by the man as being either an exaggeration or otherwise, some kind of...

He thought that our experience was the lesser, as though it didn't count in some way. I hated him in that moment and dearly wanted to punch his smug grin down his throat. Instead I nodded and turned back to watching the islands of Skellige retreat from my eyes.

It's been less than a day and I already miss them all.

….

Dammit.

….

I'm trying to think of ways that I can express this without falling into hyperbole and cliché.

I have travelled all over the continent now and I've seen many beautiful places. My memory of Toussaint is tainted, hopefully not beyond repair, but despite it's beauty, my desire to go back and see it again is tempered. The wild danger of Dorn, even though I understand that that landscape is changing into something else now. Kaer Morhen with it's sense of dark, shadowy mystery and history.

All of these places are wonderful places to go and visit. I am grateful to have gone and seen them all. Every single one and I hold the memory of them in my heart. I love each of those places, not least because of what they all mean to me and although I would dearly love to go back and seem them all again with my older and, hopefully, wiser head on my shoulders. Skellige is the first place where I have actually made plans to return.

You know the thing. That time when you part from friends or distant relations and you say something like "You really should come by," or "We should get together and have a chat," while both people involved in the conversation is well aware that that is not going to happen. It's just that we say these things in order to make each other feel better about the lack of a relationship on both sides. We know that maintaining that friendship and making that journey is going to take effort that we do not have to give and so we say these things in order to make ourselves feel better at that lack in ourselves.

We often even mean it as we say it. We will go and visit Great Uncle Thingumy and Cousin Doodah down in Temeria. We will do it, we really will. This year... Maybe next year. Yeah, definitely next year. Oh sorry, we can't do next year as some things have come up. How about the year after that? Ok, well let us know.

But with Skellige? Ariadne are going there for our honeymoon. A place where we can go and be amongst friends. Where men and women don't care that I am the younger brother of the Baroness Coulthard. (Not an official title but people call her that now. She hates it.). Where people don't hunt me down and ask questions about Witchers or Kerrass or about all of the other things that they imagine that I can help them with.

Where men, and women, do not look at Ariadne with fear, disgust and lust. Where she can just be a woman and enjoy the simple life of humanity. Something that she is coming to love. Because of course she adored Skellige from the moment that she got there, same as Kerrass did.

Same as I did.

So the plan is made. We are to be married. Queen Cerys is now formally invited along with the other Jarls of the clans as well as my comrades of the Wave-Serpent. The surviving crew of the Wave-Serpent are coming to help me make my Stag do particularly memorable before they depart to join the Queen when she lands at Novigrad. She is staying there a while, before making her way down the road to Castle Coulthard.

Already, I can't wait to see them.

Svein and Kerrass spent a worrying amount of time cackling in the corner and making arrangements for my stag party. I wonder if my friends from Oxenfurt know what they have coming for them.

Be warned friends.

But then, after a couple of days of partying at the castle after the wedding itself, Ariadne and I are going to leave and sail out to the islands where we intend to spend some time. We cannot stay there permanently of course. Our feudal duties will not allow it and we must return to Angral but... Flame, do I wish I could stay there forever.

The other problem that I've already come across. A problem where I am caught between wanting to hold onto the thought for as long as possible while also wanting to get rid of the problem to save time, effort and heart break. The problem is that I now hold the entire world to Skelligan standards.

As I say, I am sailing away from the Skelligan Islands on a Redanian merchant vessel. She was one of the first ships to reach the islands after the thaw had been completed and then her Captain spent a great deal of time seeing to the trade that was involved, finding out what the islands needed, what could be produced, that kind of thing. And then we were able to secure passage as they left. This would have been... Twelve days after the Skeleton Ship had passed out of the harbour.

Kerrass and I arrived early to take advantage of the tide and the culture shock was remarkable. We came aboard, stowed our gear and then sat and watched as the crew loaded the ship.

I have been around merchants all my life and so I know that they like to keep themselves separate from the people that work for them. But watching the merchants harangue the crew and the Captain and the pilot was … Off-putting. It was obvious even to me that the Merchant was getting in the way and that if he had just left the sailors to get on with the job then it would all have been done that much the quicker. The officers of the ship didn't take their turn hoisting and lifting supplies aboard, they stood around and watched.

Helfdan and Svein were the first to lend a hand whenever chores needed to be done.

When were at sea, there was no joy about it all. No laughter or song. The crew was subdued and quiet. Working hard and when there was no work to be done, by flame they found some work to be done otherwise the bosun or the officers or the Merchant owners of the ship found them something to do.

We were passengers but rather than being treated as guests, as we had done on the early parts of our voyage on the Wave-Serpent, we were treated like baggage, we were moved around, shouted at, insulted and all of the other things that made my fists clench.

Now here's the thing. This kind of behaviour is not unusual on merchant's ships. Passengers are glorified cargo after all. It didn't help that we were dressed like Skelligans which meant that they automatically looked down on us as the scruffy, barbarous savages that they assumed us to be. I know this. I have seen it before. It's slightly better when the ships and crews are more... That journey where the Ship's master hired Kerrass to be the voyage's Witcher is an example. But I have been others where the ship and the atmosphere of the ship was as bad, if not worse than this.

But now I saw it for the entitled, bullshit that it is. And I have seen it done better, by sailors that would leave these men standing. I have seen the benefits of camaraderie at sea. About leaders pulling their own weight and being able to take and give jokes against themselves. I have seen that now and you will not be able to convince me that that I was wrong here.

It came to a head when we saw a man disciplined. A mere three hours out from harbour and a man spat over the side of the ship. To me it looked like an automatic gesture. As I've made the point, sailors are a superstitious lot and they spit to avert all kinds of evil. Storms, pirates, bad thoughts, accidental transgressions against the luck and superstitions that rule their lives. But it might have just been that he had found a weevil in his mouth after eating a piece of ship's biscuit and was spitting it over the side.

But because one of the merchants was walking past at the time to inspect some of the cargo that was strapped to the deck, the spit was seen as an insult.

And the sailor was flogged. I wanted to grab the Captain, grab the sailor and grab the merchant and shake them until some sense was knocked into them and they realised just how stupid they were being.

It wouldn't work but I wanted to scream in their faces as to how there was a better way than this. I had seen it.

I had lived it.

In Skellige.

I have another example. This took place after the Skeleton Ship had passed. The remaining crew of the Wave-Serpent, including Kerrass and I while Ciri was off doing Empress things, were sat at a table, lounging around, eating, drinking and generally having fun. Helfdan was sat to one side with his book out and he was writing in it slowly and carefully. The writing of a man that treats paper as being precious. There was a strange atmosphere in the air. The same kind of atmosphere that I get after the action has come to a close and I don't quite know what to do with myself. That slow and depressing kind of feeling had spread across all of us like a blanket.

Now it should be said, in order to put the entire anecdote into context, Helfdan and his crew had been moved closer to the dais. Hjalmar had seen to it that we now had a table of honour. There was Hjalmar's table where his own crew ate and drank and generally carried on and then there was Helfdan's table. Traditionally speaking, the closer you are to the throne, the more prestigious the seat. There had been some confusion at first when Helfdan had wanted his old table back. He did not take the removal particularly well but his crew, Ciri, Hjalmar and I managed to persuade him that he deserved better than what he had been given.

There was a tense moment when Helfdan had had a wobble, trying to insist that the table in the back of the room and out of everybody's way was his table. He was twitching and trembling, Hjalmar was getting more and more wound up while also trying to remain patient as he explained that that table, more in the middle of the room surrounded by people was Helfdan's table now and that it was a place of great honour which Helfdan deserved.

It took us a while but we managed to convince Helfdan that it was part of his duty to move towards the new table. That duty being because if he continued to sit in the bback of the hall away from everyone then people would think that Hjalmar was mistreating him and therefore it would reflect badly on Hjalmar himself.

Sometimes, Helfdan can look a little childish but never more so than when he has one of those moments where something becomes clear to him.

"Oh," he said and then sat at the new table, much to Hjalmar's confusion.

But this created a new problem for Helfdan in that he doesn't really like being at the centre of attention. It's too much for him, over-stimulating I think. At sea or when there are courtier things going on then he is perfectly comfortable, but when there's nothing really going on, he still tried to see it all as a courtly situation. Which means that he wants to be able to keep an eye on everything. But he also struggles when people come at him from behind because he recriminates himself for not having seen it coming. Even feasts can become battlefields to Helfdan. Even when Skelligans are better than anyone else on the continent at keeping their business courts separate from their party courts.

On the continent, he would be correct in behaving as such. But in Skellige, he was ruining a perfectly good party.

But I'm digressing. What that meant here was that Helfdan chose to sit in a seat so that he could have his back to a pillar and so that men could stand in such a way that he could be protected from Un-announced and well-meaning well-wishers. I had not recognised the formation when I first met Helfdan but now I could see that Svein stationed men around Helfdan in the same way that he deployed warriors on the battlefield to protect his lord.

But that, in turn, meant that he was sat near the bottom of the table. Well away from the most important and therefore the most prestigious seat.

As I say, this was shortly after the Skeleton Ship had sailed. There was still a lot of grief at the table and we were dealing with it in different ways. I won't lie, I was getting drunk and doing my best to fend off the attention of some of the Skelligan women who were trying to have their way with me. Kerrass was affirming his existence in his own way with a pair of shield-maidens that he had taken off to his quarters.

Svein wanted to pick a fight.

He leant against the pillar behind Helfdan having decided that this would be the best way that he could find someone to smash. It was an interesting thing for me. I had never seen this side of Svein and it gave me some perspective into what he must have been like when Clan Drummond was destroyed. He had a small cup which he would refill from a jug that was resting on the table and he would just stand there, leaning on the pillar, glowering at everyone that passed by until someone fell into his trap.

It was a merchant. Of course it was a merchant. I have no idea who it was as, as I say, I was working hard on becoming paralytically drunk. But he was dressed in finery and had read the entire situation wrong. This was a party and the merchant was getting increasingly frustrated at the fact that no-one wanted to discuss business with him. So what he did was, he sat in the seat at Helfdan's table that was closest to the dais. I don't know why. I suspect that it was something to do with the fact that he wanted to be there and closer so that he would be able to take advantage of the situation should anything come up.

And Svein had his victim.

"Get the fuck out of that seat, little man before I break every bone in your body." He snarled.

Typical night in Skellige.

The Merchant was in the middle of calling over a thrall to bring him some food and drink and just gaped up at the giant of a Skelligan warrior who was standing over him, quivering with suppressed violence.

"Are you deaf?" Svein bellowed. "Do I need to talk loudly and slowly so that you can hear me? Or do I need to do so in order for you to understand. Is that it? Are you stupid instead?"

Svein's anger spilled out of him. It was raw and unpleasant. The emotion that was contained in the man was spilling out enough to rob him of his normal wit and gift with language.

The Merchant's face reddened.

"How dare you Sir?" he demanded. "I am a guest here and..."

"I don't care if you shit Gold." Svein bellowed. "I wouldn't give a crap if your eyes shoot lightening and that you're cousin to the bastard son of a Cidaris dock prostitute."

(Freddie: Given the historical nature of the hatred between Skellige and Cidaris, this insult is more serious than it, at first, sounds)

"That chair," Svein went on. "Is Lord Helfdan's chair and you will get out of it before I break your chicken fucking neck."

As I say. A typical night out in Skellige. People were already clearing a circle around us all while waiting for the entertainment to begin. I was a little less sure as, technically speaking, the merchant had just seen a vacant chair and had sat in it in order to get some food into him. But I was drunk and I was one of the crew so I was just as outraged as the Svein was.

The Merchant didn't know what to think, or what to do really. He just gaped up at this huge person in his tunic, his torque and his bristling beard.

It also bears reminding folk that of all of his men, Helfdan is actually the least dressed up person there. He dresses simply and wears no ornamentation so when he is sat amongst his men with his head down, reading a book or scribbling in his note book. Which is what he was doing at that time, then that can mean that he is easily overlooked. Especially by strangers to the islands who might not easily recognise him.

The merchant looked around the table and finally spotted where Helfdan was sat, maybe a third of the way down the table. As I say, he was working on his book. Sketching designs for the new ship that he was already commissioning to be built.

The merchant finally recognised Helfdan.

"But Lord Helfdan is sat over there." The Merchant protested.

"So?" Svein demanded. "Does that change the fact that you sitting in his seat. In his place of honour. You shame him and you shame me. You will answer for that. You will move and then you will apologise or I will have you tied down so that I can shit on your face. As it seems to me that you have little else to offer."

The words finally triggered some kind of outrage response in the merchant.

"How dare you?" He demanded. "Lord Helfdan," He began in a more reasonable tone of voice. "You seem like a civilised man. Can you call of your man?"

"Hmmm?" Helfdan looked up, brought out of his concentration by the sound of his name and the appeal of the man's voice. In certain circles of Skellige, the slightly upper class tone used by courtiers and merchants on the continent is the equivalent of nails being dragged across slates.

The merchant took a moment, as it appeared as though Helfdan was completely oblivious to the entire situation. And for all I know he was up until that point.

The merchant took a breath. He was leaning back in his seat in an effort to get out of the way of Svein who was towering over him with his face pushed forwards.

"Lord Helfdan. Would you kindly call off your man. He has insulted me and yelled at me and caused great harm with his words."

Helfdan didn't blink. The merchant made one of several mistakes then in that he mistook the fact that Helfdan wasn't looking him in the eye to be a sign of weakness. As though that failure meant that Helfdan was ashamed. So the merchant decided that it was time for him to go on the offensive.

"I am an important man." The merchant went on. "And I have powerful friends. It would be a shame if there was damage to any kind of trade due to the actions of your men."

The merchant tried to straighten his tunic, still trying to shift away from Svein who was staring into the Merchant's face with what I guessed would be a wild-eyed expression.

"Oh?" Helfdan asked after a moment.

"I am not an unkind man however and I am well aware that matters of courtesy and etiquette are different on the islands than they are on the continent. So I will accept an apology of course as well as a promise that you will properly discipline you man. I would like to witness this discipline however."

Helfdan nodded. "I see. So you wish to see me treat Svein as he deserves to be treated?"

"Indeed." The merchant seemed happy to accept that. "And an apology from you sir, for the lack of discipline amongst your men."

Helfdan nodded. "Svein?"

"Lord?"

Helfdan gazed at Svein for a moment while the merchant preened in anticipation at the coming outburst.

"Svein, I am pleased with your behaviour." He reached into his pouch and took out a ring. It wasn't very much, little more than silver with an amber gem I thought. But Helfdan solemnly passed the ring to Svein who examined it with the aid of a nearby candle.

"Thank you Lord." He gave every appearance of being moved. "With your permission, I will give it to my daughter as it is a little small for my hand."

Helfdan nodded

"What?" The merchant exclaimed in his own outrage.

"Thank you Lord." Svein tucked the ring away somewhere.

"However I must remind you that there are guests from elsewhere who do not all know our ways. Perhaps a quiet and kind warning might have been better?"

"Yes Lord."

"I do not have an infinite supply of rings for a start."

"I have powerful friends." The Merchant protested.

"No you don't." Helfdan told him calmly, returning to his book. "If you did then you would realise that the man sat over there is the son of the late Baron von Coulthard, younger brother of the Lady Emma Von Coulthard who, you will probably find, you work for in some small way. If you had powerful friends you would know that."

The merchant paled. "But..."

"Furthermore, I rather think that it is a poor merchant who goes to a place without knowing the local customs."

"But the insult."

Helfdan nodded. "Yes. Svein is not part of my crew due to his gifts with gentle speech or polite ways. Svein is part of my crew because of his skills at training warriors. Of turning them into weapons and a unit that he then uses to thrust into the hearts of our enemies. There is literally no-one in this world that is better at that than he is. Yes, his speech might be lacking in certain... ways. But he has behaved exactly as I would expect him to behave."

"You will..."

"Oh, but you wanted to see his treatment for his behaviour towards you. Svein?"

"Lord."

"Throw this man out."

"Yes Lord."

"You can't..."

"By the hair. Then find out who he represents and inform Jarl Hjalmar that this man insulted and displeased us. That we could do better by trading elsewhere."

"Yes Lord."

And then he did so. Helfdan went back to sketching in his book.

So that was the difference. Svein was one of Helfdan's men. The merchant was powerful and rich enough to cause hassle. On the continent, Svein would have been reprimanded and an apology would have been given in order to preserve positive ties with the merchant in question. Svein would have probably been beaten or otherwise disciplined. But on Skellige, Svein was protected by his Lord against a man who otherwise had power. Who, elsewhere, would have more power due to money and prestige that he wielded.

I know which option I prefer.

I wrote that last sequence on the ship as we sailed away from Skellige. It was a strange feeling sailing away. I had not yet recorded everything that I have since written down and sent off to Oxenfurt to be published but my mind was dancing in the juices of Skellige.

I have never taken Fiss-tech in my life and I have no intention of ever trying it. I have seen the effects of long term Fiss-tech use on the mind and the body and it is not something that I ever want to experiment with.

I have enough trouble with my existing thought and behaviour patterns as it is.

But I imagine that that's what it's like. Skellige is like a drug. It dances in your brain and makes you want to dance about. It makes you want to pick a fight with a man standing next to you, to take him outside and kick the crap out of him, or alternatively, have the crap kicked out of you, before you both share a drink afterwards. I want to find a righteous cause and stand up for something. I want life to be simple in a complicated world and I want to take my spear or my axe and I want to stand and howl.

I miss the sea and the rolling nature of the water. I miss the sounds of the wind howling through the rocks and echoing through the islands. I miss the song of the Wave-Serpent as she sang me into a doze as we sailed around the islands.

Looking back now, it is hard to think of the entire Skelligan chapter of my story as a whole. It's tricky to see it as one continuous account or tale. Instead, it seems more as though it's made up of a series of much smaller anecdotes. Time seems to jump backwards and forwards in my head. The past, the present and some kind of strange, imagined world where those men were heroes, standing tall on cliffs of legend with lightening striking behind them as they stood, weapons in hand and roared their defiance at their enemies that clamoured for their blood.

I no longer think of Ivar as the old man who knew that he was coming to the end of his life. Wife long gone, sons lost to other causes and daughters married away but he refused to give up. I refuse to allow myself to think of Perrin as the jilted lover who was looking for a better way to live.

I remember them all now, but in snippets. Small chunks of tales and anecdotes, swirling around in my mind, finding anchors in those moments in the depths of the night where I remember a small conversation that we shared about life and the nature of living. A small tale that they told me about things that you would never imagine a Skelligan warrior owning up to.

One night on watch as I was trading shifts with Haakon, he told me about how he lost his virginity. I didn't ask. I didn't really want to know if we're being honest with each other. But he told me how he was much larger than she was and was so scared that he would hurt her, that he spent the entire act checking to make sure that she, the much more experienced woman, was ok that he almost missed the moment when he finished.

Or a man called Vittkun who told me this funny story about a cat and a frog. It wasn't a big story and I couldn't tell you what the story involved. All I can tell you is that the story involved a Cat meeting a frog and not knowing what to do next. Vittkun could tell that story for hours. Literally hours, never repeating himself as he mimed the cat's actions and made faces that were close to the equivalent expressions of the cat as it just stayed there and figured out what to do with this creature that it couldn't recognise.

Then he told the story about the same cat, then a kitten, meeting itself in a reflective bowl of water that his wife had left out. It's rare that I've met a more comedic mind.

I am forgetting a lot of those moments now. Small moments in the greater fabric of time that I spent with the Skelligans. As I say, they are coming to me now in the depths of the night where I remember them and I don't have anywhere else to put them. I wake up with those stories and those memories, half dream and half fact, on the edge of memory, the edge of my tongue and with my fingers twitching to write them down. I wake up in the night and I scrabble for paper, ink and a quill to write them down before they escape and then they are gone. Like the seeds of a puffball as it is blown away on the wind.

But the Skeleton Ship sailing away, is not the end of the story. This is not some heroic ballad or tale, nor am I a poet or a saga-master. My duty is to record what I see and to talk about those things so that people can remember them. Can discuss them and, hopefully, learn something about the world and maybe even themselves during the entire process.

Kerrass and I stood on the jetty for a long time as we watched the Skeleton Ship sail off into the night. A very long time. Of the four of us that had boarded the Skeleton Ship, Helfdan left first and Ciri stood with us.

I got the feeling that she would have stayed there longer but circumstances often mean that a woman in her position can't do everything that she wants to and she was forced to leave with guards and for political reasons. She hugged us both as she left and walked back up tot the keep in procession with Queen Cerys. So it was left to Kerrass and I to watch the night.

I have no idea how long the two of us stayed there, unspeaking and unmoving. Snow was falling now and people were moving indoors. The mood was strangely sombre and although I didn't notice at the time, I am surprised that there wasn't more celebration. This was the last time that the Skeleton Ship would pass through the harbour. This was the last time that the islands would freeze in the grip of a supernatural, magical cold that disrupted the life of the nation. It was the last time that that would happen and I rather think that in any other circumstance, that would be a cause for celebration.

But not in Skellige. Instead, it was a time for introspection. There would be drinking later. In the same way that Skelligans believe that a funeral should be followed by a celebration, this was everyone's funeral so it would be everyone's celebration. I had been looking forward to it but now that I had seen the Skeleton Ship sailing off into the night, I had no idea what to do. What to feel or how to think.

Regular readers will know that this is not uncommon for me. To be truthful I have only recently discovered this about myself, but my reaction to high stakes circumstances and events is to kind of shut down physically and mentally. Where other men might want to go and do something life affirming like getting drunk or getting laid, I tend to want to find somewhere cool, dark and private to be alone with my thoughts for a while. The problem is that this is so rarely actually an option. Now not least as we would be required up at the castle, there would be a feast and drinks and parties. I already knew that there was going to be some kind of thing going on in order to choose the next Jarl and many of you are wanting an eye-witness account of how that all came about.

Trust me when I say, I shall get to that.

I also wanted to witness what was going to happen regarding Clan Tuirseach and it's Jarl, Ingimund. The Clan that had once been synonymous with Skelligan honour and the Skelligan crown. When not in direct possession of the crown, then Clan Tuirseach were the foremost allies of the Crown in the Council of Jarls, on the battlefield and elsewhere. But now, ever since the treachery involved during and before the crowning of Queen Cerys of Clan An Craite, Clan Tuirseach has been split off from that and I wanted to watch as this was dealt with and addressed.

I wanted to see all of these things. But that was in an abstract part of my brain. In the back of things somewhere, away from where I was at the time. I knew that they were all in my future but I suddenly found that I didn't want this moment to end. I didn't want this entire circumstance to be over. I especially didn't want it to be over and to know that I had failed.

Because I had. I was watching the Skeleton Ship sail over the seas and very probably into a new world, or an older one depending on your point of view and the person who might have been able to tell me more was on that ship.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

I also wanted to discuss what I had been told with Kerrass. Ariadne too but for the moment, I wanted to talk to Kerrass. I wanted to ask him what he had been told by his own cloaked figure, but I wanted to talk about what I had been told. About how I already knew what had happened to Francesca but that I refused to see it. I also knew that we would have plenty of time to talk about that kind of thing in the weeks and months to come as we camped by the side of the road or slept in taverns as we went on our way.

But despite wanting all of that. I found that I couldn't move.

I found that I didn't want to move. There was a sadness welling up inside me and I didn't want that bubble to burst and send me over the edge. I didn't want to return to reality just yet. Strange things had taken place and I wanted a moment, just for a moment, to hold onto that sense of strangeness. That sense of living in another place and another time. Where stories and wonder are all around me rather than just being in the purview of stories, poems and sagas.

The snow was falling. Gentle flakes of the stuff settling in my clothes and in my hair. And the two of us just stood there as the people in the crowd just gently started to disperse and go their separate ways.

It was Kerrass that broke the mood. "Are you alright?" He asked.

"Fuck no." I finally lowered my gaze to find that my eyes were burning with trying to stay open for too long.

He nodded and turned to walk away. I heard his footsteps crunch in the snow before he paused and turned back.

"I'm truly sorry Freddie. Not how I wanted this one to end."

"No." I answered. "Not it wasn't. But I don't think it could have ended any other way. All that blood, all that life just pissed away because he didn't want to tell us things. Because he was too scared to tell us what we needed to know."

"He was desperate Freddie. And desperate men do stupid things. I don't mean to sympathise with him and I hate him more than a little bit for what he put us through and all the lives that he ended by his lack if action. But he was scared and he was desperate."

"I really thought I had something this time Kerrass. It seems unfair that we go through all of that to come to nothing. There was so much and for it to end here on a peir with nothing to show for it. That seems wrong somehow."

"That's because you are thinking in terms of a story. This didn't work like that. We aren't living in a story book despite that we're in Skellige. Sometimes great things happen for no real change and that's the way it works."

"I know."

"You know, but you rail at the unfairness of that. It's the small child in you that still wants the world to behave in the way that your nanny read you stories of."

"I know that too."

There was a pause. "Come on Freddie, you don't need to suffer this by yourself. You have more friends than me here and they are better at dealing with this kind of thing than I am. Time to come out of the cold."

He was right of course. He always is after all.

I took another look out of the harbour before turning away and trudging over to him where he put his arm round my shoulder.

The crowd was moving away as Kerrass and I walked through it. They didn't part before us but we were not alone in being a small group or a pair of people that were expressing some kind of private grief and supporting each other through that same grief. I saw husbands and wives consoling each other along with children nearby looking confused and hurt. I saw a crew of warriors standing together and passing a wine-skin round each other in a circle in some kind of private ceremony of remembrance.

There were dozens of little things like that. The silence of grief slowly being replaced by the louder noises of celebration. There was noise beginning to come from the tavern as well as those areas up around the more domestic areas of the harbour where families live and work rather than just working. People were visiting each other with the man of the house standing in the doorway greeting visitors and well wishers.

This was the moment of Catharsis. Where the grief turns from harsh and painful to bitter-sweet. I hate that moment because of the guilt that comes later. The guilt that I am no longer quite as upset as I used to be and in losing the... the extremity of that pain, I feel as though I am letting down the person that I lost. On those days I tend to get drunk wherever possible.

But for the right now, I was numb and so very tired. The emotions were rushing through me so hard and so fast that I absolutely knew nothing about what I was supposed to do with them. I hate this feeling. I hate it so much. First noticed in the aftermath of the waking of Princess Dorn but I have certainly being doing it unconsciously since the very beginning when I was left desolate after the village with the Nekkers. I hate this feeling. I hate it somewhere deep in my soul. Now that I am more aware of it, I can plan for it and take it all into account. I can do sensible things like making sure that I am not alone during this period and I was certainly going to be surrounded by friends in the here and now. With the remaining crew of the Wave-Serpent around me.

But in a certain measure of self-defence, I retreated into myself and I watched as Skellige mourned all that they had lost. I am told that there was an extra edge to it this time. Word had gotten out that what we had done meant that the Skeleton Ship would never pass by the islands again, so not only were people mourning the people they had lost since the last time that the Skeleton Ship had passed through the harbour. They were mourning everyone that they, that everyone had lost since the first time the Skeleton Ship came through the harbour.

The certainty that this would never happen again was not yet settled in. As we trudged past the small knots of men and women we heard many snippets of conversation that seemed to suggest a kind of tentative "We'll see," kind of attitude. As though they didn't want to celebrate too much just yet. I got the feeling that the real test will be in a couple of years time when everyone will be expecting another passage of the Skeleton Ship. How the Queen and the Jarls choose to react to that at the time will be telling and I suspect that it might govern the nature of how the islands are run for the rest of time.

At the time of writing, there is some talk or rumour that there will be a new tradition created which will take place where a ship will be sailed through the harbour in the height of winter, or maybe at the beginning of spring. The ship will be called the Skeleton Ship and it will be pointed towards the harbour near the inn before it will be set ablaze in the manner of a funeral barge so that it is the funeral barge of everyone that has been lost.

It's not a bad idea but we shall see I suppose.

But I get ahead of myself.

We went up to the castle and we did indeed proceed to get drunk. It was a strangely surreal night. On the one hand, we were all tired with a kind of sullen anger and rage that came with the levels of fatigue that come with those emotions. So certainly Kerrass and I were not in the mood for a massive feast. Neither was Svein and the rest of the men of the Wave-Serpent. Not really. Helfdan had gone off somewhere, called away into some kind of meeting that I wasn't paying enough attention to to learn what it was. But he was glad to go from his newly elevated position in the feasting hall.

But to the rest of Skellige, we were heroes. Those, once in a lifetime men and woman that had climbed aboard the Skeleton Ship in order to speak to the people there and it was astonishing to them that we weren't celebrating and boasting and telling stories. Helfdan was in his meeting, Ciri was taking care of matters of state, moving among the merchants and the courtiers, shaking hands and smiling the false smile of politicians. I know her well enough now to be able to read a little bit more into what it is that she is thinking when she was doing that and I rather think that she would much rather have been in a tavern somewhere getting drunk.

But duty comes first doesn't it.

It was not a good night for any of us I think. It was that night, after Helfdan came back looking a bit thoughtful and scribbling in his book, that Svein tried to pick a fight with a merchant. I could absolutely understand Svein's need to lash out at something but I couldn't really see how anyone in particular deserved it more than anyone else. Kerrass vanished off at some point with a couple of shield maidens who had challenged him on some kind of masculine level. He took them, a few jugs of wine and some food off to his own quarters and good for him.

I was getting sullen in my anger. I was tired and I found myself feeling like an island in a storm. There was noise everywhere, movement and flashing lights while I was sat, staring into my drink as people came to try and talk to me. Skalds came to ask me what it was like to stand on the deck of the Skeleton Ship. Women came to ask me if I wanted any company for the evening and seemed insulted when I turned them down.

This despite the fact that I had shown absolutely no inclination towards that kind of entertainment during my past times in Kaer Trolde.

I managed to ask someone whether I would be insulting anyone if I just snuck out early and quickly learned that I would not. This was a party and, quite sensibly, the Skelligans were aware that emotions were high, both the positive and negative, and so they didn't want to push anything in one way or another. That decisions are made badly at such times and so there was a lack of formality here.

Other than in those parts of society already mentioned.

So I fled, retreating to my room and burying my head under my blankets. Eventually a thrall came to check on my progress to make sure that I was Ok and I was able to have a meal and a jug of wine which made me feel better enough that I was able to sleep.

I was woken by finally getting a contact from Ariadne in the morning.

"FREDDIE." She bellowed through our link. "FREDDIE."

"What? What is it?" I woke up and peeled the pillow from the side of my face.

"I'm sorry, where you sleeping?"

"I was a little bit." I spied a jug of the Skelligan tea near the bed the bed that was still hot to the touch. In the back of my head, I blessed the Thrall that had made that choice.

"I lost track. What time is it there?" She asked.

"Is there a difference?"

"I'm underground at the moment my Love and I haven't seen the sun in several days."

"You really should get out more." I said as I poured myself a cup of the tea, adding double my normal helping of honey into the liquid.

"I know," She admitted. "And I will but I've rather been busy. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I lied without thinking. "Actually I'm not. I'm feeling pretty fucking raw right now to be honest."

"Alright." She didn't seem that surprised but I got a sense of brief movement. "Look, I'm a little busy at the moment so I was planning to be in Skellige tomorrow evening. But do you need me to come now?"

"I do." I told her after some deep thought. "But not if it will get you in trouble."

"It might a little."

"Then stay. I can't wait to see you though. I've missed you."

"I've missed you too Freddie."

We said nothing for a while as I sit in my nightshirt and drank my tea.

"I'm sorry." She said after a while. "It feels like you've been through a lot. If I'd known I would never have... I would have been there."

"I know." I told her.

"But I was... I thought it would just be a trip out to the druids to find out what you needed to know and..."

"I know."

"Freddie. I'm so sorry. I was underground and talking to..."

"I know Ariadne, it's ok." I cursed in the back of my mind. I could feel the tears threatening at the back of my throat.

There was another pause as I think she heard them too.

"Freddie?"

"I'm..." My throat caught and I sobbed, closing my eyes in a futile effort to hold back the tears. "Flame..."

"I'm coming." She decided "Stay right where you are and I'll..."

"No it's alright. I'll see you tomorrow." I forced a smile onto my face and into my voice. I don't entirely know how this link of ours works, but like the holy symbol before it. I get a sense of the woman and the location as well as what she's doing. Just as she gets with me. "I don't want to spoil your entrance."

I felt her smile and settle back into her seat. She was waiting to see what else was going to come of that.

"Well," she began a little tentatively, she's getting better at adding levity into conversations when needed. "It's going to be rather extreme so that I can frighten all these girls off you. You might want to warn a few people so that guards aren't attacking me when I arrive."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I don't want to spoil the surprise for you either." She grinned before her voice turned back to being more sombre. "Freddie, I'm so sorry."

"You weren't to know. Where were you?"

"I knew that you were busy with Ciri and Kerrass so I went off to make some arrangements. You're still coming to spend the winter in Angral?"

"That's the plan."

"Well, there will be some time where we have to go to Toussaint."

"Why?"

"Two reasons. The first is that I have arranged for an audience between you and the eldest of our race. Possibly the eldest of our race. I am hoping that he will be able to shed some light on the matter of your history, although I should warn you not to get your hopes up. I had to... I had to perform some services for that to take place as the Elder was not happy at the prospect. But he was old when my Grandparents were young and if anyone can tell you about what came before, then it's him and I would do anything to help you so..."

My scholarly soul perked up at the prospect of asking questions of that ancient creature. I wondered what he could tell me. What we could learn from that.

"There are some other prices to his help." Ariadne went on.

"Such as?"

"You remember how I once told you that you would find Vampire parties really dull."

"I remember the warning."

"Well, now you will find out first hand. On the other hand, it means that you will meet my mother."

"Oh?"

"It is unlikely that she will come to the wedding though."

"Ok. Is that the second reason?"

"What?"

"You said that there were two reasons that we were going to Toussaint. I'll be honest My Love..."

"Oooh, I do like it when you call me that."

"I like it too." I felt the grin sneak onto my face. "But I'll be honest, I hadn't planned on going back there."

"I understand that. But your sister insists. It would seem that your family have been invited to the tournament that has been called in memory of your sister, as well as the..."

I was appalled. "That's... awful."

"I thought it was rather fitting."

"What?"

"Your sister was loved by all. She was lovely to me and she seemed to brighten any room that she walked into. She should be celebrated and that is what the tournament is about. Knights are coming from all over the continent and the winner will declare which charitable cause he wants the prize pot to be donated to in your sister's name."

I hated the idea, but there was a small voice in the back of my head that told me that Francesca would like that.

"And the closing of the tournament will also be the the investiture of the Questing knights of the order of Francesca." Ariadne finished. "I suspect, from what I've heard, that they will be the order of Saint Francesca before too much longer should the knights in question have any say in the matter."

"I'm not sure even Francesca would like that."

"Come on Freddie," Ariadne admonished. "She would find it funny."

I laughed. "She would as well."

Another silence fell.

"I'm so sorry Freddie." She said again.

"You don't need to be sorry." I told her. "There is nothing here that is your fault. We were betrayed by others and there is no way you could have known."

"I know that." She told me. "But I can be sorry nonetheless. You have obviously been through a lot and you have lost a great deal. I am sorry for that loss."

She chuckled gently, "Another part of your human language that is lacking. Just as there is more than one kind of love, there is more than one kind of Sorry."

"I suppose."

"Are you going to be ok?"

I took a deep breath. "I will be."

"Go and kick that Witcher of yours out of bed and do some training. That always makes you feel better."

"No it doesn't." I protested. "It makes me feel sore."

"Precisely my point."

I laughed, there didn't seem much else to do.

"I will see you tomorrow," she told me, "and seriously, warn folk would you? I don't want to have to kill half the soldiers of Kaer Trolde just to see you."

"I will."

"But call for me, if you get down on yourself."

"I will do that too."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Fortunately for my well-being, things started to get interesting that day.

The day started slowly, I remember that much, as it would seem that the party lasted long into the night and indeed, well into the following morning. There were even a few people that were propped up in the corner of the hall that had not bothered going to bed. They were doing that thing that folk do when they have come to sobriety from the other direction. They were talking very slowly and grunting rather than actually speaking. They were being brought hearty food but in small portions. Sandwiches full of pork and apple sauce. Cups of strong tea with plenty of honey and milk in them. It wasn't that they were being treated with any kind of pity. But more... It was as though people were kind of understanding of their plight.

Helfdan was waiting at what was now his table. He was sketching on a large animal skin that had obviously been scraped clean for precisely this purpose. He and Svein were there, hunched over the skin and discussing things with an animated kind of attention. Hands flying everywhere, jerky body movements and things of that nature. Svein was eating and drinking as they worked while Helfdan was there with a cup of Skelligan tea that was plainly congealing, and a sandwich which was going cold until Svein stole it off his master. I was pleased to see that Svein was looking much more in her usual humour as he grinned and teased everyone involved. Including me. We made small talk largely while Helfdan worked before he leant back and held up his animal skin to the light and examining it in detail. Then he nodded, rolled the skin up and tucked inside his jerkin.

"What are we working on?" I asked Svein.

"Designs for a new type of ship."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. His Lordship has some...ideas."

"Is that bad?"

"Not so you'd notice. But..."

"Come on Svein. Spit it out."

"Well, it's huge."

"Is that bad?"

"Look, I'm not a ship-wright. I'm a sailor so I don't know much about building ships. And don't get me wrong, when he sails it out into the harbour or wherever he sends it, I will be there, sailing it along with him but I will be making sure that there are plenty of other, smaller ships on the water that will be there to rescue us from the wreck if you know what I mean."

"Not really."

"Look, Ship's are built to that size so that they don't capsize and that they can cut through the water quickly. We are Skelligan, we like to be light on the water and move quickly. It's the only way that we can compete with the larger, more lumbering ships of the continent right?"

"Yes, I can see that."

"But his Lordship has come up with ideas that mean that, in theory, mean that we wouldn't have to trade speed for punch. It's a big ship, it would be able to carry more warriors and yes, in theory, it would be light on it's feet. But that lightness would come at a cost which would mean that we would be vulnerable to waves, a decent impact would splinter us and if we took a wave the wrong way then..."

He shook his head.

"I mean, he's never led me wrong yet so we'll see. But I can't see any kind of ship-wright agreeing to build that. And then if they did, getting the materials to build it would be tricky and if we managed all of that, then we would never find enough crew to fill it."

"It sounds like a long term project."

"It is, and I think he knows that. He wants to bring some of the ideas he's had forward though and use them on his new ship. Then one that he's going to order when the Harbour wakes up from it's hangover in the next few days." Svein began to look excited. "Some of those ideas I am particularly looking forward to trying out. He thinks he has an idea for a small, ship carried ballistae. We've never been able to do that before because the stresses involved would tear the ship apart. You continental folk manage it because your ships are larger and more lumbering. But if we could do that?"

Svein's military mind glittered hungrily behind his eyes.

"He also thinks he has a way of making the ships narrower, therefore faster, without sacrificing stability. And other ways of strengthening the hulls and things." He danced a little jig. "Oooohhhhh, I can't wait."

"So what else are we doing today? Anything?"

"I dunno. 'is Lordship is being cryptic."

"Oh?" I directed the question at Helfdan.

"We are waiting." He told me. He was scanning the room. Watching people arrive and get more things to eat as they went. Lords, crews and merchants were arriving in bits and pieces.

"What are we waiting for?"

"The right people." Helfdan told me.

"See?" Svein asked me, sourly. "He's being cryptic."

The feast hall was filling up. I was in the process of feeling my heckles rising. I like to think it's the same kind of instinct that Kerrass has when he's near a monster. That kind of moment where he looks around, the pupils of his eyes contract and he stares around himself, reaching for his medallion. I like to think that it's like that.

The truth is far different.

But those instincts that were the focus of a good chunk of my upbringing that have since been honed to a surprising amount by my time on the road with Kerrass, were firing off and warning me that there were some games afoot. I also found myself looking around and noticing things.

"What's happening?" I muttered to myself.

The guardsmen around the entrances were armed. This is not unusual but I got the feeling that these men were a little bit more alert than they would normally be at these kinds of things. They were also being a little bit stricter at confiscating weapons and having them stacked at the back of the hall. I didn't think that they were being unusual about it but...

They weren't joking around. During the other moments in the past, the weapons were still being stacked at the back, but where before there had been a certain amount of joking around as to folk trying to sneak in weapons. When I had first come here, such an act was almost treated as a kind of game with joking, fun and traded insults. This was still there, but there seemed to be a bit of an edge to the humour. It had become sharp and jarring. There were narrowed eyes and thin lips afterwards before the guard would protest that they were just doing their duty. Then as I saw one particularly harsh exchange before a man reluctantly gave up an unpleasant looking Seax (Freddie's note:a short, single bladed knife. Often with a jagged edge. Occasionally used in the wilder parts of Kaedwen as well) on of the better dressed guards went over to the guard in question, the two had a brief exchange and the better dressed, presumably superior ranked, guards looked over at the man who was now bitching to his companions about the state of guarding on the doors of Clan An Craite, and nodded before moving off.

My weapons were in my rooms, as were Kerrass' swords. The most we had between us were our eating knives. Helfdan could have probably gotten away with carrying a weapon given his position as a Hersir of Clan An Craite but he had chosen not to. Leaving that to the Huscarls as was kind of proper.

"Svein?" I wondered.

"Mmm?"

"What normally happens after the Skeleton Ship has left Kaer Trolde harbour?"

Kerrass looked up at me sharply. If his mantra is to give the work to a professional, then the work he leaves to me is anything involving politics and courtrooms. He occasionally asks my advice when addressing nobles. He's fairly good at things when it comes to etiquette and heraldry but he often finds it useful to be slightly out of synch with those kinds of things. But he had caught the tone in my voice and I watched him draw a small vial from his pocket which he drank quickly. Disguising the motion with taking a bite from his own breakfast. He brightened instantly, with the effects of his hangover vanishing from his eyes as he himself started to look around with more interest.

Sometimes I hate Kerrass for some of these smaller advantages that he has. The ability to drink a small potion and therefore banish the effects of a hangover is something that I envy, but I had a sudden feeling that he might need that and was grateful.

"Oh, normally there's a party." Svein told me. "It's gonna take a good week for the ice to thaw and there's not a great deal we can do otherwise. So generally, it's a case of drinking, dancing, games and tournaments. There'll be some athletic things going on, some competitions. There's often a Gwent tournament, a Dice tournament. Arm wrestling, actual wrestling, ice skating, all the things."

"Huh."

I was looking around again.

"Why?" Svein asked.

"Stay close to me Svein." Helfdan muttered, otherwise appearing unconcerned.

There were still four warriors with us, survivors from the Wave-Serpent and they reacted to the change of atmosphere.

"I want you all to know." Helfdan said quietly. "That I apologise for keeping some things from you. But I'm told that secrecy was essential."

Svein made a dismissive gesture before making a few signals. He stood at Helfdan's back while the other four warriors arranged themselves around the table.

"Scribbler, you sit here" Svein gestured. "Witcher, between Helfdan and the rest of the room please."

Kerrass shuffled over.

Svein sat next to me. "Tell me what you see," he told me.

"The guards are taking the weapon gather more seriously." I told him. "Not unusual in so many people but weapons are a mark of status and normally Skelligans don't care as much."

"No-one will spill blood in a mead hall unless pushed to the absolute extreme." Svein agreed.

"It's the equivalent of removing dress swords on the continent. Only done when they're making extreme pronouncements or if someone or something really important is going to happen. They don't want violence to break out."

Svein looked around.

"I know about people approaching and jumping out at Helfdan when he isn't watching." He said. "What else am I looking for? Courtly wise I mean."

"This is Skellige." I told him. "Who is drinking and who isn't? Where are they standing?"

Svein nodded. "I also know battlefields and I know how to protect Helfdan from a dagger in the ribs in this kind of place. What am I missing?"

"Uhhh." I looked around again. "Who's that?" I asked without gesturing. "Standing by the pillar with a tankard in his hand. Green tunic, braided black beard."

"That's Snorri of the An Craite household. Good man, good fighter. Eyes like a hawk. Why?"

"He hasn't taken a proper drink from that tankard yet. He's just wetting his lips. Also, that woman in the dark purple, over near the window, long dark braids, laughing at that warrior's jokes as though she's flirting with him. But she's not looking at him. Who's that?"

"That's... I don't know which... Oh. That's Kalina. She's a former shieldmaiden of Clan An Craite. She's the husband of one of Hjalmar's cousins."

"So she's not a shieldmaiden any more?"

"No. Why?"

"Why's she watching the room?"

"And why is she armed?" Kerrass asked quietly. Damn his Witcher hearing. "As is the other man that Freddie is talking about."

"What?"

"Stiffness in the arms. They've both got weapons up their sleeves." Kerrass told us.

"Damn me, I didn't see that."

"That's because you trust them right?" I told him. It would not have occurred to you that they would attack Helfdan."

"No. Insult? Maybe, but not attack."

"That's why you didn't notice. But this is a court now. How many other men and women that you trust are stood and sat around the room, not really drinking or taking part, just watching. Also, isn't the court a little full for this type of thing?"

Svein looked around. "An Craite warriors are spread throughout the hall."

"Individuals or in clumps."

"Individuals, what's the significance?"

"When have you ever been at a party where people stand by themselves. Friends stand in clumps and cliques."

"Curse me for a fool. I should have seen that." Svein berated himself.

"That is not what you do Svein." Helfdan told him suddenly. "You treat everything like a battlefield. That is good and it is what I pay you for, rather than your use of flowery language."

One of the other warriors chuckled quietly and I smiled myself at the memory of the merchant. Helfdan had just made a joke.

Will wonders never cease.

"But the Scribbler is right. This is not a battlefield, it can be which is why you are here, but it is not. It is a courtroom and is therefore far more complicated."

"I am sorry Lord, I feel that I have failed you."

"You have not." Helfdan told him firmly. "The Battlefield is your territory, just as the monster lair is the territory of the Witcher. This is the territory of men like the Scribbler. And I."

Svein nodded unhappily. "Are you sure I can't persuade you to stay on Scribbler. I suddenly feel a lack in our company."

"I..."

"Hush now." Helfdan was looking at the door that led to the Queen and the Jarl's chambers. "Be ready."

"For what?" Svein grumbled.

The doors opened and the Jarls came out. They looked relatively jovial all things considered. There was little formality about the entire thing, Jarls Donar and Udlaryk came out together chatting about something. They looked to be deep in the middle of some kind of conversation, the kind of thing that can be left, picked up again and discussed. Neither man had strain lines around their eyes, nor were they frowning so I guessed that it was some kind of discussion on the basis of something important but not really urgent.

Jarl Throst came out next, he was frowning as he strode over to where his own people were gathered in the hall. His eyes were down and he didn't really seem to be inviting conversation.

He was followed by the most jovial looking of the lot. Jarl Holger, the black hand, the black heart. Feared pirate of the seas was positively grinning from ear to ear. When he saw me he positively crowed with delight.

"Scribbler." He exclaimed, seizing my hand as I rose to greet him before shaking it vigorously. "I meant what I said. Freedom from my ships. Your family is free from Clan Dimun for as long as I live. Longer too if I can manage it, but then the clan will pass to my son and I can promise nothing."

"Thank you Jarl Holger. As I say, my sister will be delighted."

"She will will she? Delighted enough to marry one of my sons. I have too many you see and I could do with..."

"Probably not that delighted Lord Jarl."

"Shame, shame. They're much more charming than me though, prettier too."

"Even so. Her tastes don't run that way."

"I see. I had heard that but was wondering if she might have changed her mind. Joking Scribbler, Joking."

"Not a very good joke." I told him, trying to calm myself down.

"Maybe not. But still, taste is not a matter to it. She can marry him and then ignore him for all I care. He's good for little other than hunting and sailing anyway. She can pack him off and then go off and run the company how she likes. And fuck who she likes too."

"Lord Holger." I said as gravely as I could. He was being appalling, but his good mood was so obvious and a little infectious. "I sense that you are trying to provoke me so that you have a new excuse to take back your promise about leaving our family ships alone. It will not work."

"Curses, foiled by the continental lord that's better at this than I am." He shouted theatrically. "But I shall keep my word. Even pirates have honour." He grinned evilly. "Sometimes."

He was interrupted by Jarl Ingimund coming into the hall. He was red faced and plainly angry about something. I had to work at not just dismissing his mood given that he always seemed to be angry. It's through this kind of oversight in courtrooms that people can get things past you. Not that I thought that Ingimund was clever enough to build up a reputation of always being angry in order to slip something past people but, out of such assumptions, people can lose their lives.

That is not a joke, or an exaggeration.

Jarl Ingimund glanced around the room, scowled rather indiscriminately as if to suggest that the entire world is out to get him and that he, in turn, hates the entire world back as a matter of principle. He stalked over to where the majority of his clan were gathered.

It might have been my imagination, or my unconscious bias that left me thinking that the crowd of Clan Tuirseach sailors and warriors became more subdued when their Jarl arrived. I thought I saw faces fall and men fall silent. Compared with the faces of Jarl Holger's men who jeered, insulted and laughed at their lord as he arrived. Good naturedly to be sure but that they felt free to do so, compared to the subdued nature of Clan Tuirseach when their lord sat back down at the table... I thought that that was pronounced.

Ciri came next, closely followed by Queen Cerys and her brother.

Ciri went and stood near where Lord Voorhis and other members of the Imperial Delegation were standing. It was a little jarring if I'm being honest. I had become used to Ciri the woman, the warrior, ship-mate and friend and now she was back to being Empress. There were still traces of the warrior though. She was wearing a fur lined version of her high-collared riding coat ensemble, only it was black rather than the dark blue that she had favoured in Toussaint. Underneath the coat she had a dark jacket with a wide, wine red sash. White trousers tucked into fur lined boots and her hair was tied up into the arrangement that my sister had taught her all that time ago. She was frowning, only slightly but her eyes were glittering. She was amused by something I thought.

"Why's she over there instead of at our table?" Svein wondered.

"She's distancing herself from us." I told him.

"Why?"

"She has to be the Empress again. Or that she knows something we don't."

"The sheer knowledge that that woman knows, that we don't, could stun a fiend in it's tracks." Kerrass commented.

"Silence." Helfdan told us.

Queen Cerys emerged as he spoke, escorted by her brother and I looked at them closely.

All I'm going to say on the matter was this. Queen Cerys is a much better actor and courtier than her brother is. They both smiled at the assembly and raised their hands to accept the cheering that accompanied their entrance, or possibly more accurately, accompanied the Queen's entrance.

But the smiles never reached their eyes. Their eyes were concentrating, there was too much thought going on behind those eyes to be able to smile properly and spontaneously.

A proper smile is an involuntary action that is accompanied by an extreme of positive emotion. All other smiles are calculating in nature and when that is the case, if you know what you are looking for, you can always, always tell the difference. Neither Hjalmar nor Cerys were smiling.

They were putting on a show. Hjalmar walked in the room and split off from his sister to go and stand with the men that crew his own ship. He scanned the room, nodding to prominent people and smiling to them, exchanging greetings as he went.

The only table that he didn't look at was ours.

Not much of a thing really except for the fact that when he had walked in. It had been our table that his eyes had sought out in the room, noticeably and minutely relaxing when he saw that we were all there.

Queen Cerys is better at this than her brother is. I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been looking for it. Not really. There was just a small delay to her smiles, waves and exchanged greetings. And in contrast to her brother. She was checking on our table more often than she was anyone else. Helfdan was looking at the floor though, but I rather thought that the Queen tried to make eye contact with him.

The Queen raised her hands for silence. When that didn't work in this, post Skeleton Ship, party atmosphere, she laughed and gestured to the guards that flanked the throne who clashed their weapons against their shields for attention.

Silence came slowly. The party was not feigned. People were just beginning to allow themselves think that the Skeleton Ship might have gone for good. That, for the first time in living memory, men had stood on the deck of the Skeleton Ship and exchanged words with the people that crewed that ship. That one was a Witcher, another was a Skelligan, a third was a man of the North and the fourth was the Empress of Nilfgaard. The Skelligans are a poetic people and folk were debating the symbolism of this, what it meant and what it could mean for the future. There were shouts, cheers and laughter.

More than a little bit of that good will was directed at the Queen herself. It was under her rule that the Skeleton Ship had finally been dismissed and dealt with for ever. So when she stood up and asked for quiet, someone started cheering. And the cheering would not die down.

The Queen laughed with it good-naturedly and waved it all off. She laughed and joked with it all, but again, I was looking at her eyes and thought I could see a hardness there. Maybe just a hint of tightness around the eyes.

She held her hands up to cut down on the cheering before turning her face and posture into one of teasing annoyance.

"I SAID SHUT UP." She roared into the hall. Thus proving that it wasn't just her brother that had a set of lungs in that family. From a distant place I had an appreciation for her technique, properly supported, shouting from the belly rather than with the throat. Good posture...

The crowd laughed and started to settle down. We were all standing, some folk shifting for position, Svein's attention started to move around as people moved towards the front, looking around for threats to his master while, oddly, looking more comfortable as the courtroom shifted to something that he was more comfortable with.

"Thank you, thank you." The Queen began before being forced to laugh as someone from the back of the hall started a chant of "Long Live the Queen" and before too much time had passed, the hall thundered with the sounds of affirmation.

The chant gave me time to look around and see some of the other people that were taking part. Hjalmar was... It was almost like he was a double for Svein. Now that the focus of the room had moved away from him and what he was doing, he was looking around the room for threats. His smile, as well as his enjoyment of what was happening at the time had become less animated and therefore, more obviously, a mask.

Periodically, he was looking at Helfdan.

Then he would realise what he was doing and look away.

I mentioned this to Svein who nodded in the middle of his scanning of the room before his gaze was dragged back to me as he frowned in thought. Then a kind of resigned, dawning horror crossed his face.

"What's he done?" Svein moaned before resuming his scanning of the hall.

I looked. Hjallmar was looking backwards and forwards between the Jarls who were all standing with their clans. Following the thinking I looked at the Jarls and tried to guess what they were thinking about what was happening in the feasting hall.

Holger and Throst could be dismissed almost out of hand I thought. Both of them were plainly has happy as they could be with the outcome of the various events and as a result, Holger was plainly leading his men in the cheering of the Queen. Jarl Throst was fighting being caught up in the mood of the hall. He was trying to be the image of the stern and careful Jarl, exerting his authority, but it was also clear that he had everything that he had wanted out of things and periodically, you could see the beginnings of a boyish grin begin to cross his face before he schooled his features into a proper expression.

I also dismissed Jarl Udalryk. I knew that he had been against the dismissal of the Skeleton Ship because of the moral question regarding what to do with Lennox, but he is also rather obviously a Queen's man. He was plainly beaming with pleasure at the glory that his Queen was receiving.

Donar looked tense. Not nervous, but tense. He was sat, rubbing his hands together in front of his mouth, watching the dais and...

I tracked his gaze.

He was watching Clan Tuirseach.

"Fuck." I muttered.

Jarl Ingimund was drinking. He was in among his men, ignoring the cheering around him and was downing what I guessed to be his third tankard of ale. Certainly enough that the Ale dripped from the end of his chin. He glowered around himself and wherever his gaze fell, his men stopped cheering. His own crew of older men of Clan Tuirseach were not cheering although they were not alone in that. Others were not cheering either, not because they disagreed necessarily, but more because they were being glared at by Ingimund.

"Svein," I reached behind me, tugging on his tunic in order to hide the gesture in the crowd.

"You have something for me?" He muttered in my ear through the cheering.

"Clan Tuirseach. Beware Clan Tuirseach."

I felt him shift, I knew him well enough to guess that he was going to be nodding. "If I can't have you." He wondered, "Can you train someone to..."

"Helfdan can do it as well as I..."

"Yes, but he doesn't always tell me everything and..."

"Be Quiet." Helfdan said firmly. "The Queen is speaking."

"Thank you." Cerys finally managed to get some mastery of the hall. "Thank you. The Skeleton Ship, has passed."

It had the weight of a formal declaration. A phrase with the weight of history and tradition behind it. A sign that something was over. A time of hardship had passed and now there would be a time of partying. The crowd certainly cheered as though that was the case. The Queen held her hand up again and the crowd died down.

"And..." She paused for effect. She was good at this. Everything about her suggested that she was enjoying herself. Living the dream and enjoying one of the few positive aspects of living with a crown. The moment of festival and declaration. "And it has passed for the last time."

I winced at the noise.

But the enjoyment was the mask, her tone of voice was a lie.

It is not unusual to have a sense of watching theatre in a courtroom. I have talked about this before so I won't go over it again. But there was something being played out again. There was a different taste to it here and I didn't know whether that was because of it taking place on the islands, rather than in the continent.

But emotion is the same.

The Queen was tense.

I had a feeling of watching an execution taking place. The axe had not yet fallen but that same sense of inevitability was in the air.

I looked at the Queen, then I looked at Hjalmar who was swapping his gaze from Helfdan, to Clan Tuirseach and back again. He occasionally glanced at his sister. But then he would look back at Helfdan.

Then I looked at Jarl Donar and his steady, quiet gaze levelled at Ingimund.

Then I looked at Ingimund's red face as he was well into his fourth tankard of ale in such a short period of time. He was growling at some of his seconds with an animated fury.

"I know what's happening." I said.

I have no idea whether or not anyone heard me.

"NEVER LET IT BE SAID." The Queen bellowed over the noise. Her words trained to carry over battlefields and thunderclouds. "Never again let it be said." She started again when the noise died down. "That the time of heroes is past."

The crowd roared.

"Never let it be said that there are no heroes in Skellige. Never let it be said that great deeds cannot be achieved and that the people of Skellige are lessened. Because we here, in this hall and on this island. We have seen a thing that many, including me, thought would never be seen. A thing that has not be seen since our Grandfathers times. Since the time of settling. Since the time of the founding of the clans.

"Man and woman have stood on the deck of the Skeleton Ship."

The crowd erupted.

"This is the time of heroes." The Queen roared. I say roared because the word "Screamed" does not seem appropriate. "This is the time of heroes where we have finally. FINALLY found a way to banish that scourge from our waters. This is the time of heroes because not only has the Skeleton Ship passed. But the Skeleton Ship will NEVER RETURN AGAIN."

She laughed as the crowd cheered. There was joy in that laughter although I felt that she almost had to reach for it. As though it was uncomfortable in some way. She even looked as though she gave in to the joy with a little girlish dance as she spun in place, waving her arms in the air and the crowd laughed with her.

My sense of the axe about to fall deepened.

"Traditionally," The Queen continued when the noise began to die down. "This is a time for celebration and mourning and this time will be no different." A few people started to cheer at this again, but Cerys held her hand up and I noticed that there was a shift in the room. This time, the room obeyed the gesture. I tried to see what the difference was between her previous gestures and this one but I couldn't quite see it. But something had changed.

"This time will be no different." A sadness crept into her voice. "We have lost much and many since the last time that the Skeleton Ship passed through the harbour . But now that the ship has passed, we should remember all those that came before and all those that have died in the cold that the Skeleton Ship brings with it. Just as we celebrate that no-one will die in that awful freeze again."

There was lots of nodding, shouts of agreement and men pounded their hands on tables, feet on the floor and fists on their chests.

"That is not something I wish us to lose." The Queen went on. "When the thaw is over I will discuss with the other Jarls as to how we can continue to mourn and remember those that have been lost at sea. We would not lose an opportunity to mourn those that have passed and those lives need to be celebrated as well. So after the ice has thawed, I will speak with the druids and the Skalds and see what is best."

There was more nodding and sounds of agreement.

"I have one more thing to say." She said to a few good natured jeers. The Queen laughed again, "Do not worry, I will soon let you return to your drinking."

There was a more ironic cheer.

"So there is this. And I will keep it quick." Another cheer. "It has come to my mind and the judgement of my council that the empty seat at the council of Jarls has been empty for too long."

The Crowd gasped.

Svein tugged on my shoulder. "Is this what you were...?"

"No." I told him. "There is something..."

"Quiet." Helfdan said a little more forcefully.

"I cannot, I will not, restore Clan Drummond to it's former holdings. Their treachery is too great and I can not restore a clan who so foully betrayed the islands when we were under attack from forces both foreign and supernatural."

There was more sounds of approval. A bit sterner in their feel.

"But there is much land in the South of Ard Skellig. The fastness of Kaer Muire and the harbour of Holmstein are too important to leave empty. And we cannot surrender that watch. We need a new clan."

The hall was alive. This was real news.

"So on the morrow, we will announce a series of tests." The Queen went on. "Tests that will be set by the Skalds and druids in order to choose a Jarl who will be charged with the formation of this new clan. So all should attend this hall in the morning because the new Jarl could be here in this hall even now."

There was more muttering.

Helfdan took a breath and braced himself against the table.

Hjalmar was watching Helfdan and I realised that the two men were maintaining eye contact.

"And with that..." The Queen began, "I have nothing more to say today and I charge you to eat, drink and..."

As she spoke, Hjalmar nodded.

"Hold." Helfdan stood, his voice that commanded crews in storms was harsh against the Queen's voice and I wondered if he did that deliberately.

The Queen stopped talking instantly and I became certain that she knew that the interruption was coming. Despite her expression of outrage.

"I have something to ask." Helfdan declared into the silence. "It is right that we should celebrate and it is right that we should mourn the fallen. But my loss still wounds me deeply and I cannot properly molurn their deaths or celebrate their lives until those fallen men have justice."

The crowd came back slowly. At first, they resented the intrusion. They were angry that their celebrations had been cut short by this uppity Lord. They had remembered that they didn't like Helfdan and his weird eccentricities. They remembered that his quiet competence made them look like arrogant, boastful fools. But now Helfdan was saying things to which they could relate.

"What do I tell the widows of my fallen men?" Helfdan's voice was still harsh. "What do I say to the children and parents that have lost men? My warriors were not killed by the Skeleton Ship and those families will not be satisfied to know that the Ship will not come again."

"Your men were killed at the hands of Nilfgaardian pirates and Ice Giants." Shouted a voice. I rather thought that the voice came from the Tuirseach side of the room. I saw more than one face of Clan Tuirseach twist in disgust though.

"And so the trap closes." I said.

I do not know who shouted that prompt. I still do not and although I spent a futile few hours over the following days trying to find out who it was that had called out that accusation, I found no answer that satisfied me.

On the surface of the matter, the shouted protest was from a Tuirseach warrior who saw the way that this was going, just as I had, and had sought to head things off before they got out of hand. And as this all happened in Skellige, I would like to think that this was the case. That a passionate man made a comment without thinking.

On the continent though, it would have been something else. A line like that, shouted across a courtroom anonymously from a group of people. A line that set up an easy response from the main player? That would have been someone in the know. Someone who knew the intended result and wanted to prompt the correct response.

It was like a soldier at war stepping into the sight of the enemy archers because he could no longer tolerate life at war. And if you think that you wouldn't do that, or that people who do such things are cowardly, then you have never truly been to war.

But on the continent, that would have been shouted by a man, sent to shout it. To hide amongst the enemy faction who then shouts the inflammatory remark in order to provoke the coming confrontation.

Helfdan saw the target and he swung for it with all of his might. And he struck it square in the centre too.

"No." He protested, "No they didn't. When a man is pushed off a cliff, is he angry at the rocks that will tear his body apart? My men were betrayed. BETRAYED. And I would like to know what is being down about that. Where is their blood price. Where is their Justice?"

"Sit down Helfdan." Hjalmar snapped angrily. "The Nilfgaardians are being turned over to our Justice, Captain Rymer is serving his penance and Finnvald's lands and titles are forfeit while he waits for his execution."

But again, the anger in Hjalmar's voice did not reach his eyes.

Theatre. Politics is theatre. The decisions are made behind closed doors and the results of such things are decided before the first speech, before the first gesture is made.

Hjalmar was leading Helfdan though things. I also got my first hint about how things would go in the future too. He was making the protests that would come from others in advance so that he could be seen to be protesting, to ensure that what comes next would not be seen as a political gesture.

"I WILL NOT SIT DOWN." Helfdan roared. There was emotion in his voice and it almost seemed close to cracking. "I will not sit down while the criminals and traitors that arranged their deaths remain free and clear."

He chose his words very carefully, despite the appearance of temper. This was the first time that the word "Traitors" had been used in the court and I was not the only person that reacted to it being used.

"The Wave-Serpent was on a mission for the Queen." Helfdan went on. "We were escorting dignitaries around the islands for them to fulfil their own missions. One of those dignitaries was among the highest on the continent and we were attacked, looked for and thwarted. That we weren't destroyed is not down to luck either. It was down to skill, determination and the strong arms of good men who never wanted to do anything other than serve Skellige and serve the crown.

"Every single one of you." Helfdan turned and pointed at the hall. "Every single one of you that have just cheered the final passage of the Skeleton Ship, every single one of you that have cheered our standing on the back of the Skeleton Ship... How dare you? How dare you? How dare you do that and not demand justice for the fallen. For the murdered victims of lesser people. I am not the hero here. They are. And every person who sailed with me, including those that stood on the back of the Skeleton Ship will agree, I am sure."

Ciri looked down at her feet. I wondered how much of this she was involved in. Kerrass was the same as he ever was and I'm told that I looked suitably disappointed and stern. I can't answer for that. I was definitely disappointed as I rather hoped that Skellige was above such political machinations, as for stern? I rather think that people mistook my being thoughtful for being stern.

The crowd had come back. They had forgotten about the human cost of what had been done and now that they were reminded of that, they reacted with the guilt and the shame of that forgetting. I saw many heads being hung and men looking at each other. Helfdan had them in his hands.

"I demand justice for those fallen men." Helfdan turned back to the dais, his voice calmer and more formal. "I demand justice as their Lord and their Captain. I demand justice on behalf of those wives who have lost husbands and those children that have lost fathers. For I am their lord too."

"What would you have us do Helfdan?" The Queen asked. "As my Brother says, Rymer is serving his penance, Finnvald is awaiting his execution and the Nilfgaardians are offering up their own justice."

"But all of those factors came from a source, Majesty. What is happening to that?"

The Queen frowned slightly. Slightly but with enough emphasis that even the people at the back of the hall could see the gesture.

"Captain Rymer is a good sailor and a man of honour. But even he himself admitted that he was sailing with mercenaries that he couldn't afford and that he did so under orders. When we took him alive, his oath was that he return here and tell you everything about who his paymaster was, who hired those mercenaries and who ordered him to seek us out. I see that he is here, so he at least fulfilled that part of his oath, meaning that I have no reason to believe he did not fulfil the other part of his thralldom. What did he tell you Majesty?"

The Queen stiffened.

"Captain Finnvald," Helfdan was relentless. "Captain Finnvald also had things to say about who sent him, what was he promised, how did he come to tell those lies about me and mine. What was his motivation?"

The crowd was beginning to get angry as well and most, if not all, were on Helfdan's side. I do not know who wrote and directed this play, but whoever it was was masterful.

"And who told the Nilfgaardians where to look for us?" Helfdan went on. "We were home. Literally home when they came for us, and the only way they could do that was by being in exactly the right spot to intercept us. Otherwise I could have just sailed around them. They had to be guided to that spot and told when we were coming which means that we were seen and watched for.

"There was no way we could be seen from anywhere other than the top of Kaer Trolde keep for the Nilfgaardians to have enough time to see us and intercept us where we would not be instantly reinforced by An Craite sailors. So someone had to have seen us from the tower and passed words to the Nilfgaardian sailors as to what direction we were coming from. Those same Nilfgaardians that murdered my ship and my crew. Who did that Your Majesty because you can't claim that you didn't..."

No-one knew that last point. I remain convinced that this was the last stage in the plan. Helfdan knew what to say and I remain convinced that the Queen knew what he was going to say. Hjalmar knew most of it, I think, but there came a part in the speech that he was not aware of and it was that bit if it was any.

Because even he was outraged. I like to think that he knew, but that he was still so outraged now that it was being said in the open. The points about Rymer and Finnvald were well known to the hall but no-one had put together how the Wave-Serpent had been betrayed, other than by the Nilfgaardians.

"No foreign agent is allowed on the watch-posts of Kaer Trolde," Helfdan's outraged howl cut through the uproar in the hall. "So who was it that passed that word? Who betrayed me Majesty? Who betrayed my ship?"

Hjalmar sputtered in outrage, but the crowd was roaring in it's own anger. It would seem that Skelligans playing games with other Skelligans is one thing. But selling them out to others, let alone the still hated Black Ones.

(Freddie's note: Skelligans hate Nilfgaard. But they love Ciri. So they tolerate Nilfgaard now. But the hatred is still just below the surface. That kind of paradox is common in Skellige. I couldn't tell you why.)

But worse was the prospect that someone had gotten the Black Ones to do the fighting for them. It is a complicated moral question and one that I would study with the Skalds if I had found the time. Ambush, piracy and stealth are all weapons in the Skelligan arsenal. But even then, there is honour. Never kill a surrendering man. Never kill a bound captive and if you are going to kill a man. Then he must be able to defend himself. If he chooses to be asleep when you come for him then he deserves everything he gets.

(Further note: Also a reminder. Skelligans don't see continental folk as people. So these rules don't apply to those people that they are raiding against. It's another one of those contradictions but it's from here that you hear all the stories about raping, stealing and murder on the part of the Skelligans. Contrast that with stories of men being castrated because their own wives say that they got drunk and forced their attentions on their wives against the wife's will. I know that some folk amongst my readers have struggled with this paradox)

But this dawning realisation that Skelligans must have sold the Wave-Serpent to Nilfgaard. Men who the Queen had just called hero. That was beyond the pale. Men were calling for their weapons. Men demanded action from the Queen. Others howled for action on the part of Hjalmar to tell everyone who was on watch that night.

It took a long time to die down. A very long time.

"Enough of this." A voice called as the sounds began to die down. This was another trained voice. Someone who was used to shouting over battlefields and over the crashing of waves against wooden hulls.

"Enough of this paltry display." Ingimund, red faced and plainly struggling to keep hold of his temper. "I will not stand for this any longer."

"And he is caught." I muttered. "Drunk and angry before he even got here."

"Rymer was a liar and a fool." The Jarl said. "Finnvald also lied and was condemned from his own mouth besides. I see what you are suggesting. I see what you are demanding but I will not abide by it. I will not stand here and allow some petty little Lord from a backwater little village accuse me of treachery. Rymer did not sail at my order, I do not know where he got the money from. I never promised Finnvald land in return for his betrayal of you and as for the last." He snorted. "I do not control Kaer Trolde. I am Jarl of Tuirseach, not the keep of An Craite."

"The royal keep is protected by the royal guard." Helfdan accused. "The royal guard is a separate entity, protecting whichever keep the crown chooses to make it's seat. It is well known that King Bran and King Eist before him made Kaer Trolde their seat because the Tuirseach keep is still in ruin."

"How dare you Criticise my elder brothers..."

"I did not." Helfdan interrupted. "I agree that Skellige had other enemies at the time. Including people that are now our friends and Skellige needed ships more than it needed a rebuilt keep. But that still leaves many here that might be loyal to Clan Tuirseach rather than a new An Craite Queen."

The crowd gasped.

I took that moment to glance at the Queen, Hjalmar and Ciri. Ciri had moved slightly. Her head was still downcast but she watched what was going on closely. Cerys had stepped backwards a little, as had Hjalmar. It reminded me of how people get out of the way of two people fighting.

"I do not have to listen to this." Ingimund recovered from the shock of accusation quickly. "Protection of this castle is not my role and these are not my waters. Jarl Hjalmar must answer for that. I despise Nilfgaard as much as anyone, they killed my brother after all. Why would I treat with them?"

"I do not know." Helfdan said. "But you did."

"Lies. Where did you get this from?" Ingimund laughed. "I am a Jarl. On my island, my word is law and truth. You have a beaten man who will say anything to survive, two beaten men at most. You might have guesswork, but what else do you have. The word of a Black One. A mage at that. I am Jarl Tuirseach and unless you have hard proof. None can go against my word."

Silence fell and reigned for a moment. The law was, to be fair to everyone, clear on this point. A Jarl's word is law. I thought I saw how Helfdan was going to beat this but I was not sure. But then, in the silent room, the sound of a wooden stool scraping on the stone floor echoed.

"I can." Said a voice.

There was movement from Clan Tuirseach's ranks and Captain Dreng, Lord Dreng I should say, stepped into the front. "I can, and I will."

Dreng had aged. He looked different to how I remembered him but that discounts the possibility that I had changed as well. He seemed thinner than I remembered, paler even, his hair was thinner and I saw the receding hair line and the circles under his eyes. His beard was still braided but I thought that there was a weight on him.

When I contrasted this with the large, terrifying and bristling fury of the man that I had first encountered and that I had heard so many stories of in my time with the Wave-Serpent, I was astonished to the point of almost not recognising him.

His men stood with him. They too, were not happy folk, grim faced and tired eyes. I could not tell if they supported their Lord in his declaration but they seemed resigned, a little angry as well although I could not tell who they were angry at.

"Be silent," Ingimund growled fiercely.

Dreng sighed audibly. You could see his chest rise and fall with the action.

"A Jarls word is law." He said. "Unless in the case of the Crown's orders regarding the welfare and security of the realm. But also in the case of a Hersir of that Lord reporting treason to the Crown."

"I Said Be SILENT." Ingimund screeched.

Clan Tuirseach did not take this declaration quietly. All of them rose to their feet and were shouting at each other, fingers wagging in each other's faces. Things might even have gone badly for Dreng and his crew but Hjalmar gestured and there were suddenly guards there, forcing themselves into the middle.

There was a crash as the Queen gestured and her personal guards slammed their weapons into their shields.

"What do you have to say Lord Dreng?" She asked quietly, with just a hint of an emphasis on the title.

"I order you to be silent." Ingimund howled.

"As a Lord and Captain," Dreng began. "I have served Clan Tuirseach, just as my father did before me. It is both my right, and my duty, to inform the crown of actions that my Jarl has taken against the Crown's orders."

"There was no treason here." Ingimund protested. "Helfdan is not a member of the royal family, or of the royal guard. Indeed he is just a bastard son of no-one."

I shook my head. In my opinion, he had just condemned himself for all to hear. I don't think he realised it, indeed I don't think that many people realised it. But I saw Ciri nod slightly to herself and Jarl Donar hung his head sadly, but without surprise.

Dreng shifted his weight uncomfortably. "He was on a mission for the crown and therefore, thwarting that mission was thwarting the Queen's will. I think that that..."

"You are sworn to me." Ingimund thundered. "You obey me."

"I am sworn to the crown through you. I too, am a Queen's man."

Ingimund paled. "He was trying to destroy the Skeleton Ship. A corner of our countries traditions and history. He had no right to..."

"No he wasn't." Dreng whispered although all could hear it. "He was just hunting for the information as to how to do that. His mission was to bring that information back so that the Queen could decide. He had every right to serve the Crown. As do we all."

"I will cast you out for this. You will be clanless unless you be Silent."

Dreng's crew moaned at that.

"I will see your wife and your children flogged from their homes. I shall burn your halls and your houses and slaughter your herds. You will be chased from here until the end of time with no home to call your own."

But the words had kindled Dreng's anger.

He laughed and I saw, again, the man that I had met in those first days in the hall.

"I have served. I have fought and bled for Clan Tuirseach. What have you done? I love Clan Tuirseach. As was taught to me by the Skald's of my childhood. It is a Lord's duty to speak the truth on matters of treachery. This is not something I choose to do. It is something I must do for the sake of my people, my clan and my honour. If I do not, how will I look my father in the eyes when I see him after I cross the Bridge of Swords and rainbows? How will I teach my son the meaning of honour and how will I hold myself as deserving of my wife's love?"

The hall was silent to hear Jarl Ingimund's response. When none was forthcoming, Dreng turned to the Queen. "As a Lord of Clan Tuirseach, I must tell the crown that we were under orders to hunt down the Wave-Serpent and destroy it. I was there when Captain Rymer was told that he could hire mercenaries and clanless to help him do the job. He was not alone in being forced to hire clanless to fill his rowers benches, nor was he the only Captain told to harness the outrage of the traditionalists who were most hurt by these decisions in order to get this done."

The crowd moaned with every statement, shouting protests of which I could hear no real words but if it was anywhere else, I would have thought that they would have been shouting "Say it ain't so." I could feel my bitterness and anger increasing and worked hard to try and head it off.

"I cannot answer for what was said to Finnvald of Clan An Craite." Dreng went on. "But I can say that I went with Jarl Ingimund when he met with the Nilfgaardian shipping concerns."

"To discuss Trade." Ingimund found his voice. "You were not in the room, so how can you swear to what I discussed with those factors?"

The drink had made him clumsy. I wondered what had been said and done in the Queen's chambers to drive him to the drink so hard. Ingimund was sweating now.

"Why would you banish your fellows from such a meeting?" Hjalmar wondered. "If you had nothing to hide?"

"I cannot believe this." Ingimund protested. "I am Jarl of Clan Tuirseach. Clan Tuirseach and Clan An Craite have stood together for centuries. Why do you turn on me now? You are so quick to believe the words of this man. This man who is all but brother to that other..." Ingimund waved towards where Helfdan stood calmly. "This bastard and pirate. This man who flaunts his..."

"Lord Helfdan's faults are well known to us." Hjalmar sneered.

"You do me honour by calling me his brother." Dreng's voice was colder. "Like Jarl Hjalmar, I will admit that I have treated Lord Helfdan badly and in ways that he did not deserve. I was jealous of his skills and his talents and I used my own to browbeat him without realising that he would have been utterly loyal to me if I had but had the wit to use him and bind him to me. I have done little to earn the right to call him my brother but I am ashamed at the way that the clan of his birth and his raising have turned on him so badly."

More than one head of Clan Tuirseach was nodding at this.

"We cast him out because he made us uncomfortable. I cast him out because he exposed my faults and failures for all to see, and now he has shown that for the folly it was." Dreng shouted. "Where would we be, what would Clan Tuirseach have been capable if we had kept men like Helfdan at our side."

"He is a bastard." Ingimund spat. "We are the oldest clan and we cannot taint ourselves with such disgusting..."

Dreng laughed again and I thought I heard a hint of madness in it, a hint of hysteria. "To make the finest steel, you introduce other things to iron."

"That's enough." The Queen's voice rang out. "Well Jarl Tuirseach?"

The crowd hissed at the barbed nature of the question. She was reminding Ingimund that he was not just Ingimund the man, but also, Ingimund the leader of a people and the keeper of a heritage.

"How will you answer this?"

"Hearsay." The Jarl said promptly. "Circumstantial at best. I made no secret of my desire to see the mission fail and it was not fault of mine if people took that desire and turned it into something else. No-one heard me tell the Nilfgaardian pirates what to do. I was discussing trade and there is no-one that can countermand that. Even if you question the merchant in question, my word, by law, is greater than his for I am a Jarl and he is not only a merchant, but an outlander at that. And a Black One. So who do you believe? Who you want to believe? Or who the law will believe?"

The crowd rumbled with displeasure at this. Hiding behind the law, dodging and weaving with legality is not exactly the Skelligan way. Many were unhappy with this, some were outright angry and the rest of his clan were not the least of this.

I could think of several ways out of it if I put my mind to it but all of that was to do with the way things are done on the continent. Not with the way that things are done in Skellige.

"How about who the Gods believe?" Helfdan said to a roar of approval.

"That..." The words had struck Ingimund in the chest like a hammer blow. "That law is only true if... I am a Jarl and you are not."

"No I am not. But I am the aggrieved party."

Ingimund's mouth worked for a while as he tried to get his brain round that.

It bears reminding the reader that Ingimund is younger than his two older brothers were. But he still has a couple of decades on Helfdan and co. He is a contemporary of Udalryk, younger than Donar but still older than the other Jarls. Whoever had manipulated Ingimund into drinking so much so quickly had been a genius. I rather think that he would have wiggled out of even this if he had more of his wits about him.

"Lord Ingimund." Helfdan said formally. "I call you cheat, traitor, colluder and murderer. You have brought shame on a clan that I love too despite my distance from it and I would see you in the court of spears."

It took a long time for the uproar to die down.

"My Queen." Ingimund began. "My Queen I..."

"No man is above the law." The Queen said. "I too am dismayed to see one of my Jarls hiding behind points of order and legal arguments. An innocent man would declare it so rather than hide, litigate and argue. There is a lot of smoke now my Jarl and now I would see if the Gods think that there is fire at the source of it all. You will answer the charges or I will declare Lord Helfdan's charges just."

Ingimund's mouth opened. Then shut again "You can't do this." He said.

"Jarl Ingimund. I must confess that I am becoming rather tired of you telling me what I can and cannot do."

The crowd hissed.

Ingimund gaped to find his will so stymied.

"Then... Then I..."

He seemed to sway on his feet, his hand came up to his temple. "I have the right to a champion."

"From your own clan yes."

"Then my champion is Skallagrim Vesteinsson. Of my guard."

The crowd groaned. A giant of a man rose from a seated position amongst Clan Tuirseach. He was huge, massive cords of muscle on his arms with the being standing out, blue against his tanned skin. He was a beast of a man, a solid wall of muscle. I had no idea how tall he was but he towered above his fellows. To my eyes he looked unhappy, a little sulky but also withdrawn.

Svein hissed between his teeth. "Well that tore it," he muttered. "Ursa was the best fighter I ever saw and even he said that he would have difficulty with the clan Champion of Tuirseach. That's the point of having Champions after all. I heard he's a good man though. Shame really."

Helfdan waved us into silence.

"So who will be your champion Lord Helfdan?" Ingimund was not even bothering to hide his scorn and dislike.

"My champion died at the hands of the pirates that you sent." Helfdan told him.

"Use mine." Hjalmar called. "You are my man and it is my..."

"No," Ingimund snarled. "The champion must come from his own men. That is the law. You seek to hang me from that ancient tradition, then you have made the rope for your own neck."

Helfdan nodded. "And the Champion must be a man who sailed with me."

"Correct."

Helfdan nodded again. "Witcher? Will you serve?"

Kerrass grinned nastily in answer.

You know that sound that crowds make when the Mages put on a display. It doesn't happen as much nowadays as Mages are taught not to flaunt their power in an effort to prevent themselves from being burnt at the stake. But I am still young enough to remember being carried on my brother's shoulders and remember some of the flame and smoke displays of the mages of Oxenfurt. I remember the swirling towers of flame, the illusory dragons being fought by spearmen made entirely of blue fire.

And I remember the noise that the crowd made. A kind of elongated "ooohhhh" sound, made by hundreds, if not thousands of voices raise in excitement, wonder and amazement. You don't hear that sound as much any more and for my money, that makes the world a little sadder. Such noises are now reserved for smaller plays, or for athletic displays which are always tempered by disappointment as for one person to win, another person has to lose.

But I heard that noise again in the Skelligan throne room. As a couple of hundred Skelligan warriors heard what they were about to witness and gasped in excitement at the coming wonder.

"Wait," Panic was in Ingimund's voice then. "That is not allowed. This man is not a Skelligan. The court of Spears is only a matter for Skelligans."

"It is not." Helfdan's voice was dreadful. "The matter of law says that if the rule of Champions is used in order to carry out a court of Spears. Then the Champion must be someone present who is associated with the Aggrieved party."

"You have barely known the Witcher for a matter of..."

"Specifically mentioned in this as an example are "men who have fought in the same battle line, friends since childhood or men who have sailed together." The Law even goes on to state that "Money is not to be used as an enticement."

Helfdan paused. I looked over at the proposed champion of Clan Tuirseach who was watching the thing unfold sourly. He looked, disappointed I thought.

"If you wish," Helfdan went on. "You may consult the Skald's on the matter. But I am confident of my interpretation."

"Skald?" Hjallmar asked. "Where is my Ska..?"

"I am hear Lord." A man in a white robe stepped forward and bowed to the dais. "Although I will admit to the fact that I wasn't expecting to make any legal pronouncements today and as a result, I have had more than one cup of your finest mead."

There was some laughing at that. The Skald was trying to lighten the atmosphere, not a bad play.

"But I have consulted, briefly, with a couple of my colleagues and Lord Helfdan is correct. It is only "tradition" that the Champion must be Skelligan, but the law is quite clear. There is even some testimony to the fact that this kind of situation was predicted, where a man's champion and the majority of his fellows have been killed, resulting in the net having to be cast much further afield for a champion. It is also why the champion must be willing for the matter to proceed and must be present at the time of the challenge being issued. But I'm lecturing again. Tell me Lord Helfdan. Did anyone ever test you to see if you wanted to be a Skald?"

Helfdan still had his back to me but it was easy for me to imagine a small smirk.

"I was never given the opportunity to be tested given my utter lack of heritage."

"mmmm." The Skald mused. "A pity."

"So there you have it Lord Jarl." Helfdan said. "Witcher Kerrass of the Cat School, Trusted friend, comrade and ship-mate to me and my fellows will serve as my champion. I would go so far as to suggest that he is ready for the court of spears. Are you?"

Ingimund spluttered a bit.

"Or is the problem that you are now no longer confident in your choice of champion?" Helfdan's barb was well thrown although I could not immediately see who he threw it at. But I did see the Tuirseach champion Skallagrim frown in thought at that.

"I... ummm... We are taken by surprise and we require time to properly prepare. We have been drinking you see and..."

Skallagrim was definitely unhappy at that suggestion. His lips curling into a sneer.

(Freddie's note: I would later find out that Ingimund had rather thoughtlessly insulted his own champion with that statement. It is the duty of a champion, especially a clan champion or a Lord's personal champion, to be ready to answer a challenge at any time, day or night. Therefore to suggest that he had been drinking was to suggest that he was in dereliction of duty.

When issued, a court of Spears needs to be fought almost immediately. This is so that bad blood does not have time to fester in the hearts and minds of people involved. The Gods and the ancestors can pass judgement and sentence can be passed. The more practical reason for this sense of immediacy is to prevent a guilty party from fleeing, or from weasling their way out of the situation that they find themselves in. Whether this is what Ingimund had in mind is a question that is now redundant.

My guess was that Ingimund was playing for time, a standard courtier tactic. And Witcher tactic if the truth is known. He was aware that he had been drinking and had pushed ahead prematurely so he wanted time to gather his thoughts. This also suggested his lack of confidence in his champion which was another contributing factor to Skallgrim's sneer.)

"No." The Queen said. "I, for one, am sick of having this hanging over our collective heads. This will be dealt with. Now. Witcher Kerrass, are you willing?"

"Wait. He is a Witcher. He has advantages that..." Ingimund tried.

"Ready and willing." Kerrass rose from his bench and started to do some stretches and limbering up. More for the show of the thing really I suspected.

"Then Skallagrim, Clan Champion of Tuirseach. Are you willing?"

Skallagrim was not a happy man. He took a deep breath before nodding.

"Good," Then it is settled. Your Heralds gentlemen and then you will wait, with me to see the outcome."

Helfdan turned. "Freddie, will you serve?"

"Ermmm. What?"

"Will you be my herald?"

"I have no idea what..."

"Remember Hindersfjall." He told me. "It's exactly the same. I suspect that this will be a bit more formal and less... There will be less choice here. The champions should fight how they will, I doubt that we will get a swords only battle but..." He shrugged. "I would also rather that the Witcher should not have to kill Skallagrim. Svein is right, he is a good man and deserves better in his Lord. But I would guess that Ingimund is going to push for death and for full armour and shields. As Kerrass doesn't normally fight with shields then a contest of the three shields will not be..."

"Helfdan," someone called.

"I have to go." Helfdan told us. "Freddie?"

I nodded. "Where do I go?"

"Go to the Skalds."

The royal Skald was standing with the Clan Skald of the An Craits who was, in turn, stood with the Skald of the Hall and Hjalmar's personal Skald. They gave off the impression of being horrible, terrible old men. Hjalmar's skald was the youngest but even his beard was streaked with grey. There didn't seem to be any kind of hierarchy though and as I approached alongside another man of Clan Tuirseach, the Skalds turned and greeted us.

"So?" The Skald of Kaer Trolde stepped forward.

The man from Clan Tuirseach seemed like a sour man. I never learned his name and I have no way of telling whether or not he was some kind of crony of Lord Ingimund that agreed with his behaviour or whether he was more resistant like, presumably, Dreng was. He looked a little angry but that could have meant anything.

He was thin, slightly drawn and his hair line was receding.

"My master wants a fight to the death." he said quickly. "Minimum spear distance, bare chested, choice of weapons. He also demands that a druid be present to prevent magical tricks."

"Demands?" One of the Skalds smiled nastily.

The Tuirseach man sighed. "My Lord is concerned as to the possibility of magical tricks as used by the Witcher. Furthermore, the witcher's weapons are to be examined by me to check for the presence of poisons."

One of the other Skalds sniggered. I was frowning in thought and couldn't tell which one it was.

The oldest piece of advice that my tutors ever gave me was that there was always an angle. There is always something going on and I tried to apply it here.

Also, if you are weak, pretend strength. If you are strong, pretend weakness.

"I am new to all of this." I said. "What is the minimum spear distance?"

"Two spears by two spears. It's called the court of spears because the fighting area is measured in spear lengths." One of the Skalds told me. "Your opponent is trying to minimise the amount of movement that your Witcher can make."

I nodded and carefully did not smirk. One of the drills that Kerrass regularly uses is fighting without moving his feet. He is aware that his style involves acrobatic movements and works on ensuring that this is not a crutch for him to depend upon. But it would give concessions and something to bargain with.

"Then what is the maximum?"

"Ten by ten." The Skald answered, anticipating my question.

"Then I request that the maximum area be used. Light armour only. One weapon each of fighter's choice and my understanding is that this is a court of honour. Is our word that neither magical effect nor poison will be used not good enough?"

"Your man is a Witcher and an Outlander. Of course we do not trust you."

I shrugged. "Then I don't believe your word that you won't use magic or poison either." I told him. "We are quite willing for the presence of a Druid to check magical use as well as an inspection of weapons providing that the same inspections are done to both combatants.

"Are you questioning our honour?" The Skelligan bridled at the most obvious of insults. I don't know why Ingimund chose this man, but he really should have seen that counter coming.

One of the Skalds turned away and seemed to be suffering from some kind of coughing fit.

"You are questioning ours." I told him. "Furthermore, Lord Helfdan bears no grudge against Skallagrim and indeed, holds much affection for the champion. Therefore, although accidents happen in combat. Then he will be satisfied with the combat continuing until one man is beaten or rendered unable to fight. Death is not required."

"If he kills your man then Lord Helfdan will be killed also."

"I guessed." I told the Skald. "But when we win, Lord Helfdan will be happy with the Queen rendering her judgement as to the proper justice of the matter.

"Unacceptable." The Tuirseach man complained. "The Witcher might hide potions in his clothing. We insist on bare chested combat."

"Thus also ensuring that they have to fight in the cold." I retorted. "You are betting that your man is better able to withstand the cold. But I remind you that my man is a Witcher and is conditioned at withstanding magical effects, such as magical cold. If anything, you are giving him an advantage in insisting on bare chested combat."

I was beginning to enjoy myself.

The negotiating went backwards and forwards for some time until the Skalds declared that the matter was done. The entire court moved outside into the courtyard and gardens that are next to the main hall and I went over to where the remains of the crew of the Wave-Serpent were standing. There were not many of us.

"What did we get?" Svein asked me as I approached.

"Six spears by six spears." I told him. Svein shrugged.

"They can both wear whatever armour they like and fight with whatever weapons they like. Weapons have to be inspected for poisons and a druid is watching for magic."

Svein snorted. "Both sides weapons?"

"Of course."

Svein laughed. "I would have liked to see that happen."

"It was not that exciting. The man thought in straight lines so I just had to think in corners."

Svein clapped me on the shoulder.

I went and "inspected" as the guards measured out the six spear by six spear square in the yard. A spear is a little longer than most men are tall. A single spear is about Kerrass' height. Lord Ingimund and Helfdan stood near the Queen. Helfdan looked relaxed and at ease while Ingimund looked sour and almost as though he was on the edge of vomiting. My guess was that he was regretting drinking quite so much, quite so quickly.

Kerrass just strapped himself into his leather coat, adding the vambracess and bracers himself before doing a few more limbering up exercises. Again, I rather thought it was for the show of the matter. When he's actually warming up, Kerrass does a series of movements that are much less flashy than this.

Skallagrim arrived with a couple of other men. One of which was a younger brother who carried Skallagrim's immense shield. The other looked to be a younger boy of about ten who I guessed to be his son. Tottering under the weight of Skallagrim's sword.

I grimaced at that.

"That's a bit macabre isn't it?"

"What?" Svein wondered.

"Bringing his son to the fight. It might be to watch his father die."

"Or he might be hoping that the sight of his son will goad him on while putting off the Witcher." Svein countered.

"Then it won't make much difference."

"No. But children often come to see honour being satisfied. The only reason it's not happening here is because of the more formal court things. Some people need to be here and there isn't room for anything else."

I was distracted again as the Skalds, who seemed to be acting as referees, called the champions, the heralds and the Lords forward.

Weapons were inspected, clothing was inspected for the fabled "Witcher bombs and potions". I began to get the sense of something brewing between the two fighters. I don't know what it was, but I got the feeling that Skallagrim was faintly amused by the entire process. A sentiment that Kerrass shared.

"Does anyone have anything to say?" The Skald asked.

"Kill him quickly. But kill him." Ingimund said. "I want this farce done with." Then he stalked off to stand next to the Queen. His face a mask of... I think it was hate.

Helfdan took a moment.

"I would rather this man survive." Helfdan told Kerrass. "He is a good man and deserves better. But do not endanger yourself. If it is a choice between his death and your survival, then kill him." Then he turned to Skallagrim. "If the day sees you dead, then I will undertake to properly care for your wife and children. Other family members too if they wish."

Skallagrim's face was shocked at this. Kerrass nodded before Helfdan shook his hand. A gesture that I noticed was missing between Skallagrim and Ingimund.

"Very well then." The Skald's began.

"Wait." Skallagrim's voice was surprisingly high pitched. "I want to say something."

There was another pause.

"I respect your accomplishments Witcher." He said. "And I would have liked to talk with you about them in the future."

Kerrass nodded.

"I want you to know," the champion of Skallagrim went on. "That I have nothing but admiration and respect for you and Lord Helfdan. Although I admit that that admiration and respect is a new-found thing. I believed the rumours about him and for that I am sorry. I would part with respect, despite that we must now try and kill each other."

Kerrass was moved I think.

"A man is sometimes unlucky in who he must fight beside and fight against." He told Skallagrim. "I wish I had met you under better circumstances."

Skallagrim nodded and held out his hand which Kerrass took. Skallagrim turned to his son. "Remember this my son. This is how men of honour meet and fight each other. Not with hate, but with respect. Whatever happens today, do not hate this man or the men that he represents. If I lose, if I die. Then you must embrace them as victors. For it proves that our Lord was wrong before the Gods and the ancestors. But do not hate, and do not seek vengeance. Swear it my son."

"I swear father."

"Then go and stand with your mother."

The lad ran off.

"If it comes to it Witcher." Skallagrim said more quietly. "Kill me quickly."

"Only if you promise the same."

Skallagrim nodded and we parted.

"What was that about." I wondered.

"He doesn't believe in the rightness of his cause." Kerrass told me. "He will still try and do his duty. But he thinks he deserves to lose."

"Fuck." I said after a moment. I had liked the man. But where Helfdan had asked Kerrass not to kill him, Ingimund had ordered differently so that Kerrass would be fighting for his life.

We got back to our side of the square where Svein and the crew was waiting along with some other people that I had not expected.

"Scribbler." Lord Dreng greeted me solemnly, offering his hand to be shaken.

"Lord Dreng," I was possibly a little more guarded than I needed to be. "Forgive me but..."

Dreng grinned at my discomfort and, for the first time, I wondered at Helfdan's parentage. It had honestly not really crossed my mind before. But as he grinned, I was struck by a similarity and resemblance between the two men. But then it was gone.

"You must be wondering why I'm here."

"Not really." I told him. "My guess is that if Skallagrim wins then you will be killed as a traitor. If Kerrass wins, you will survive."

"That is certainly the truth but it is likely that I will die regardless. Ingimund's cronies believe me a traitor now and I will never be trusted again. It is far more likely that I will be made clanless followed by knives in the dark. Even if your Witcher friend wins. Even though many in my clan believe I am right. Ingimund's poison has been working in our clan for too long. Since Brina before him as well. It is no longer the clan that my father told me stories of when I was younger.

"But further to that is the truth that I think Helfdan is in the right. And I wanted to tell you that I regret our first interaction and if it is true that I am to die tomorrow, then I would part without that on my mind."

I smiled and nodded. "Then you are forgiven."

"Then, should I survive, I would have you know that you have my gratitude. Call on me at any time and do not think of that as an empty gesture. I mean it. And if I die, then my children will uphold it too."

"I will remember. I take it we're talking about a bit more than buying me a pint the next time we are in a tavern together." The jest was awkward in my mouth but I felt that the man needed the gesture.

He laughed anyway. "Indeed, it's more of a "feeding you when you are starving" kind of thing." Then he sighed. "But it is a beautiful axe."

"It is at that."

"Was it lost with the..." His voice broke and he was forced to take a moment. "Was it lost with the Wave-Serpent?" His voice trembled at the name. "Gods and ancestors curse me for a fool but I miss that ship."

Kerrass had drawn his sword and was giving it some practice swings. He never does this as he knows exactly how heavy his sword is.

"No, I left it behind in the rooms."

"Any idea what you intend to do with it?" Dreng was watching Kerrass closely.

"I was looking for someone to give it to. Someone who deserved it and could live up to it's history." I told him, distracted by watching Skallagrim place his helm on his head.

"Was?" Prompted Dreng with a smile.

"I misspoke." I told him. "I am still looking but the search seems to have been overtaken with other concerns."

"You misspoke?" His voice betrayed it's scepticism. "Skelligans believe that weapons of storied past have a tendency to find their owners by themselves. That only those who the weapon chooses feel comfortable with it in their hands. That the weapon can be lost, break or injure a person who the weapon disapproves of."

"I have heard of such legends." I told him. Skallagrim was happy with his helm and the placement of his shield on his arm. He gestured for his son to bring him his sword.

"I think you should keep the axe." Dreng told me. "Keep it, learn to use it."

"Use it?" I wondered. "I can barely lift it."

He laughed again. I had not imagined him laughing so much. "Then the majority of my people would tell you to grow stronger. They would be right."

"Scribbler," Svein called me.

"Good luck." Dreng clapped me on the shoulder.

Svein pulled me into place next to him. "I did not expect that interaction." I mumbled.

"Dreng and Helfdan go way back. They were all but brothers at one stage. And neither of them forget that, even when Dreng hates him so much."

"Why does Dreng hate him?"

"You ever have a sibling that is better than you at everything you're supposed to be good at?"

I considered this. "Yes."

Svein laughed. "Of course you do. But are any of them younger than you? And male?"

We were prevented from further conversation as the royal Skald stepped forward. "This is the court of spears." He began and the crowd quietened down to hear. "This is the court of spears," he repeated. "It is the final test, the final choice and the final arbiter of all. When two men enter the court of spears then they stand before the Gods and the ancestors in order to be judged and it has proven to be fair and just more times than can easily be counted.

"Warriors of might and renown have fallen to shepherds with their sheep-crooks in the walls drawn by these spears. Skelligan law states that this is the final arbiter and the final choice. Once the court is concluded then guilt and innocence are decided.

In this case. If Jarl Ingimund's champion is victorious then Lord Helfdan will be guilty of levelling false accusation of the Jarl of Clan Tuirseach. Such matters carry the sentence of death and forever afterwards, any man who repeats these accusations will be declared liars and oathbreakers. For they will be breaking the laws of what it means to be Skelligan.

"If Lord Helfdan's champion is victorious. Jarl Ingimund will be guilty of consorting with foreign powers to subvert the will of the crown. He will also be guilty of oathbreaking in breaking his word to his vassals and the crown, treason in that he was actively sending his own vassals to subvert the will of the crown, fomenting rebellion in clans not his own, assassination of several foreign figures of our closest allies as well as murder, the destruction of property, cowardice and lying about these things to the Crown. Lord Helfdan has expressed that such matters are beyond his rights to punish and would ask the crown to stand in judgement should he be proved correct."

The crowd hissed at the sound of some of those crimes. I won't lie, hearing them all said aloud like that put them into stark relief. Any Lord that was accused of these kinds of things on the continent would be tortured to death, slowly. With breaks so that the guilty party could be healed in order to withstand more torture. Let alone what would happen should the old Emperor have had a chance to get his claws into the matter.

"The terms of the Court of Spears, as agreed by the heralds of both parties are as follows. Six spears by six spears, combatants choice of weapons and armour, a druid will stand by to watch for enchantments and both men's weapons will be inspected by same druid for enchantments and venoms."

There was some uncomfortable murmuring at the last. Lots of muttering about "grave insult"

"Jarl Ingimund has demanded that his champion slay his opponent." The Skald went on. "While Lord Helfdan has expressed a desire that his champion be merciful if possible."

There was more muttering at this although I could not tell which way the popular sentiment was going. Ingimund was sweating, standing next to the Queen while Helfdan seemed calm. I wondered about the symbolism of the entire thing before the Skald's voice took me out of it.

"As we have foreign visitors with us today." The Skald went on. "I would remind folk that although it is accepted that some noise is inevitable, cheering on your side is not acceptable. The matter is to be decided within the spears and outside influence cannot be permitted. If the Skalds feel that the noise is getting too much, then the combat will be halted until the noise dies down. Any attempt to purposefully delay or interrupt the combat by the use of this rule will result in summary judgement."

"What does that mean?" I wondered.

"It means," Svein told me, "that if we see Kerrass tiring and start jumping up and down to make too much noise so that the combat is halted for him to rest up. Then the Skalds will decide that we are trying to influence the result because we don't have faith in the rightness of our cause, and that Helfdan is guilty."

"Lovely."

"Warriors." The Skald gestured. Kerrass advanced with sword drawn in a low position. Skallagrim advanced, shield raised with sword resting on his shoulder.

Skallagrim was huge in his armour. He had been big before but now that he was armed and armoured I was left wondering if he was some kind of giant in disguise. I'm not saying that his sword was a two handed sword held in one hand. But it was easily as long as Kerrass' sword and Kerrass uses two hands on that thing as often as he holds it in one hand. Skallagrim's sword was much heavier and more brutal than Kerrass' razor blade.

And Skallagrim had a shield as well.

I took a deep breath.

"I know that there is a lot of feeling in this." The Skald told them. "But fight with honour."

They both nodded and then it began.

I have never seen a duel like it.

That is a bigger statement than it sounds. I have seen Kerrass fight on a one to one basis numerous times. In the vast majority of cases the opponent is overconfident, depending on their strength or the quality of their armour, a confidence that Kerrass rapidly disabuses them of. In some cases, Kerrass is made angry and toys with his prey, allowing them to think that they are getting the upper hand before he brutally and horribly disabuses them of that.

On the rare occasion that he is met by someone who is approaching his equal, or is his equal in skill and speed, then the fight is relatively slow, with occasional pauses as the two combatants test each other, probe for weaknesses before a flurry of violence and then the combatants part again with maybe a cut here or a bruise there.

And that is my experience of one on one dueling as well. Both as a participant but also having seen my brother train, or Sir Rickard or any of the other one on one fights that I have seen on training yards or in tourneys. The combatants come together slowly, they probe each other for a while before they start in earnest, trying moves and counter moves. Sooner or later, someone's move or counter works and someone else is dead.

To be clear. Fighting is different. Brawling is different. I have talked about that in the past so I'm not going to go into too much detail here. Dueling is a meeting of minds. Fighting is fury balanced with technique, terror and will to survive.

But neither is a dance. After all, if an opponent sees any kind of rhythm in your movements, then he can plan for it and you are dead.

Kerrass advanced with his sword held low.

Then Skallagrim started to move. The sword moved into a horizontal figure of eight at first, spinning and spinning but with a slow, ponderous nature of it. But all he was doing was picking up speed. Then the pattern changed into something simpler but at the same time, much more intricate.

Then he started to move forward, absolutely without hurry but with the same kind of inevitability as an avalanche. Kerrass stepped backwards, checked behind him to where the spears were and I thought I saw his eyebrows rise in surprise at the sight.

I remembered watching Ursa fight and although the two champions fought nothing alike, there was a similarity in the base of their styles. Ursa's technique was to move towards the opponent with a simplicity that spoke of much practice. With his hammer rising and falling with a relentless rhythm that could not be countered, could not be avoided.

Skallagrim also walked forward. But the pattern meant that you couldn't get near him.

The sword was huge, it was also heavy so the technique here was that to get close to Skallagrim, you had to step into the reach of that massive sword. And you still had to get past the huge man's shield and armour to cause any kind of injury. You had to do all of those things while knowing that that huge, brutal and heavy sword would come crashing down on you in moments.

Kerrass watched the pattern as Skallagrim advanced on him before darting in at a place where, presumably, he had found an opening.

Impossibly, Skallagrim's pattern changed, beating Kerrass' strike aside, forcing Kerrass to twist away to avoid the counter. Kerrass smiled and shook his head before the mask of concentration settled back over his face. And still Skallagrim advanced.

I had made a mistake. The herald of Clan Tuirseach had not wanted to limit Kerrass' movement and limit his fighting options. He had wanted to reduce the number of places that Kerrass could retreat to. That was how Skallagrim won his duels. He would begin his patterns and just march towards his opponent, the weight of the sword and the strength of the arm behind it battering away parries, blocks and counters as though they were nothing and then, when the opponent had run out of places to run and tricks to try, Skallagrim would just roll over him.

As I realised all of this, Kerrass tried a couple of things. I saw him try to parry the huge blade, striking at the blade in an effort to knock it aside. I don't think he expected this to work but it was one of this things that had to be tried anyway.

It didn't work. The weight of the Tuirseach champion's blade meant that the pattern was barely disrupted. Indeed, I heard the crowd gasp that the Witcher's blade was not shattered in the effort.

Then Kerrass tried to gauge how the pattern would shift depending on which direction he attacked from. The pattern always shifted. I came to realise that there actually several patterns hidden in the movements. I don't know how many but there was even a pattern for what he did when his attacker ducked under a stroke and came up behind him.

Kerrass had rolled under one of the broader strokes to come up behind Skallagrim's back but the Tuirseach man twisted his sword wrist in an odd way so that the blade forced his opponent back while the shield came round to protect his rear as his feet shifted back into place.

If a man had struck out at Skallagrim's back, then he would have been struck, either by the shield or the blade.

But Kerrass had expected this. He just wanted to see how it would work. He had rolled under the stroke and then backed off to watch what happened.

"He calls it the spinning blade." Svein told me. "No-one's ever found a way in. Ever. That he's so big and strong means that he can carry a heavier, thicker shield than most. So even the strongest who get in there and use their own shield to absorb the blows... They lose their own shield before Skallagrim's own shield even starts to splinter."

I said nothing. It was becoming clear that, to the Skelligans at least, Kerrass was the underdog and I began to feel concern.

I saw Kerrass nod. Then he darted in, leaping high with his sword raised.

The pattern shifted to meet him,

Kerrass shortened the jump to make the movement a feint before striking to the left in an attempt to strike at Skallagrim's weapon arm.

The pattern shifted again,

Kerrass dropped, ducking low with a blow that was barely off the ground. Huge, flat and under Skallagrim's shield, aiming at the big man's legs.

Skallagrim simply lifted that leg off the floor so that Kerrass' strike whistled underneath.

Kerrass continued the roll and came to his feet, swishing the sword from side to side with huge sweeps of his sword.

Skallagrim reset the pattern and continued to advance.

Kerrass grinned. Horribly.

"He's got it." I whispered savagely.

"What?" Svein growled, his voice thick with despair.

"Kerrass is going to win. He's not fighting a man, he's fighting a monster and he's got it."

I was right.

Kerrass ran in again, sliding across the floor, making his profile as small as he could, coming under the swing.

But before, he had gone under the weapons side, this time he went under the shield.

The pattern shifted, Skallagrim turned to face with the mirror of the last time Kerrass was behind him. Nimble Kerrass had come to his feet, slashing across Skallagrim's chest from the other direction. I don't think it would have hit but it did cause the pattern to shift again.

Then Kerrass presented his profile with a rising slash, presumably aiming for the groin.

The pattern shifted again, batting Kerrass' sword away,

Kerrass pirouetted away.

The pattern shifted.

But Kerrass hadn't pirouetted away. He had feinted in that direction but then he was closer, He reached out and pulled Skallagrim's shield out of his hand and shoulder checked the larger man.

And finally, the pattern faltered.

Kerrass had flipped his sword, holding the blade in his hands, he used the cross guard of the weapon as a hook and got it behind Skallagrim's ankle and pulled.

Skallagrim staggered, trying to restart the pattern. He did too but Kerrass was inside his reach now, working within Skallagrim's arms so that it looked as though the two men were all but wrestling.

The hook hadn't tripped Skallagrim, but he staggered.

Kerrass went with him, driving the pommel of his sword into the other man's helmet and then his chest driving the breath from the bigger man. Kerrass threw his shoulder into the champion of clan Tuirseach using his feet to trip the champion Skallagrim who fell backwards.

The crash was deafening.

Kerrass kicked Skallagrim's weapon arm, numbing it and making him let go of the sword. Another kick sent the sword skittering away. A third kick prevented Skallagrim from rising to his feet.

Then Kerrass, breathing hard, had his sword at the Champion's throat.

There was a tension in the moment before Skallagrim seemed to relax, his armour clattered with the tension leaving his body.

Kerrass looked up at the Skald.

The Skald ran over and knelt next to Skallagrim's head and there was some quiet words. Kerrass told me that the Skald was checking that the yielding was genuine and unforced. Then the Skald stood.

"The court of spears is over and finds in favour of Lord Helfdan."

There was a moment, just a moment, a pause almost before anyone responded. It was as though the entire crowd took a breath before they reacted.

With uproar. It was neither a cheer, nor was it some kind of massive outburst of outrage. It was... It was both, it was neither. It was...

As I say, it was uproar.

And the Queen was having none of it. She made a short, almost small gesture.

Hjalmar nodded. "GUARDS," He bellowed.

And all of those warriors of clan An Craite that had been seeded through the crowd drew their weapons. Spears were banged on the floor. Swords and axes crashed against shields and the crowd was abruptly silent.

"Well Jarl Ingimund?" Cerys' voice lashed forth and I almost staggered under the force of her fury. I was even more impressed by the Skelligan Queen than I was before. If she had been holding in that much for so long and still manage to disguise her mood?... Or was this the act?

I no longer knew.

"You have been found guilty." Cerys snarled. "Convicted by the highest court in the land. You have hidden behind the other legal niceties of our land and used your rank and position to hide behind better men than yourself while sending them to die at the hands of other men that are only doing their jobs. And you did it because you don't agree with the crown's decisions. You did it because you wanted to be a leader. You did it because you wanted to separate yourself from your brothers who were better men than you could even dream of being."

Ingimund looked as though it had been him that had been felled by Kerrass.

"If only you had had the courage to be loyal." Cerys growled. "So do you have anything to say before I have you taken away."

"I...I..." his hand shook as it rose to point at where Kerrass was helping the fallen champion Skallagrim to his feet. "He cheated." He began. "He cheated, using the tricks of his Witcher trade against my champion. It was a trick. He cheated."

"He did not." Ermion emerged from nearby. I had not seen him in the crowd. "We were watching. There was no force, no power and no chaos summoned or channelled. We had dampened the entire area and he would not have been able to even if he tried. He is only a Witcher after all. Outside magic would also have been detected. Will you call us liars? After all, in matters of magic, our word is law. Surpassing even the word of the Crown."

Ingimund had an answer ready.

"My champioin betrayed me. He..." his lip trembled. "He didn't fight properly."

"And that is part of the court of spears." Hjalmar stepped closer. Donar with him, Udalryk too.

"And I fought." Skallagrim gently pushed Kerrass away from himself and stood on his own, swaying gently. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat. "I fought as well as I ever have. The ancestors and the gods were with an Outlander over me. That his how much the Gods despise your actions. An Outlander beat me. An Outlander."

He spat at Ingimund's feet.

"I fought with everything I had. I deserve better than to be accused of treachery. I have served Clan Tuirseach as champion for a decade, just as my father did and my Grandfather before him. I deserve better than accusations. I deserve better than you. As does all of Clan Tuirseach for my worth. I fought and if I had won, you would now be crowing your victory. I notice that Lord Helfdan remains silent. I have no doubt as to the rightness of his cause."

Ingimund tried to find refuge in outrage.

"How dare you talk to me in such a way. I am your Jarl."

"No." Cerys anger had turned cold. "No you are not. Lord Helfdan has imposed no penalties and has stated that sentence should be passed by me according to the law in punishment for those crimes. I will consider this and sentence will be passed by nightfall but for now, I can at least give this gift to your clan. You are no longer Jarl. Lord Kjotvi?"

A thicker more heavy-set man stepped out from the mass of men that were wearing Clan Tuirseach colours. He looked as though he had bitten into something sour and too salty. "Majesty?"

"You will act as regent until I decide who is to fulfil the role of Jarl."

The man swallowed. "I am not of the blood."

"Which is why you are being chosen as regent. Your ambition will not get in the way of doing a good job and you will be motivated to ensure that the clan is in as good a shape as it can be when the new Jarl takes up their position."

"Yes Majesty."

"Good." She turned. "Jarl An Craite?"

"Majesty?" Hjalmar shouted.

"Take this wretch." She gestured at Ingimund. "From my sight."

"With pleasure."

The Queen stalked off, her guard falling in around her. Warriors of Clan An Craite fell in around Ingimund who tried to struggle at first, he called out to his clan to come and defend him...

Thus inciting rebellion but that seemed a little superfluous by this point.

…. but they didn't seem to want to look at him.

Helfdan walked over to where Kerrass was standing. I got there first as more than one man had intercepted Helfdan to shake his hand and offer congratulations.

"You alright?" I asked.

"A few bruises but I'm alright."

"Lord Skallagrim." I greeted the approaching champion, warning Kerrass of the presence of the big man.

"Well Witcher," The Skelligan was even bigger now that he was towering over me. "That was astonishing. No hard feelings?" He held his hand out.

Kerrass took it. "No hard feelings my friend. And just to be clear, I have fought better, but not many and none now living."

"I will take that." The big man rubbed the back of his head ruefully. "Is there any chance you could tell me how you did it? No-one has ever gotten past my blades without being hurt unless with a spear and those spears rarely survive contact with Dragon's fang."

It took me a moment to realise that he was referring to his sword.

"It is a matter of thinking." Kerrass told him. "Don't take it too much to heart. Men think of the warriors that they face as being men carrying weapons. They don't see the whole thing. I looked at you, your shield, your armour and your sword as one entity."

"My father taught me to think of my shield as an extension of my body and to think of my sword as an extension of my arm."

"And your father was correct." Kerrass gave him a smile. "But when we face other men, we don't take in the fact that they also think of their swords as extensions of their arms."

Skallagrim smiled in realisation.

"I was looking at the whole of you." Kerrass told him. "I am a Witcher, I treated the entire thing as a Monster and looked for the weak point."

Skallagrim's smile widened. "So where was the weak point."

Kerrass grinned. "I'm not sure I should tell you."

Skallagrim laughed.

"You have, what, nine patterns?" Kerrass asked.

Skallagrim nodded "Ten actually. The tenth is for if someone jumps at me from higher ground above me."

"Which I never did."

"Which you never did as such a ploy always results in my enemies death. They also all have variants for facing different weapons."

Kerrass nodded. "But you always reset to the first pattern and when you do reset, it's always the same movements. So the patterns themselves are random, chaotic and impossible to decipher unless you stand still and watch. Which you don't allow, you advance, removing the luxury of being able to study you as an opponent. You can move between the first four patterns easily but when it comes to moving back to pattern one. You always do it the same way. Leaving yourself vulnerable."

Skallagrim nodded thoughtfully. "I will think on what you said. Lord Helfdan?"

Helfdan nodded at the champion of Clan Tuirseach. "Witcher." Helfdan began before shaking his head. "Kerrass I should say. Thank you." he held his hand out which Kerrass took carefully.

Skallagrim's face darkened for a moment before a memory seemed to chase the grimace away, then he nodded and waited until the handshake finished before speaking again.

"Lord Helfdan." He began, waiting until Helfdan turned back to him. "I hope that there is no hard feelings here."

Helfdan stared at the bigger man's chest for a few long moments. I realised that he was sweating. "Not on my end Skallagrim."

He did not offer his hand though.

The silence dragged. "May I shake your hand Lord Helfdan?"

Helfdan frowned in puzzlement. "Why would you want to?"

Skallagrim's face creased in confusion. "It would... I don't know, it would make me feel better. A gesture to let each other know that there are no hard feelings."

"But I have just told you that there are none. Why do you need the confirmation?"

Skallagrim gave up and laughed. "You haven't changed Lord." He told Helfdan. "Well, I had better go and see if Lord Kjotvi will tolerate my failure."

He said it jovially and I guessed that it was an exaggeration.

"Are you in danger?" Helfdan's voice was suddenly filled with concern, much to Skallagrim's surprise.

"I don't think so. Not from Kjotvi. He's a good man, loyal and unimaginative. But Ingimund has, or had friends that will lose power and influence. They might seek vengeance. Also, what do you do with a champion that has lost?" He shrugged. "A lot will depend on who the next Jarl is."

Helfdan nodded. "If you are cast out, your oath revoked or if you or your family are in danger, then I would offer you refuge. My champion died recently and I could do with a new one."

Skallagrim's face creased in his own confusion. "But, I just lost to your champion."

"Kerrass will not be with me for much longer. He is a temporary member of my crew but he and Lord Frederick will be moving on soon. The offer is there anyway."

"My oath binds me." Skallagrim told him.

"As it should."

"But should any of the things that you mention come to pass, then I will remember what you said. I might not be able to be your champion, but I could help train your next one at least."

He left.

"A good man that." Kerrass said, watching the big man's back as he moved towards where clan Tuirseach were gathering.

"He used to pick me up and throw me into the mud." Helfdan told us. "If there was no mud, he would look for dung. If there was neither, he would fetch water to turn earth into mud and then laugh as I would be punished and flogged by the priests for coming back with dirt on my clothes."

He sighed.

"The Queen is beckoning for me. Guard your back Witcher. Skallagrim is not incorrect, there are men that might seek vengeance for your victory today. Stay close to Svein and the others."

Kerrass nodded.

We went back into the company of our fellows. I noticed that the Jarls and Cerys' advisers vanished from view, taking Helfdan with them as we all returned to the hall. The weather was odd in that the snow and ice was still settling on the castle walls and courtyards but the sun was out now and it was still the sun of late summer. So the ice and the snow was melting and a layer of steam and mist was coming off the ice and snow which leant the entire feeling of the place a kind of aura of muggy mystery. I know that that makes no sense but this was a nation that was coming out of a magical period of weather patterns clashing. Svein told me that part of the thaw would involve heavy thunder and rain storms which was also why we couldn't really leave yet.

We retreated indoors. The Skelligans were absorbed with the combat that they had just seen. As I listened, it seemed as though Kerrass had punctured an aura of invincibility that had existed around Skallagrim for some time. There was an air of "I knew it could be done," and "I think I saw what the Witcher did, I reckon I could take him next time," and other such nonsense. Kerrass was monopolised by these men and he was soon having drinks brought for him as well as women throwing themselves at him. This kind of thing is not unusual at the end of a job and it worked the same way.

Svein was a lot more scornful about the sentiments being expressed by the people who now thought that Skallagrim would be easily beatable.

"He will need to recover his confidence." He told me, "but Skallagrim has a good decade of being a champion ahead of him barring illness or accident. Kerrass out thought him but Skallagrim will soon make some adjustments and close that hole in his armour."

We spoke for a while and I had my own share of admirers that came to congratulate me on my part of the duel. It seems that a number of people credited me with a great deal of cunning in being able to negotiate the terms so that Skallagrim could be properly destroyed.

I was caught. On the one hand, the post-action malaise was still in my system as well as the reaction from the days politics and duelling. I desperately wanted to find somewhere quiet to sit and think about all of this. But I also wanted to hear sentence being passed on Ingimund and didn't want to miss that so I daren't leave the courtroom under any circumstances.

The Queen and her council finally emerged and the courtroom settled down quickly. I was not the only person that was waiting to hear what would be decided. The Jarls filed in, stony faces hiding what they were thinking. Ermion emerged as well, along with Ciri , lord Voorhis and the cluster of Skalds with Helfdan skulking along uncomfortably at the rear. Not that he had much choice on the matter but he rather had the appearance of looking alone and isolated as he came out into the torch-light. He made to come over and stand with his men at first before Hjalmar, smiling gently, came over and steered Helfdan to be standing next to him as the Queen spoke.

"First of all," The Queen began. "Friends gathered here now. I must apologise." She smiled a little sadly. "I had wanted this day to be a time of celebration and I had possibly rushed along a little too quickly, spreading the salve over the injury before the injury had been properly treated, so to speak. I consider myself properly rebuked by the result of the Court of Spears that we have all just witnessed. I would reassure you all that when this matter is attended to, the revelry will recommence on the morrow with the first contests to decide the new Jarl who will found a new clan.

"But this matter is not yet done and I beg your indulgence while I take some time to see the matter finished."

There was some rumbling of understanding and agreement around the room.

"First of all, it has come to our attention that Lord Rymer and Lord Finnvald were not the only people that were hunting for the Wave-Serpent under the orders, promises and bribes of the former Jarl of Clan Tuirseach. These men, all of you, should have known better, all of you should have understood that those actions were treasonous and all of you should have had the courage to stand up to your Lord and counter his treasonous excesses. The protests of Lord Dreng come a little late although we are grateful to him that his protests arrived after all."

A few people jeered at the men of Clan Tuirseach who shifted uncomfortably and with a little discomfort.

"But those of you who are crowing your superiority over the men of Clan Tuirseach, they were not the only ones that sailed under the promise of land, title and riches. Those of you, and I know that you can hear my voice, that sailed against the Wave-Serpent for personal reasons or under the auspices of Ingimund, you are more guilty than those Captains of Clan Tuirseach. They, at least, were following the orders of their Lords. The rest of you were feeding your own ambitions and that is a worse crime in my eyes.

"I have spoken with the other Jarls and they share my sentiment. Regardless of what you think of Lord Helfdan, he was sailing for the crown itself and if you sailed, intending to attack him, then you too were committing treason. Your only hope of salvation is to throw yourself on the mercy of the Jarl to whom you owe your allegiance. For if you are found out to have lied afterwards and tried to conceal your involvement in this, then I will wipe out your entire line. You will watch as your wives and children are broken before you, yourselves will be exposed to die on the rocks."

There was some more muttering in the crowd and some significant exchanged looks. I wondered if anyone was taking note of any of these shifting glances. I would have been if I had been in charge of this courtroom.

"As it is, our friend and ally, Empress Cirilla of Nilfgaard, has pledged to hand over those Nilgaardian traitors so that they may be punished at our hands. So it is with no small pleasure that I announce the seizure of all goods and warehouses currently operated by the Merchant house (Freddie's note: name removed at request of Imperial parties to prevent guilty parties being warned.). Those merchant ships of theirs that are still in Skellige will be seized and raised to the waterline. Any person of that company, after being questioned by the Imperial Guard as to the nature of their treason against the Imperial throne, will be taken to the site of the Wave-Serpent's death where they will be crucified. Their rib-cages will be opened and their entrails will be left for the crows. And may their screams go through to the next world where better men fought and died at the hands of treachery.

"The Mage that we have under current guard will be hung from the bridge over the harbour in a cage. His tongue will be removed, his teeth will be shattered and his jaw will be broken. Dimertium spikes will be driven through his hands and his feet. He will be fed on a daily basis until exposure and the attention of crows render him lifeless wherein he will be buried in an unmarked grave."

For those of you that might be thinking that this is all a bit extreme. Well... it is. But it's certainly no worse than what some of the Northern Kingdom monarchs did to people that disagree with them. If you want to read about real cruelty for the sake of cruelty, then read about some of the things that the Church of the Eternal Fire did to people who were "suspected" of even speaking to magic users without reporting it during the terror of the last years of Radovid's rule.

Some others could even argue that two wrongs do not make a right and you would be correct. But fear of consequences is a tool of use by monarchs the continent over and that is not going to change any time soon. At least folk don't actively get off on the torture as Radovid was rumoured to do.

"Regarding Clan Tuirseach," Cerys went on. "Lord Helfdan, who is the injured and righteous party in this matter has denied any blood-price that we might have offered. He has stated that he remembers Clan Tuirseach with some fondness..."

Svein snorted at that.

"... and restated the common phrase that "when Tuirseach falls, so falls Skellige" and insists that he only wanted to see the right people punished for the crimes that have been committed."

There was some more muttering from the hall. Seemingly in approval but I wondered at this. Sometimes, pity or mercy can be seen as a weakness in courtly situations and I wondered if someone might take advantage of that in the long term.

"So," Cerys nodded and one of the guards knocked on the door that led deeper into the castle. The Door opened and Ingimund emerged.

It is a little redundant to say that he looked awful. He was stripped of all armour, weaponry and outright wealth. He was dressed in a plain pair of trousers that looked to be made from a set of sack-cloth and a torn under-shirt. He seemed smaller and frailer. When he had been wearing all his arms and armour, it was easy to forget that he was no longer a young man. His elder brother had gone to hunt a bear with a dagger, just a few years earlier. He was blinking in disbelief.

Those of you that have seen public executions before will know what I'm talking about. He had the look of someone who couldn't believe what was happening to him. It all seemed unreal and far away to him now. I could understand that. That morning he had been one of the most powerful men in the islands and now he was about to be sentenced for treason. I had no idea what the punishment for that kind of thing was in Skellige but I can't have imagined that it would be easy or kind. Treason is the worst of crimes after all and it's the kind of thing where you have to win, or take the consequences.

He was dragged in front of the Queen and made to kneel by the application of a spear to the back of the knees.

"Ingimund." Cerys began. "You have been fond guilty by the highest court that is known to the laws of Skellige. Even Kings have bowed to the court of Spears before now as the court of spears is the final judgement of the Gods and the Ancestors. Your loss and failure in that court is plain before all and now it falls me to pass sentence.

"You have done your best to foment rebellion and unrest amongst my people, you have betrayed your countrymen to foreign powers. You have murdered and ordered the murders of men that deserve better than what they received at your hands. If Lord Helfdan had demanded Were-guild for those losses and the crimes that were committed against him, then it would bleed Clan Tuirseach dry and when all of your followers lived in squalor and poverty, still the cost would only be a fraction of what was owed. So you betrayed your clan as well. And that is unforgivable.

"You were given the Jarldom of Clan Tuirseach in an effort to right the ship. To bring the clan forward, back into prominence after the depredations of Queen Birna Bran. You have failed in that utterly. At least her decisions were based on a genuine desire to change the islands for what she believed to be the better course as she broke traditions and laws left and right. So now, you must bear the brunt of this."

"You break traditions all the time." Ingimund found some of his fight. "I was trying to preserve them."

"I wish I could believe that." The Queen told him. "I wish I could believe that your sentiments were truly meant. But I just don't believe that. I believe that you wanted to distinguish yourself from your brothers. I think you have looked up at King Bran and King Eist and I think that you envied them. I think you wanted your name to be spoken along side theirs in awe. And with the fall of Clan Drummond you thought you had found yourself a position as the leader of the Traditionalist faction. You thought that this would rally men to your banner and to your cause and then, when it didn't you were angry, alone and horrified to realise that you had outstretched yourself.

"And at the very end of things. When the gods and the ancestors had sided against you. You accuse the Druid's of partisanship, the Skald's of bias and your own chosen champion of cowardice and treachery. Then, when all was said and done. What you had previously done in the shadows you did in the open. You tried to incite Clan Tuirseach to open Rebellion."

Ingimund said nothing to this. Whether through arrogance, shock or final, horrible defeat, I do not know.

"Does anyone have anything to say on this man's behalf before sentence is passed?" Cerys asked.

"Yes. I do." The voice echoed in the hall.

Helfdan stepped forward to the groaning astonishment of the crowd.

"I have every reason to hate Ingimund." Helfdan said when the crowd had quieted. "And I do. I despise him. The punishment for treason is death, there is no getting around that. But what this has shown, to my eyes at least, is the great chasm that exists in the islands. Although I cannot claim that Clan Tuirseach is the clan of my birth. It was the clan that saw to my care when I was young. It was a Lord of Clan Tuirseach that first took me to sea and it was Clan Tuirseach's banner that I first sailed under and fought for. Clan Tuirseach is still great despite the actions of their former Lord and they should be allowed to heal from the hurt that has been done to it.

"If Ingimund must die, and I think he should, then he should be killed and quickly so that the clan that he used to lead and represent be allowed to move on with their lives and begin to rebuild."

He was addressing the crowd more than speaking to the Queen. Then he turned and spoke to her directly.

"I am supposed to be using this time to speak in the cause of mercy. So I ask for that. For Clan Tuirseach, if not for the wretch before you. I will happily wield the blade myself."

Cerys looked at Helfdan, her eyes boring into his face. He hadn't lifted his eyes during the speech though. He was still staring at the floor. I cursed myself for my cynical Redanian soul as I caught myself wondering if someone had written that speech for Helfdan.

"See Ingimund." The Queen said, not taking her eyes of Helfdan. "The man you tried to have murdered. The man you sold out to foreigners is representing your clan better than you are. Fighting for your clan more than you did. He pleads for your mercy. You should be grateful to him. As am I, for his example before all."

Then she looked back at Ingimund and her eyes were daggers.

"But now I must disagree with him. Treachery, treason, both against the crown and the clan that you were supposed to lead. Oathbreaking of the worst order must be seen to be punished so that there can be no doubt as to the punishment for those crimes.

"Ingimund. You will be taken from this place and your tongue will be removed so that you will be unable to incite further crimes. Then you will be taken from village to village. From island to island. You will be taken between hamlets, cottages and shepherd's huts where you will be tied to a post or into the docks and every passing man, woman or child will be encouraged and allowed to do what they will. They will be provided with every whip, flail, cane, stick, brand, poker or needle that they desire in order to extract their wrath upon you. The only thing that they will be prevented from doing will be to kill you. You will be attended by healers and guards to prevent your onrush to death and if it be required, you will be fed and allowed to rest in order for you to be able to finish your journey.

"At the last, you will be taken to the heights of Clan Tuirseach's former keep where you will be finally be allowed to die in an agony of torment. What is left of you will be spread out to the elements. Your skin and flesh will be flayed from your nerves, bones and veins and still you will not be allowed to die. Then we shall set about removing what remains of your limbs, cauterizing injuries as we go so that you will still be alive when you are just a howling torso. Then you will be disembowled and one by one your insides will be removed and left out for the carrion to be taken away to feed beasts and animals.

"At the last, your heart shall be removed and it, along with your head will be paraded back through the islands in a reverse of your original journey until it comes to it's final resting place on the same shore where the Wave-Serpent died. If the ancestors still want you after all that you have done. You will go to meet them then."

That no-one protested this punishment was telling.

Ingimund was in shock as he was taken away, saying nothing and stumbling along.

"As for Clan Tuirseach." Cerys allowed herself to thaw a little. "Clan Tuirseach has been unlucky in it's Lords. After the death of Bran, only one of your Jarls has shown any back-bone and integrity. Even as he knew it would condemn him to exile and hardship, he stood in witness against his mother. Therefore it is the order of this court that messages be sent to recall Svanrige from Exile in order to take up his father's seat as Jarl of Clan Tuirseach."

She grinned as more than one man cheered from among the gathered warriors of Tuirseach.

"His exile was enacted before I took the throne. I remember Svanrige with some fondness and other than his misfortune to be born to such a mother, I remember a good and decent man. He will need your help to reforge Tuirseach into what the clan used to represent. Will he have it?"

The crowd roared.

I didn't stay to hear much more.

I took a jug of mead off to my room in an effort to get some rest ahead of what promised to be a busy day on the morning, or at least, that's what I told everyone. The truth though was that I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Unfortunately for me, being alone with my thoughts meant that I was getting all angry and frustrated again so I was unable to actually stay still. I took to pacing in my room and after a while, the room no longer seemed big enough.

Ariadne was busy with some kind of business, I thought it was something to do with the Lodge of Sorceresses and I found that I didn't want to intrude so instead, I went wandering. I went out into the courtyard and along until I came to a stair that took me out over the cliffs and on towards the lip over the entrance to the harbour.

It was strange out there. The ice was melting and you could hear it crack and groan as it began to move and be battered by the water underneath the ice. The mist was getting worse but that was beneath me and the path was clearly defined so I had little concern that I would be able to make it back and logic told me that I wouldn't be able to go much further anyway.

Eventually I came to the end of the walkway. In a plinth there was a great mouth-piece for a horn and I realised that I had taken the path that led to where men would wait for the Skeleton Ship to arrive. There was a fire basket there that someone had lit, rather redundantly as the air was no longer cold, and I sat on the bench to look out over the harbour and watch the roiling mist.

It was oddly hypnotic, listening to the sound of the ocean beneath the ice. Hypnotic and soporific meaning that I didn't hear Hjalmar until he was almost on top of me.

"Scribbler." He greeted me. "Svein told me that you had gone of in a snit."

"Or something similar." I admitted.

He took the mead skin out of my hand and drank a generous amount, the mead running down his chin and dripping into his beard.

"What's got hold of your balls Scribbler?" He laughed at the comment but I could tell that he was being sincere.

"I took a deep breath, still trying to order my thoughts.

"I do believe that I love Skellige." I told him. "I love the people and I love the traditions, the clothing, the honesty, the tales and the music. I like the strength of the people and the beauty of the land. Back on the continent I have... Not very many friends now that I think about it. Maybe half a dozen, not counting family or relatives."

"That's a good number." Hjalmar passed the skin back and I took a swallow. "Most count themselves lucky if they have three or four."

"That's the point though. I have met many many people over the years. And yet I have relatively few friends. Lots of acquaintances. Lots of men and women that I would stand a drink for in the tavern but relatively few friends. I come here and I feel... I feel accepted. I feel... welcome. There are men here that I would die for and, more crucially, feel as though they would die for me. None of my friends on the continent would do that. They would go to their families and preserve themselves and nor would they be wrong to do so. Here, people would call my friends on the continent cowards."

Hjalmar said nothing to that. He just took the mead back "If you're not going to drink it," he muttered.

"It will not surprise you to learn," I began, "That I was bullied when I was younger. Too gawky, not as talented at being physical as I wanted to be, not as good at swords as my brother. And so on and so on. Here, people come out with similar lines, you call me Scribbler but instead of it being offensive, I find I begin to like it. Just as I hate being called Freddie, but from Kerrass it feels like a mark of respect and from Ariadne it feels..."

"Like she's licking your dick while she says your name?"

I blushed and he laughed at me.

"That's my point though." I said as I finished laughing at myself. "On the continent, if someone had said that, I would have punched them in the face. Or more likely, I would have walked away to avoid confrontation. But here it's funny. Here... It's almost."

"Here we mock you because we respect you." Hjalmar said. "We mock you because we like you. Being able to laugh at yourself and see the stupidity of it all is important to us. It has to be. Because it's ridiculous otherwise."

"I know."

I sighed and I snatched the mead back. He shrugged and produced a flask.

"What's getting to you Scribbler."

"How much of that today was planned in advance?" I asked. "All day I have felt that I have been taking part in a dance, or a play. Do you know what a play is you backwards, inbred piece of barbarian filth?"

"See." Hjalmar grinned happily. "You do understand how to trade insults and boast. Fun isn't it."

"Yes. But all day I have felt like a puppet dancing to someone else's tune. Cerys' maybe. Ciri. Or even Helfdan."

"Scribbler. I have been to court on the continent and very quickly I learned to keep my mouth shut because I, a backwards, inbred piece of barbarian filth, would get trampled. That's how courts work."

"Yes it is." I admitted. "But I had expected better here. I had expected more..." I struggled for the words.

"Honesty?"

"Yes."

Hjalmar offered me his flask and I took a swallow.

I would have been better taking a cautious sip. Hjalmar clapped me on the back as I struggled to keep from choking.

"You are right of course." He told me after I had managed to gulp down several deep breaths. "I remember having a similar fight with my father when I realised what was happening behind closed doors at court. When I realised that every time that he and King Bran had a fight in public, it was so that they could be seen to have a fight. When I knew that the outcome of the argument was already decided."

He sighed and took the flask back.

"He was always telling me that I would be Jarl or I would be King. After the massacre at the bloody feast, when it became clear that the choices for the crown were really Cerys or myself rather than allowing Birna to rule through her son. He took us both aside and told us that we would have to be close together. So close that we could tear each others eyes out in public and still love each other enough to decide who's eyes would be on the floor. Cerys accepted it quickly but she was always brighter than me. I would have made a terrible King. Especially after Ciri ascended the throne, I would have led the longships against my childhood friend and she would have destroyed us. Lucky escape really.

"But I remember raging at my father that I would build a better court. A fairer and more honest court. Do you know what he told me?"

"I think so but this is your story."

"See Scribbler," he clapped me on the back happily. "You belong here really. He told me that he had said the same thing to his father and King Eist when he was going off to try and marry Princess Pavetta of Cintra. He told me that he had raged the same way and insisted that he didn't need his marriage arranging for him. That he would rule fairly and justly and would always tell the truth."

"And I bet his father promised himself the same thing too."

"Correct. My father told me the truth that night. He told both of us the truth. He said that Skelligans believe in honour and honesty and pride and valour. We love each other and our lands and we expect the best of each other and our wrath when that trust is betrayed is awful. We hold ourselves to a high standard. An impossibly high standard. And because we're the hardest, fiercest, nastiest fighters that the world has seen in hundreds of years, no-one has shown us the truth."

"Which is?" I knew he wanted the prompt.

"That another word for all of that, all of those rules that we live with. The truth is that we are a naïve people. It's like... I read your works on Toussaint. You said that no-one bothers to invade and conquer because it will be more trouble than it's worth. Therefore they have the luxury of believing in all of their absurd codes of chivalry and things."

"Yes. They are intermarried to the Nth degree and any invasion would mean that the wine would stop flowing."

"Well it's the same thing here. Any invader would be made to pay an awful price in blood and pain. Then we would fight them for years afterwards, we would continue to make them bleed for it. Nations, all over the North and South have considered it. Redania, Cidaris, Temeria, Cintra... Cintra married us instead but it's true. Invading us is not cost-effective. So we have the luxury of believing in honour and loyalty and the like.

"But the other danger is that men like Ingimund."

Hjalmar spat over the wall into the mist. "Men like Ingimund can see the naivete for what it is. They look at the laws and they find ways around it and twist it to suit their own ends. So Skellige must be defended from men like that as too often, those men work their way to the top of their clan. Sometimes we get lucky. Holger is a man like that as well, but his saving grace is that, despite all his nastiness, bloodthirstyness and the rest. He actually loves Skellige. If we were invaded, his pirate fleet would fight to defend it."

I didn't say anything. I knew that Hjalmar was more intelligent than he liked to let on but this was something of a revelation.

"Men like Ingimund are weeds that need to be torn out and destroyed."

"So you destroyed him."

"Yes. We really did hope that he would be able to step up and save Clan Tuirseach in the aftermath of the attack by the wraiths of morhogg, but... He was born of a concubine and never got the proper education that a Jarl's son needed. But he was still of the line of champions so he got the job. But the success of his older brothers made him bitter. He hated Cerys and her reforms as he saw it as further evidence that we were weakening Clan Tuirseach when all we wanted to do was for Clan Tuirseach to step up. As it was meant to be."

"So you wound him up this morning. Before you all came out."

"Yes. Helfdan was primed. He was willing, he always is when it's for the clan, for Skellige and for my sister. Anything she asks and he will give it. Gods..."

He laughed.

"I once asked my Skald what I should do about Helfdan's love for my sister and the Skald laughed. "Let him marry her." He said. "He will eventually you know. He will find a way." I made some jokes and then he got serious. "Whatever happens though," the Skald told me. "Don't give Helfdan one of those ridiculous, impossible quests. Like that he must sail to the impossible place and bring back the lightening, then he must kill the great beast of tum-te-tum before sailing into the mouth of our enemy and bringing back his prize possession. Because he will go away and come back in a year with everything that you asked for." I remember laughing at the time but after seeing what you lot got up to this time. Making peace with the ice giants, speaking with the Vodyanoi, defeating ten times his number before boarding the Skeleton Ship. She would be as good as married if I set him an impossible task."

I laughed with him.

"But Helfdan was angry anyway and he is another man who sees past Skelligan honour and sees it for what it really is. I think that's why so many people hate him. He sees us all for what we are rather than what we tell the world we are."

"Including you."

"Yes, Including me. But I would be terrified if he sailed for anyone else. And like Holger, he loves Skellige too."

"I don't think it's Skellige." I told him. "Nor do I think it's the Queen, not entirely though."

"Oh?"

"I think he likes the concept of honour. I think he believes in that and loves that ideal. He would die for you, even though you hate him."

"There is truth in that. But he was going to press forward against Ingimund anyway. Cerys was furious, we couldn't prove that Ingimund was guilty so I had to restrain her, bodily from walking into court and cutting his head off. Ciri talked her down as well. But we came up with the scheme, the problem was that Skallagrim is a truly terrifying champion. We knew that we needed to push it and have it over with today, or people would move on and forget. The new Jarldom needed to be founded anyway and that would distract everyone from what had happened. So the matter needed deciding immediately. Helfdan was confident that Kerrass would fight for him and could beat Skallagrim. Ciri agreed that if anyone could find a way past Skallagrim's patterns then it would be a trained Witcher and that was that.

"We wound Ingimund up. Got him angry as everyone, even those in the know, showered Cerys and Helfdan with praise until Ingimund was almost purple with the rage and injustice of it. Helfdan was prepared and then you saw it play out."

"I hate this." I told him. "Skellige should be better than this."

"Yes it should. I absolutely agree. But if we didn't do things like this. We would be vulnerable to men with your skills coming to us from the continent. Admit it, you could run rings round us here and I bet that you would agree that you're not even that good a courtier."

I grimaced before nodding.

"Did you feel this way when you saw behind the curtain of Toussaint?" He wondered, rescuing the flask from my limp hands.

"No." I told him. "No I didn't. But I was an outsider in Toussaint. I was never accepted in Toussaint. Toussaint is more of a cartoon than Skellige is. Here I was swept up in it all."

Hjalmar nodded and we sat in silence for a while before he slapped me on the knee. "Come on. Helfdan was asking for you. I think he wants to get drunk and a drunk Helfdan is always a fun sight to see."

His humour caught mine and I laughed, climbing to my feet. Astonished to realise how unsteady I was. Skelligan mead is strong stuff.

A thought occurred as we walked back to the keep. "Hang on. You have all decided who the new Jarl is going to be already haven't you?"

"You want the job?"

"Flame yes."

"Well you can't have it. Outsider scum like you."

"So who's it going to be?"

Hjalmar grinned.