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

114. Chapter 114

(A/N: The last six weeks have been less than entirely awesome in my little corner of the world. My laptop breaking, an unexpected house move, lack of internet and many others have meant that I have not been able to update as much as I would like.

First world problems I know, but still...)

So this is actually the first of two chapters that are ready. The second will go up when it's done being edited. Either later today or tomorrow when things have settle down. Which will also bring the Skelligan arc to a close. Thank you for your patience and I will hope that regular service will soon restart.)

We got drunk that night. I mean, why wouldn't we?

There were still various formalities to go through, a few announcements and pronouncements were made, because it had been made legally apparent that Captain Rymer was indeed following the orders of his Jarl rather than acting on his own behalf, his legal position was made clear. He was still guilty of sailing against the crown, but he did so in ignorance. He had been led to believe that he was destroying a rival and had no idea that Helfdan and the Wave-Serpent were sailing under orders from the Queen.

A few people complained about this but several people came forward to testify that Rymer had been elsewhere, other than the court at Kaer Trolde when the mission had set out and that therefore, his orders were received at the hands of a messenger bird.

So he was let off the hook. He was still in limbo a little bit as a number of the men of Clan Tuirseach blamed him for the beginning of their downfall. He laughed at this and shrugged. Much to my surprise, I had begun to find that I quite liked Rymer, he laughed often and at himself as often as he laughed at other people. His humour was a little sharper than I was entirely comfortable with, but he seemed to fit in well. He, and the other men of his crew, bought the survivors of the Wave-Serpent a barrel of ale and it was actually surprisingly good.

Ciri had a bit of business to attend to. She formally requested an ambassador to be sent to the Imperial Court in order to be able to properly represent Skellige in the City of the Golden Towers. Someone did joke as to whether said ambassador would be there in an effort to act as a hostage so that no-one could sack it again?

Ciri laughed and pointed out that she was also in need of a new Admiral of the Imperial Navy if the Joker wanted a job.

There was some gasping at that although I noticed a quiet smile on the face of Lord Voorhis and wondered if there was some Imperial Machinations going on there.

Regardless, after that declaration had been made, The Empress declared that she would be leaving the Islands to return to Nilfgaard after the thaw and until that time, she considered her business in Skellige done. Then she, jokingly, wondered if she could go back to being Ciri the Swallow again for a few days before she had to go. The crowd laughed at her wheedling tone before Ciri sighed in comical and theatrical relief, before slumping into a seat next to Helfdan and downing a tankard of ale in a single mouthful to the cheering of the crowd. As our table was mostly empty, Lord Voorhis joined us and was somewhat bemused when Svein challenged him to an arm-wrestling contest.

And Lost.

Sometimes, Svein is much cannier in the courtroom than he lets on. Either that or it was that moment before hand when Helfdan whispered something in his ear. But Svein had grinned at that and I can't imagine he's the kind of man that would like losing.

The gentle company of my friends, pressure from Ciri, dry witticisms from lord Voorhis and a steady supply of food and alcohol did a lot to lift my mood and the party was soon in full swing.

Which was how I came to partake in one of the remaining Skelligan traditions. Namely, waking up after passing out in the feasting hall.

It was not as bad as I thought it was going to be in all honesty. It is entirely possible that I was still drunk when I finally realised why the pillow under my head was unaccountably hard on the side of my face, namely that it was the table, and I remain grateful that I woke up before Svein did. Otherwise there would be some less than entirely savoury rumours being spread about us.

And we could no longer claim the excuse that we were huddling together for warmth. Having said that, it should also be pointed out in this juncture that Svein seems to prefer being the little spoon.

But that meant that I was able to get something to eat, change, bathe and otherwise be in a much better state for the first of the arrivals that took place that morning. It might have been a little bit cruel to leave Svein in that position for when his wife arrived. But I claim drunkenness and also vengeance for the occasional small indignities that I have suffered at his hands over the time that I have spent in his company.

The hall woke slowly though. Even the Thralls that brought me food, tea and a legendary hangover cure that could probably knock a Witcher off their feet, were looking a bit bleary eyed that morning. It would seem that Jarl Hjalmar, who had also not made it to his bed that night and was lying behind a bench in a pile of various limbs, was willing to allow for the fact that even the Thralls might have enjoyed a bit of the celebrations the previous night.

It was certainly a morning of gentle movements. Slow grimaces and moving so that we weren't sitting in the direct sunlight that was spilling from the windows higher up in the hall. Thralls moved around, carefully stepping between limbs and climbing over revellers. Somewhere, a minstrel was gently plucking away at a Harp in a way that was oddly soothing leaving me wondering whether or not that poor man had been playing all evening.

Then I saw the mostly naked woman that was in his lap, nestled into his neck and decided that he was probably alright.

"So that was a proper Skelligan party." I said to Helfdan who had clearly had the foresight to go to bed a little earlier than the rest of us. And Of course, he was up, shaved, bathed and dressed before everyone else could move around.

Helfdan seemed surprised. "It's close to one. Or rather, as close as we get in these more modern times." He was drawing something with a piece of charcoal. I had no idea what it was but it looked technical and nautical.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there were less captives being passed around along with the alcohol." He said. "That practice mostly died out about thirty years ago. Hjalmar is at least strict on that matter. Sexual partners must be willing on pain of castration."

I nodded at that. "So what's the plan for today?" I wondered.

"I am interested in the contests regarding the choices for the new Jarl." He told me. "Depending on what is declared, I want to head down to the ship builders and start to have a few conversations about some ideas that I have. Beyond that..." He shrugged. "Although, now that you're up and dressed, could you find which pit the Witcher crawled into and extract him for me? He will not want to miss what is coming next."

"What's coming next?" I wondered, not unreasonably I thought.

"Reunions." He told me, with as close to a smile as I ever saw his face wear.

Kerrass hadn't gone far. It appeared that he had proposed the theory that a Witcher from the Cat school could drink as much as any five Skelligans. Apparently it was an epic battle and the winner was indeterminate but Kerrass had fallen asleep on the table. I took great delight in poking him awake with the but of a spear. This precaution seemed entirely necessary because he was also holding onto a dagger that he was cuddling as though it was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Thankfully though, he woke up with a certain amount of good humour. He already had a dose of White Honey prepared for when he woke but he was also grateful for the bacon and the tea that I had a Thrall holding nearby before he went off and dunked his head in a horse trough.

He must have been distracted though because he missed the first of the many reunions that took place.

"WHERE IS HE?" Demanded a feminine voice, dripping with rage. "WHERE THE FUCK IS HE? I'm GONNA KILL HIM."

The doors to the main hall of Kaer Trolde were pushed open by guards who more seemed as though they were getting out of the way of the storm rather than actually doing very much protecting of the hall. But they opened the doors to admit the twelve members of Helfdan's household guard. They were resplendent in their full armour which left me wondering whether they had taken the time to stop and get properly dressed before they came into the hall. They were an impressive sight with the leather-work shining with oils. The metal polished to a mirror shine and they marched in easy order.

Behind them came another dozen men, led by Thorvald who was grinning from ear to ear but all of them paled in comparison to the woman in front of them.

Yngvild. Svein's wife. I had met her before. She was a presence in Helfdan's home village, a solid block of a woman in her armour with long, flowing blonde hair that she wore in a braid that she tucked under her armour when she was wearing the stuff. She was not a tall woman but she was large in presence which meant that you always thought of her as being much taller and much wider than she actually was. She was hugely strong, she would have to be given the speed that she moved in all of that armour. And if she put her mind to it. There was nothing that anyone could do to stop her.

I don't like to describe women as beautiful on the grounds that beauty is subjective. I have recently had recourse to re-examine that three-way conversation between Kerrass, Ariadne and I regarding what I find attractive in a woman. All of that is true, by which I mean, what I said is true. But I have also decided that what Kerrass said is also true. It is both true that I am attracted to humour, intelligence and I would add kindness to that list since then as well while it is also true that I have been attracted to women with a vast variety of hair colours and styles as well as body types.

But it is also true that a man desires that which he cannot have which is what has decided the continent's idea of classical beauty in the figures of women like the Empress, Lady Yennefer, Lady Vigo, Lady Merigold, Princess Dorn and the like.

So it is with some caveats and no little caution that I suggest that The Lady Yngvild. Captain of Helfdan's guard, is not a classical beauty. But she is beautiful. And I can also agree with Svein when he says that she is at her most beautiful when she is angry, snorting with laughter at some jest, shouting at someone or in those more unguarded moments where she thinks no-one is paying attention to her.

But for the right here and right now, she was striding forward, tossing her helmet to one of the other women following her and she was shaking her long, golden blonde hair out of it's braid. Her face was reddened from the cold, her green eyes blazed with a fury that, if it had been coming at me, I would have fled from.

"WHERE IS HE?"

She bellowed into the room that was still climbing to it's feet.

Helfdan and I hid behind a pillar in order to watch the show.

"I swear to all the Gods and Ancestors that if he doesn't present himself to me in the next..."

"Lady. Lady, please." Hjalmar climbed over the prostrate bodies of his shieldmen to reach her. "Shhhh. I understand your rage but is there any way that you could express it... Quietly."

"QUIETLY LORD JARL?"

To this day, I don't know if this was an act or if she was really angry. That Skelligan love of theatre again.

"QUIETLY? I'm gonna rip his DICK OFF AND JAM IT UP HIS ARSE SO FAR THAT IT'S GONNA COME BACK OUT OF HIS MOUTH."

Hjalmar winced at the onrush of volume. More people were waking up and groaning in protest at the aural assault that was taking place. Truly, Yngvild's wrath could be used as some kind of massive weapon at war that armies would fall back from in terror.

Hjalmar never stood a chance. He was holding up his trousers with one hand and trying to cover both ears with the other. He gestured feebly towards where Helfdan's new table was and where Svein was blearily trying to figure out where he was and what was happening.

Apparently, it was some problem with the fact that he was under the table. He sat up and banged his head on the surface before slumping back.

The rest of Helfdan's guard had already spied the two of us hiding behind a pillar and had moved to join us, reassured that their Lord was safe and sound, they were sitting back and watching the show. Two of them took up station near Helfdan himself while the rest of them went off to find places to sleep and stay. I greeted Thorvald warmly.

"Where's Kar?" I asked him but he shook his head.

"He's fine. Back at the village somewhere. It seems that Helfdan had put some things in place that he wanted Kar to check on."

"You're looking better." I told him. He was too. It was only a few days since I had seen him last but he seemed to have rested and eaten properly.

"I feel better," he told me. "But I think my sailing days are done now. I'm going to find myself a nice warm woman and a nice shrine to tend to in Helfdan's village I think. There are a few Widows now and I was always friendly with Haakon's wife." He peered at me closely. "You look shocked."

"I am." I admitted.

"Raider's wives, like Warrior's wives, are pragmatic folk. They know that their husband's might not come home one day and are often prepared for that kind of thing. It's sad, but there it is."

Finally, Yngvild saw Svein lying on the flood and gave out a strange noise and sprinted towards him, armour flapping as she went.

I winced in anticipation of the slap that would be delivered to the side of Svein's face. I had almost been looking forward to that slap but then there was a different noise and I cautiously opened my eyes.

Instead of slapping him, Yngvild had thrown herself into Svein and wrapped her arms round him, burying her face in his chest.

I heard sobbing.

The entire energy of the situation changed. The room had moved from the kind of steady amusement that accompanies any kind of public humiliation of a friend, into something much more... uncomfortable and almost remote. I wanted to look away.

"It's alright lass." Svein said quietly after a long moment, stroking his wife's hair.

Then she hit him and it seemed a little as though the script of the play had been found and the actors were back to saying their lines properly. The hall of waking warriors sighed with relief as it happened. Everything was right in the world again.

It wasn't just Yngvild and the guard that had made the journey. Nor was it some more men to make up any kind of crew that Helfdan might want to put together. There was also the Skald of Helfdan's village and his chancellor. Not that he was called a Chancellor but that was what he did.

We all watched the reunion between Svein and his wife who was alternating between assaulting her husband and hugging him. Sobbing into his chest.

To make the long story short. It seemed that someone had told the village that the Wave-Serpent had been lost and the village had looked to Yngvild to protect them. Not unreasonably, given that that was her job. But that wasn't the only factor. Out of nowhere, as though they had been planning it, or expecting it, a number of people had turned up to try and claim Lordship over the village. Attacks had been made and fights had taken place. People had died and as a result, Yngvild and many of her fellows had not really had time to grieve. Then the word had come that Helfdan and the rest of us had survived and all of that grief and rage and joy had come rushing back making a horrible mess for many folk in the village to have to handle. Yngvild not least.

After the weather had broken, they had climbed back on horses and galloped back to Kaer Trolde to see the truth of what was happening along with more than a few comments about Helfdan and Svein getting into messes without "proper" oversight.

Svein and Yngvild went off somewhere to "talk" which, fortuitously, was when Kerrass arrived which, in turn, resulted in another round of greetings and reunions. Ciri arrived shortly after. Her setting aside of Imperial Duties meant that she was back to being dressed as her warrior self. The guise that she was openly calling her "Sparrow" costume. Not that she was completely removed from Imperial Concerns. She was still followed around by a pair of unamused looking Imperial Guardsmen and periodically, Lord Voorhis would be there as well. Helfdan's people, as we were no longer a crew, not just that at least, accepted the Nilfgaardian Lord with relatively good grace.

They seemed to have come to some kind of compromise that went along with Ciri. In that they still hated Nilfgaard. But Lord Voorhis seemed like an alright sort.

I did notice that in recounting his deeds, he left out those military campaigns against the north that he had taken part in though. Lots of putting down rebellious Nilfgaardian Lords as well as the various things that he had done to protect the Empress.

I would like to think that it was a mark of the men in question that led to Voorhis striking up a kind of friendship with Svein (after he had returned from his "conversation" with Yngvild). It's just as likely that Voorhis was using his not inconsiderable courtly training to keep the friendship going but it's sometimes nice to be able to use these skills for the right reasons.

They talked about tactics.

When Svein came back, arm in arm with his wife who was still a little red about the eyes despite the obvious fact that her face had a well-scrubbed look. Yngvild planted herself in front of Helfdan, who was showing his sketches to Thorvald. There was a little bit of a secretive air about these sketches now and Helfdan was only talking about them with very specific people.

"Lord." Yngvild asked him. "We would like to speak to you."

Helfdan rolled up the skin on which his sketches lived and tucked it inside his coat. He gestured for Yngvild to sit opposite him and poured her some of the tea that was being passed around the hall. No mead yet I noticed and wondered if someone had a hand in that.

"Lord." Ygvild began before hesititating. "Lord, my husband and I owe you everything. We know that and we love you for that."

Helfdan nodded.

"But I can no longer do this." She said. "I can no longer wait at home while he goes out to..." There were still tears on the edge of her voice. I was not the only person that heard them as Svein reached for his wife.

Helfdan frowned. "With all respect to your feelings." He began. "But that is the position of every woman that marries one of my crew. Every single time our ships sail, there is a danger that we might not come back."

Yngvild held her hand up. "No Lord, that is not what I'm asking. I am not asking for special treatment I..." She ran out of words.

Helfdan waited patiently for a little while. "I understand your problem Yngvild. I absolutely understand that this is an extraordinary thing. But there is no easy solution to your problem."

Svein was stroking his wife's back.

"If I take you with us so that you can watch his back and fight next to him and make sure he, and I, do nothing stupid while we are at sea. Then my village and people are without the best overall defensive Strategist that I have ever met. I need you on land.

"But if I order Svein to stay behind. Then I am losing my best battlefield General. The best that I have seen. His commands and his orders are among the reason that we made it back this time, let alone all the other times that this has happened.

"Either option cheapens you both and lessens you both and I also think that you would both be bored if the other took place. I think that you, Yngvild would be bored on ship. You are an active thinker, you like to plan for every opportunity and circumstance. You would always be planning for what would happen should the next crisis take place and on an ever changing landscape, like the sea, then that will drive you mad."

Yngvild nodded at this.

"But likewise, Svein is a problem solver. After all the strategic decisions are made, then he needs to wait for the situation to come up before he reacts to it. He lives for the moment when the unexpected happens and then he needs to deal with it, take advantage of it and protect us from it. In a land where the threats are already tamed, he would be bored."

Svein nodded at this.

"This is why you are the perfect partnership to me. It's why you, Yngvild, are the best personal guard that I could imagine and the best guard of my lands that I could want. And it's why you, Svein are the best First-Mate and force-leader that a Captain, or a Lord could wish for."

Helfdan poured them both, and himself, another drink.

"I do have one solution." He told them. "If this means that you can no longer serve me and that you, and your family, need to go elsewhere in order to..."

Both of them were appalled. "Lord..." Svein was aghast.

"No Lord." Yngvild shook her head violently. "I was not exaggerating when I said that we owe you everything and we know it. We would never leave your service. Ever."

Svein was equally fervent in his agreement.

The husband and wife looked at each other.

"I wasn't really expecting a solution." Yngvild told him. "Everything has changed. The Wave-Serpent is gone. Haakon and Ursa are gone along with all of the others. I miss them and I had to deal with my own grief as well as the grief of my sisters. And suddenly..." She shook her head. "I would never leave you Lord. I..." She took her husband's hand. "We would never leave you. But I wanted to say that there was a problem. I needed to be heard."

Helfdan nodded at that.

"I cannot reward either of you with more than I have already given you." Helfdan said. "Yet."

The way he said that last word caught me and I wondered what he meant. Several suggestions presented themselves and I felt the beginnings of a smile cross my lips as I saw Ciri looking at me. She winked.

"You are right when you say that everything has changed." Helfdan told the pair of them. "And the change is not done coming yet. We will need a new ship for a start." There was some laughter from the table at that.

"Skellige is not going to be the same, ever again, and we might be able to play a part in that." Helfdan told the table. "But one way or another, it will come to pass that life is going to be different for all of us."

The people at the table, former crew-mates, newcomers and the other members of Helfdan's guards shifted. It was the same feeling that I had felt before, we were readying ourselves for battle.

"Can I count on you?" Helfdan asked the table. "All of you?"

We all nodded.

"Other than if it works against the interests of the Empire." Ciri told him with Lord Voorhis nodding next to her. "I can pretend to the contrary but I am still Empress."

"I think that can be accomodated. Then we start here. Stay here, stay sober. Send a runner for me if Queen Cerys emerges I will be in the harbour."

"Whereabouts?" Thorvald asked.

Helfdan leant over and whispered something in his ear. Thorvald nodded.

"In the meantime, the rest of you, stay here. Svein and Yngvild. You're with me."

As I say though. It was a day of reunions. The next reunion that I was privilidged to see. Possibly even to be involved with. Was when a few members of the Lodge of Sorceresses arrived. Specifically Lady Eilhart, Lady Yennefer and Lady Merigold.

The three women arrived in the outer courtyard before being introduced with proper fanfare and announcement. Thorvald sent off his runner to go and find Helfdan when he was told that the women were here.

The day had moved on since Helfdan had left. More and more of the Skelligan court had risen from their beds and begun to gather in the main hall. According to the gossip, Queen Cerys had risen but was leaving all hosting duties to her brother. This was not a particularly unusual thing but there was some questions about what it was that she was doing. Given that this was the part of proceedings that put the word "festival" into "The Festival of the Skeleton Ship" it was much more assumed that she would be present for the more social elements of the entire thing.

The rumour and gossip had things that she was locked in her "study" with a significant number of Skalds, Lord's Donar and Udalryk as well as Lord Ermion and a few other people that I had not been introduced to yet. It was generally assumed that this was something to do with the coming announcements to do with the new Jarl being called but things were still rather unclear.

So it was into this general kind of mixture that, so I'm told, a magical portal appeared in the courtyard and the three women came through.

Our table had a little warning as Kerrass stiffened suddenly before taking his medallion into his hand and looking out of the door towards the entrance courtyard. He warned us of the heavy presence of magic and Ciri stood, waving the rest of us back down to our chairs.

Then the three women arrived.

I won't waste everyone's times with descriptions of these three women. Generally agreed to be among the most beautiful women on the continent there are portraits, poems and prose devoted to the appearance of all three of them. All of them I have met before and I will admit that their reputation is only slightly different from my experience with them.

I know Lady Merigold the least and of the three, I find that I am the most nervous in her presence. She is a known courtly veteran having been an advisor to King Foltest for many many years. Indeed there is some evidence to suggest that the reason Foltest was finally killed was because he stopped listening to Lady Merigold when the sentiment of the Continent started turning against the magic community. I cannot confirm or deny that as I have not discussed the subject with any of the people involved.

Lady Merigold comes across as one of those people that wears their heart on their sleeve. She laughs, smiles, shouts and becomes frustrated with ease. She makes self-deprecating jokes and teases others gently all the while, occasionally betraying the intelligence that lurks underneath all of that. So the image that she projects is that of a bubbly, almost air-headed woman who is just enjoying life and serving the continent as best as she can.

But I suspect this is a front. The person that I am closest to that knows Lady Merigold the best is Laurelen my sister's wife (we call her that now. Deal with it). Laurelen tells stories of an intense woman with nerves of steel that thought nothing of standing up to terrifying men and women. Of a Triss Merigold that killed the head Torturer of the Witchhunters. Who held a magical community together despite it's own best efforts to tear itself apart. Who survived the trauma of Sodden and invented a spell which is now called "Merigold's Maelstrom".

I leave it to your imagination as to what it does.

So I am always left with the impression that the Lady Merigold that I meet is lovely. But that there is another Lady Merigold that is looking out of her eyes and laughing at me.

The other two women are... they are closer to that old saying of "What you see is what you get."

Lady Eilhart's reputation of being an ice-queen is well earned and I will admit to being more than a little bit intimidated by her. She stands tall, proud and rigid. A posture that, as she is not a short lady, gives the impression that she is always looking down on you. She's the kind of person that would take the time to destroy her opponents without it being personal.

When I've actively talked to her, she seems perfectly polite and friendly. The cynical might say that she is cultivating a relationship with me because she wants more influence with the non-human sorceresses that are now members of the Lodge of Sorceresses. And this is true. But I think that the truth is that, if you are on her side, you will never have a truer friend. She will give her support if she agrees with you, or if she doesn't care. But if she disagrees with you then you will never have a more implacable enemy until sentiments shift and she agrees with you again.

Whether she likes your or dislikes you is immaterial to that.

I have also heard the theory suggested that a lot of her sharper edges were filed off with the death of King Radovid. This is entirely possible. It is also suggested that she has forced herself to become kinder because her position is not as secure as it once was. There are now more factions among the magic users and each one of those factions would be led by a different person. I try not to ask about Lodge business on those few occasions where Ariadne and I talk about it. But it would seem that her behaviour when it comes to the Lodge has shifted away from unofficial leader to a more "Chair-person" attitude. Compromises and negotiation are the tools she uses now. Rather than rhetoric and insistent arguments.

I will admit to liking her a lot more than I thought I would. I am never in any doubts with Lady Eilhart. If she is angry with me, she will tell me. We will never be close but it is refreshing to know exactly where I stand.

Of the trio, the Lady Yennefer is the one with whom I am closest. Not that I think anyone gets particularly close to Lady Yennefer. Nor do I think she really has many friends. But of the three of them, she is the one to whom I feel is closest to that.

We are professional colleagues. We are working together on the Empress' directive of re-founding the Witcher schools and we are also in the stages of putting together our first draft on the nature of the "Jack" entity. The book itself is still some time off as, at present, we are still trading chapters and rough drafts while I am on the road. She finds my work a little too "layman and conversational" whereas I find her work a little too cold and clinical. She argues that we have to appeal to serious academic minds and I respond by saying that the number of serious academic minds that would be interested in such a work will be small. We need to appeal to the more arm-chair scholar in order to shift copies.

Fortunately however, we are both well-aware that we are both correct and we are both wrong. I flatter ourselves that we are becoming a fairly good team and although I have not broached the subject with her yet, I am wondering if it would be possible for us to collaborate on future works as well. That will, of course, partly depend on the results of this particular work and how successful it is. But I think that there are several things that have both historical and magical significance that we could work on.

She can give in to passive-aggression a little too much for my comfort and although I like and get on with the woman fairly well, I could not live with the her. I strongly suspect that we would get on each other's nerves.

The three of them came into the hall and looked around. Lady Eilhart and Lady Merigold seemed a little bit put off by the lack of fanfare and courtly formality but, apparently, Lady Yennefer has spent some time in Skellige in the past. There is even rumour that she and Jarl Crach an Craite were lovers at one stage before the Lady Yennefer finally settle down with her own Witcher.

Also, I mention this in passing, but there is a certain circle of society that is running a book on how long it will be before The White Wolf and Lady Yennefer split up again. They've been living together down in Toussaint for several years now and apparently, that's the longest that the two of them have ever managed to stay together in one place. But they show no signs of stopping or becoming displeased with each other.

Personally I'm hoping that they go the distance.

When it became obvious to the three of them that Queen Cerys was not currently in court, the three ladies started moving towards our table and Ciri.

Ciri's relationship with all three of these women is fascinating. All three of them came to her through her attachment to Witcher Geralt of Rivia and her reactions to seeing all three of them was fascinating to an outsider like myself that doesn't quite understand, appreciate or relate to that.

She greeted Lady Eilhart first with a polite, not unfriendly nod, smile and hand-shake. There were several small delays between each step and I realised that I was waiting for something. It took a moment for me to realise that I was waiting for one or other of them to curtsy and I wondered if that was part of their dance around each other. Both of them wanted to exert control and mastery over the other. Not because they needed it or were insecure in their own power. But that they might need it for the future. If these two women decided that they were going to be enemies then I think that the continent itself would tremble.

"I am glad to see that you decided against following through on your foolishness." Lady Eilhart began. Her voice was cold but there was a slight smile there as well which went a little way towards softening the tone.

"Oh no." Ciri, seeming almost determined to puncture Lady Eilhart's cold and regal attitude. "There was plenty of foolishness, but of a different flavour and I still managed to achieve my objective. I just came to it from a different direction is all."

Lady Merigold outright laughed.

Lady Yennefer's face softened. She's the only woman I've ever met that can do that. Where her expression doesn't change, there is no movement in skin, eyes or mouth. No change in the breathing which is the main source of how a professional negotiator tells a person's mood. But her face softened and I thought she was slightly amused.

Lady Eilhart sniffed. "Well I'm glad to see that you survived and that it all turned out alright." She said calmly. "I don't need to remind her Majesty that the continent is in a delicate state and that her crown and survival is the only thing that is keeping it from falling into yet another catastrophic conflict."

"So you keep saying." Ciri told the Sorceress with a grin. "But relax Philippa, I'm alive, it worked and I have a renewed sense of energy. I am looking forward to getting back to work. But in the meantime, this is a festival. Eat, drink, be merry. See if you can find someone to thaw you out, I'm sure there will be plenty of takers."

Lady Eilhart sniffed again but I rather thought that she was amused and not entirely averse to the prospect.

Lady Merigold threw herself at Ciri with a massive embrace that brought grins to the rest of the table and the two women squealed. I felt a small stab of pain at remembered sorrow as I was starkly reminded of Francesca in that moment. I did not have long to feel miserable or morose though as I heard a voice from next to me.

"Thank you." Yennefer said to me.

"What?" I wondered.

"You heard." Her voice came a little louder and with a touch more venom.

"I'm not entirely sure." I told her. "I mean, you said it so quietly that..."

Then she hit me. I think it would be fair to say that I got off lightly compared to some of the things that Yennefer can, undoubtedly do to any unsuspecting scholar.

Then she threw her arms round me and hugged me.

I nearly fell over in shock.

"I do believe that you have saved my daughter." She whispered fiercely. "I will never forget it."

Then she broke the hug.

"It wasn't just me." I told her. "Others were involved."

"And I will hug them too." She told me. "Maybe not the Witcher, I don't want to give him ideas. But certainly the Skelligan."

"The Skelligan might not appreciate it as much." I responded, but I was cut off by Yennefer receiving an Empress to the face.

The two women hugged for a long moment. "Notice how their hair obscures the tears." Lady Merigold muttered to me mischievously.

"I noticed." I was a little bit surprised. Lady Merigold and I have not exchanged many words before but I took the hand of friendship as it was offered and responded with a jest of my own. "Just as I notice that you have also had to adjust your eye liner Lady Merigold."

I got the laugh that I was hoping for.

"My King would be interested in discussing certain matters with your sister or certain representatives of the Coulthard trading company." She told me. "This is hardly the time, but while we are here, might I trouble you for a letter of introduction?"

"Trade with Kovir & Poviss? My sister will be delighted." I answered, a little dryer than I wanted to or should have I think.

"Mmm." Then a look of horror crossed her face. "Powers, I really can't let go of it for a day can I. I'm so sorry Lord Frederick. I spend so long in service that I can't set it aside."

"I understand Lady Merigold. As a Scholar and a Historian, I often find myself looking at the world through a lens of thinking what I could write a book, essay or article about."

She laughed. "And now you have something on the psychology of those who cannot let go of their service to the crown at any time. Must always look for the angle at any time."

"On campus, I heard it called, "Always hustling"." I told her. "Where people never do anything that isn't devoted towards the hustle. It sounds like an exhausting way to live if you ask me."

She laughed again. "It is, believe me it is."

Kerrass was now being hugged by Yennefer and the cool, cold posture of Lady Eilhart was in front of me.

"Lord Frederick." She smiled at me and I found myself feeling flattered that she deigned to grace me with such a gesture. Then I was struck with how my thoughts were unfair. "I understand that you have managed great things." She went on, shaking my hand.

"So I am told. I must confess, however, that I was just there and did the best I could at the time."

"Which is how most great things are carried out." She told me. "Still, Grateful to you Lord Frederick."

The runner found Helfdan and he came back into the hall with Yngvild and Svein following close behind him. The trio took in the scene as Ciri saw them and demanded that Helfdan come over to meet "her mother" and came closer.

"Ladies." Ciri began, "This is Lord Helfdan of Clan An Craite. Formerly of Clan Tuirseach before he was cast out of that clan for reasons not his fault. He was the Captain of the ship that saw to our transport, our survival and joined us on the deck of the Skeleton Ship. Lord Helfdan, this is Lady Eilhart of the Lodge of Sorceresses.

I felt myself almost bouncing with excitement. Lady Eilhart versus Lord Helfdan in the anti-social stakes.

In all honesty, it was a bit of an anti-climax.

"Lord Helfdan," Lady Eilhart offered her hand to be shaken. Helfdan had almost begun to dip forward in a bow before he realised what was happening. Then he spent a bit of time looking at the offered hand in an effort to remember what he was supposed to do in this particular circumstance. But then he rallied and took the offered hand, shaking it firmly.

"A pleasure Lady Eilhart." He said formally.

I saw her frown slightly at the fact that he was not looking at her eyes. Unfortunately, the way they were both standing conspired to ensure that he was looking at her cleavage. A trap that Helfdan often manages to avoid but for whatever reason, he had succumbed to it this time. I don't think Lady Eilhart was offended by this, but she was made to look thoughtful.

"And this is Lady Merigold who is as close to me as my own sister." Ciri interjected, partially to move things on, I think, but also to puncture the awkward moment.

This time Helfdan was more prepared. He waited to see what kind of gesture Lady Merigold was making before choosing his response.

She took his hand and dipped in a kind of half bow, half-curtsy. This despite the lack of skirts.

Helfdan took her hand and bowed over it. Nice and formally I saw. Ladies hand taken by the right hand while left hand down by the side, in the fashion of the Temerian military officers I noticed.

"Charmed." Helfdan said carefully. This time he managed to shift his eyeline off to one side meaning that he was more looking at Lady Merigold's shoulder.

"Likewise Lord Helfdan."

"And this is..."

Yennefer just threw her arms round the poor man. Have you ever seen a worm dancing on the end of a hook. It was exactly like that. Or trying to hug a wild and feral cat. The way they wiggle about and rebel at the entire thing? That's exactly what that looked like. It was both unpleasant to watch for those of us that like, respect and care for Lord Helfdan. But, I have to admit, it was also a bit funny.

I will admit to feeling a little guilty about that afterwards.

He calmed for a second right at the end before Yennefer let go. But when Lady Yennefer finally released him, he almost collapsed in on himself and it seemed like an immense act of determination for him to remain standing. But then he drew himself up. Bowed to Lady Yennefer formally "Thank you." He said.

Neither of them ever told me what Yennefer said to him during that embrace.

"All of you," Helfdan went on, head bowed now so that he was looking at the floor. I thought he was perspiring slightly despite the cool of the hall. He cleared his throat and tried again. "All of you are welcome at my table. Despite my recent elevation, events have conspired to mean that there are still many gaps that need filling."

Notice the use of language? I did. So did Lady Merigold I think.

Lady Eilhart begged off first but she was clearly taken aback when, shortly after her refusal of the offer, Lady Yennefer enthusiastically took Lord Helfdan up on the offer and sat down at the offered place on the bench. Lady Merigold also joined us and the company soon became raucous again. Laughing and joking.

Lady Yennefer in particular was surprisingly comfortable and familiar with Skelligan customs. When I have known her and met with her before, her humour and manners are highly formal. But here she seemed to relax a bit more. She was still careful with her clothes, hair and make-up to an extreme, ensuring that neither food nor drink spilled. She also used a knife and fork to divide her food when it came. But she laughed and joked with the best of them. She always had a dirtier joke and a cruder insult than anything the other men had to offer. She would, at most, smirk slightly before taking a small amount of time to consider her response before verbally nailing the offending person to the wall.

Metaphorically speaking of course.

She displayed that knack of making jests and barbs without upsetting or offending people and was even able to draw Helfdan out of his shell a little.

"Do I not remember you?" She asked as Helfdan was beginning to relax, a little time after we all sat back down. "I feel sure I would remember you."

"I certainly remember you Lady." He said. He seemed to call all three Sorceresses the generic term of Lady. "I can remember how you looked down at the children playing when you came to An Skellig with Jarl Crach an Craite. We were playing Jugger-ball as I recall and I..." he shuddered at the memory. "Was not doing very well."

"I remember." Yennefer smiled. "Crach was young at the time and was still getting over his rejection over the matter of Pavetta, Ciri's mother. He became much wiser though over the years but I missed that youthful disappointment. It leant him passion."

"I remember that you were wrapped in a cloak." Helfdan said. "A black cloak that seemed to shimmer with Purple and turquoise tones when the wind blew through the fabric. I remember thinking that it must be a magic cloak before I learned about multiple staged dying of cloth."

Yennefer laughed. "I remember that cloak. I had to get rid of it when court moved towards a fashion of ascetism and simplicity of form. I have no idea where it is now. Probably in rags after the sack of Vengerberg."

"I kept having the ball thrown to me." Helfdan was lost in the memory. "I now know that they were throwing me the ball so that they were having an excuse to tackle me hard. I remember getting angrier and angrier until I had a fit."

"I remember." Yennefer said. "Crach was upset that I left his side as he could be quite possessive at the time. A character trait that drove me away in the end. But I remember being so angry."

"You calmed me and sent me to sleep." Helfdan told her.

"I did. A momentary weakness, but I never liked bullies."

"I remember." Helfdan smiled slightly. "I remember thinking, for the first time, that beauty could also be found in a storm."

Yennefer laughed. "Flatterer. It was a clear day that day."

"It was stormy to me." Helfdan told her, still wearing that slight smile.

"Yes I imagine it would be. Then we called the priest to come and get you."

"Yes. He took me home and flogged me until the bone showed, for inconveniencing the visiting Lord Crach and his Lady."

There was a pause in the conversation. Helfdan throws out these anecdotes about his childhood with careless abandon. It always makes us all feel uncomfortable but he doesn't seem to care that much. He talks the same way about needing a shit in the morning.

Yennefer's face darkened. "Where is this priest now?"

"He died, I ran away to sea as soon as I was able and when I went back, older and more powerful, a younger priest was in the old man's hut and described him as some kind of revered and departed ancestor. I recalled spitting on the marker devoted to his memory."

Yennefer nodded before Lady Merigold moved the conversation back towards easier topics.

Lady Eilhart was networking. You could see her from where we were all sitting, wandering round from table to table, shaking hands and meeting people. It bears remembering that there were many other people here than just the Skelligans and their Lords. There were also Redanians, Temerians and Nilfgaardians here. Anyone that had a naval contingent had sent, at least an ambassador to this festival.

Other than Cidaris. The racial hatred there is still just too great and as nilfgaard is about to invade Cidaris and Vergen in order to help the Dryads at Brokilon, the Nilfgaardians are chomping at the bit to help conquer their ancient foe.

But anyway...

So Lady Eilhart was flitting around, laughing (Yes, she does indeed laugh when the situation demands it) and joking with people. Flirting and shaking hands.

Lady Merigold was somewhere in between. She was there for several reasons. One of which was that she was helping one of the ambassador's to represent Kovir & Poviss, but she was also there as a Sorceress and as a friend to Ciri. So she would often be sat at our table, drinking the wine and eating the food, much more sparingly than others expressing a desire to watch her waistline. This to much ridicule and protestations from the gathered menfolk that her waist-line was fine and that, indeed, she could probably stand to eat a few more pies.

Yennefer did not bother to hide her amusement at this good-natured teasing.

But then Lady Merigold would be caught up in a conversation or see someone that she "simply must say hello to" and go to see them. Often in the middle of a conversation with someone else.

I have one more anecdote before I move on.

Lady Merigold had brought someone over to the table to introduce them to me in order to discuss trade and so I could help provide introductions to Emma. I was pretty easily able to dodge all of this on the grounds that I could simply divert the person by introducing the person to Helfdan, Lady Yennefer, Lord Voorhis (The head if Imperial Confidential Agencies), Kerrass and then The Empress. All of which I was able to do in a funny, off-handed and informal way meaning that the person would often flee in the face of Ciri, the Empress of the continent, quaffing ale so that some of it splashed onto a Witcher.

But one man was being introduced round and I would guess that it was his first time in the islands. He wanted to know who Svein and Yngvild were.

Svein was sat on one side of Helfdan...

Sorry, I should say. Helfdan was getting some prestige because he had obviously given his prestigious seat over to the Empress on his table. And then the other guests were arrayed around her rather than him. He had actually done nothing of the kind. Rather, he had sat in the seat that he was most comfortable in and then let others choose their own. Yngvild had taken over protection of Helfdan and had arrayed Helfdan's personal guard in suitable positions to protect their Lord. And they took their job very seriously.

Helfdan was working on his ship's designs and didn't look up at the request. So I introduced Svein as Helfdan's warlord (technically the correct rank) and Yngvild as the Captain of Helfdan's Huscarls. The dignitary, whose name I am removing to protect the poor man, he was not a bad guy, just young and a bit naïve. But he wanted to know what a Captain of Huscarls was. So I explained that that was the equivalent of being the Knight-Captain of the guard and leader of the Lord's personal guards.

"Oh." exclaimed the poor victim of Helfdan's humour. "I thought Skelligans had some views on women fighting."

"I do." Helfdan said clearly without looking up. "I can't speak for my countrymen of course, but I expect any woman who fights for me to be good at it. The same with the men as it happens."

There was some general laughter.

"The real trick," Svein told him. "Is getting them to stop."

"It must be a really difficult trick," Yngvild piped up while scanning the room for threats to Helfdan, "as you've never managed to stop me from fighting, oh husband of mine."

"You're married?" The poor man seemed as though he was drowning. "But what about if you want a family?"

"I have one." She told him. "Three children as it stands and room for more should I wish it. My deputy is just as able as I. I should know, we used to fight together as children."

"Really?" The man said weakly.

"Yeah, it's her sister." Svein answered.

The poor man fled to much applause and laughter.

We were in the process of enjoying ourselves when the Queen of Skellige finally emerged from the back of the throne room. I was enjoying myself. The last of the post action depression was beginning to leave my system and I could almost literally feel myself relaxing. I could feel the tension leaving my shoulders and a tightness on the edge of my vision was relaxing leaving a sense of... I wanna call it "Ghost fatigue". That feeling where your eyes burn and spasm, but you are not really that tired. It's just that you've been frowning a lot and peering at things in darkness rather more than you should have been doing.

So I was sat, mostly people watching and exchanging the odd words with shipmates. Cracking jokes which people did me the compliment of laughing at when I wasn't entirely convinced that I deserved the laughter. I was polite to those people that came to the table and I was able to make small talk with a number of different courtiers that came to the table to speak with The Empress. This before discovering that she was in what Lord Voorhis laughingly described as one of her "raucous" moods. Then they would kind of wait around for a bit to see if she would calm down and make small talk with those people nearby, before they inevitably gave up and went somewhere else.

But then the doors at the back of the room opened and like everyone else there, I turned to look. The Queen came out accompanied by Lord Ermion, a woman in a robe that I recognised as being a Priestess of Freya, another man was a priest of Hemdall and the other Skalds. I looked for Jarl Donar and Udalryk but they didn't come out with her. I later found them elsewhere in the hall as they had sidled out when I wasn't looking. It seemed that the use of that back door slamming open also has the benefit of announcing that something important was about to happen so everyone paid attention. The two older Jarls had avoided this by coming out quietly and sneaking in through the side door so as not to make a fuss.

The Queen was grinning though and obviously having a good time. Lord Ermion moved to the dais and was wearing his serious face. I certainly saw him exchanging looks with Lady Yennefer in a kind of "Best of Frenemies" kind of a way. I have heard stories about that relationship and I won't discuss it here. Suffice to say that you should check on the works of the bard if you have questions about how that all happened. I suspect that the two of them will never be friends, but they certainly have a carefully respectful relationship, even if they disagree quite violently on certain things. He went and stood next to the throne.

The Skalds were older than I was used to seeing. There were three of them all told. One of which was the Skald of the hall of Kaer Trolde but the other two weren't recognisable despite the long beards and robes. The robes were simple and relatively crude. One had a harp slung in a bag on his back while the other had a strange satchel that looked like a smaller scale version of the kind of thing which a man might use to carry multiple javelin to battle.

Later, we found that it carried a selection of flutes and recorders. Basic things really, but they gave out a sound so pure and simple that it literally brought a tear to my eye and I was far from alone in that regard.

The three Skalds came and stood next to Ermion on the dais while the Queen took her time moving through the crowd. Waving and greeting people that she knew. She wasn't dawdling but she was making a point of being the Queen of the people.

If you hadn't told me who he was, I would have ignored the priest of Hemdall as being another warrior of the hall wearing a particularly ornate and showy helmet. He moved easily despite his obviously advanced years and there seemed to be a stern aspect about him. He had a beard that was cut to just being longer than his helmet but in most other ways, he was a warrior. The exceptions to this were, as I say, his helm and his sword.

His helm was a full head covering thing with round holes for his eyes but it also boasted a pair of antlers on his head. This was the part of his outfit that suggested that the whole thing was more ceremonial than actually being there to protect the person. Having now spent a lot of time here, I never once saw a Skelligan warrior with horns on his helmet. I suspect this, now, to be an invention of Continental Playwrights as an effort to show how barbaric and frightening Skelligan raiders are as no warrior worth his blade would have horns on his helmet. Let alone large and elaborate horns like this.

(Freddie's note: I have been reminded that a certain other person of my enmity also used to wear horns on his helmet. The, now, long dead Lord Cavill also wore ceremonial horns on his head and I would later find out, practically, he wore them the same way. The enormous weight of the extra horns was taken up by the rest of armour and a harness that was hidden in the armour.

He had also been made aware of some of my problems back on the continent and came to see me on the subject, hoping that I was not too worried. He wondered if Lord Cavill's entity was wearing horns as a mockery of Hemdall who also wore a horned helmet. I suggested that it was just a convenient intimidation technique and that the cult of the first-born had absorbed their favourite bits from all the different religions in an effort to make themselves feel better about themselves.

The priest of Hemdall preferred my interpretation and asked whether or not Sam would object to a few priests of Hemdall going up to the hills to investigate the matter. I told him that it couldn't hurt but that there were already lots of priests up there, tearing the place apart and that if he were to send anyone, it would be better if they were of the more tolerant variety. He agreed.)

His sword was also strange for the islands. Most islanders wield axes. As I have said before, the relative scarcity of metal on the islands means that swords are prohibitively expensive and are often a mark of wealth. It's certainly one of the only reasons why anyone would think that Helfdan was a wealthy man or a man of importance.

So, axes and spears are the main weapons of war for fighting from within the shield-wall. Two-handed axes are rarer but this was the first two-handed sword that I had seen on the islands. It was a Zweihander sword. Like you see the Redanian or Nilfgaardian Landsknichts using. One of those places where both sides argue over who copied who, where the truth is probably closer to wondering which Dwarven merchant sold it to who first? It was not an affectation either as I saw him train with it later on during the festival although I did wonder if he was the High-Priest of Hemdall because he could wield the sword or, did he learn to wield the sword because he was the High-Priest of Hemdall.

The priestess of Freya was a tall, severe looking woman in what I took to be her late forties. This was a hard woman and, to me, it looked as though she had been the one to teach Cerys how to stand like a Queen. Even though she was wearing a plain and simple dress, there was no doubting who she was. She moved to stand near her male counterpart of Hemdall.

Please do not make the mistake of assuming that Freya is just the Skelligan name for Melitele, or at least, don't make that mistake in earshot of a Skelligan. You are likely to lose limbs as a result. But they are very similar. My brain conjures up all kinds of ideas as to how that must have come about but I don't think a deep analysis would help anyone. Unlike the continental male centric religions of the Eternal Flame and Kreve versus the female centric religion of Melitele, the priesthoods of Freya and Hemdall seemed to get on really well. They acknowledged each other's strengths and weaknesses and saw no reason to compete for the affection of the people of Skellige.

Another way in which the Continent could stand to learn from the supposedly backwards nation of Skellige.

When the Queen eventually made it to the dais, this will have been about the middle of the afternoon, she held her hands up for silence which came quickly. There had been an air of anticipation building to this all day.

"Friends." she began when the silence finally fell. "I get the feeling that you've all been waiting for something."

There was laughter.

"Well, I won't keep you in suspense forever." She went on. "Mostly because I am absolutely dying for a stiff ale."

More laughter.

"But as you know, I have decided that the council of Jarls is missing someone to sit in the seventh seat. As it is, the council is often tied up in internal struggles and finds itself paralysed to make even the simplest decisions and I find, increasingly, that I have to step in and make a decision. Thus weakening the power of the Jarls. I don't want this, you don't want this and our ancestors didn't want this.

"From a strategic point of view, the southern part of Ard Skellig is vulnerable as well. Not just to outside forces but also the southern parts of Ard Skellig are becoming vulnerable to banditry and dangerous rebels that would leave us even further vulnerable to outside attack. As it is, many of the more Southern Lords of the An Craite clan are, quite rightly, having to take on responsibilities that leaving them overstepping their traditional bounds and protecting more land than they have a right to, in order to maintain the safety of their people.

"So, after consultation with the remaining council of Jarls, the Priesthoods of both Freya and Hemdall as well as the council of Skalds, who I am pleased to say are joining us here today, I have decided that it is the time for the founding of a new clan to take up the lands and responsibilities of the former Clan Drummond. As well as a Jarl to oversee this and represent those lands and those peoples to the council and the crown.

"This has been done, only rarely in the past and mostly this has happened as the result of strength at arms where internal strife or the defence of the islands has meant that new clans have risen and fallen but now, we find that we can take the time to ensure that this is a job that is done correctly.

"So, to that end, I will pass things back to the Skalds so that they can tell you exactly how this entire thing is going to happen."

She gave a little giggle before talking to the crowd. "I'm as excited about seeing how it all plays out as you are."

She gestured and the leader of the Skalds came forward. I don't know how they work these things out but it did rather seem to me that they had chosen their leader based entirely on his age and the length of his beard.

"Thank you, your Majesty." He said. His trained voice making the words echo off the walls with a rich, buttery and velvety smoothness. I found myself looking forward to hearing the man sing.

"This has never happened in my lifetime," he began addressing the hall. "So we have had to consult the Lore about how it works. As it transpires, the ability to form a clan is given to a man who epitomises the great qualities that the people of Skellige look for in their Lords. Strength of arms, skill at sea, knowledge of the ancestors and the Gods. The ability to perform great deeds before coming back to tell us all about them. Men should sit around camp-fires in far flung areas and tell tales about these people that will later go on to prove themselves Lords of men.

"After the man is chosen, he will raise his banner. Traditionally, the founding of a new clan means that all oaths are suspended for the period of a day. Men can go to their existing Lords and beg to be released from their existing oaths in order to follow the new Jarl. This is in order to prevent a situation where the Skalds and Priests choose a man that the people reject and do not trust for their own reasons. Although I hope that our decisions are a little more trustworthy than that."

There was some scattered laughter.

"After that has happened, the new Jarl will sail to his new lands in order to take up his duties. He will name the clan and decide on its heraldic device

"So the first thing that we need to do is to choose the new Jarl. How do we do that? I hear you ask."

There was some generalised laughter before someone heckled from towards the back of the hall shouting "I didn't ask."

Then there was some more laughter which the Skald allowed to carry on for a while before he lifted his hands.

"Here is what's going to happen. My fellows from the council of Skalds and I, along with the heads of the priesthoods of Freya and Hemdall and the head of the Druid's grove of Skellige have devised a series of tests that will take place over the next few days. There will be tests of strength, tests of cunning, tests of eloquence and many others.

"There will be a list of these events posted and announced at the beginning of every day. Along with the locations of the place that the trial is taking place. When you are competing in any of these trials you are competing for this."

He gestured, and one of the other Skalds handed him a small wooden carving that was produced from his sleeve in the same way that a street corner magician produces a ball from a cup. He even did a little flourish with his hands. I all but saw the sparkles and heard a ta-da sound.

It turned out to be a small wooden carving of a warrior. Even from the distance of where I was standing compared to where the Skald was standing on the dais, I could see those parts of the wood where the wood carver had cut a little harder and a little rougher. I felt my treacherous scholar's brain wondering who had carved that and whether that person was locked in a basement somewhere frantically carving small wooden figurines as fast as he could.

I further began to wonder if the number of tests would turn out to depend on how many carvings that man could sculpt in the time frame allowed and how much wood the carver had access to. I also found myself wondering if the sheer number of tests would depend on the amount of wood that could be carved.

"The winner," he began again, "the winner of every contest will be given one of these figurines. The person at the end of the festival that has the most of these figurines will be the next Jarl."

I had questions...

So many questions.

It turns out that I wasn't the only person with questions as people started shouting those same questions up to the dais.

The skald was relishing it, laughing uproariously. I got the impression... I felt that...

Ok.

Do you follow the jousting?

The closest that I can think of, as to what the Skald looked like standing on the dais. He reminded me of a knight jouster who had been champion of the field for a number of years. Then, for reasons that could be as diverse as a family death, a summons to court, a recall to a battlefront or his favourite horse getting sick and a new jousting horse needed training up before the knight in question was confident in the horse's abilities to be able to take the field.

Then that knight comes back to the field. At the height of his training and hungry for victory and some luck of the draw puts him up against some knight who has been talking dirt about the missing knight for the year in which he has been absent.

And then that knight opponent turns out to beat his squire.

And just before the flag is lowered and the two knights start racing towards each other. Just in that moment before the knights lower their face-plates, the experienced knight gives a small hungry smile and then utterly destroys his opponent. The destruction is so utterly complete that the experienced knight dismounts in order to help the fallen man to his feet. This so he can look magnanimous.

That's what the old Skald reminded me of on the dais. He hadn't performed before an audience in years. And now he had a captive audience made up of some of the highest people in the land. And the continent for that matter. And he got to perform.

"I told you about the test of cunning, didn't I?" He yelled into the crowd and was then laughing even harder as the uproar continued. After letting the shouting, laughing and conversation carry on for exactly the right amount of time, the Skald held his hand up and silence fell instantly.

"To be clear." He went on, "Any assault, theft, or murder will be met with instant disqualification. We are watching. But anything else is fair game."

"Other than magic." Ermion stepped forward.

"Yes. Other than magic," the Skald said. "Lord Ermion?"

"Yes." The druid stepped forward. "This is how it works. Some of you will have noticed that there are a number of members of the Lodge of Sorceresses here."

There was a series of relatively good-natured booing. Lady Eilhart scowled. Lady Yennefer waved happily and made a face at Ermion. Who was also happily scowling.

Lady Merigold didn't seem to notice.

"As the Lodge were coming anyway," Ermion continued, "we have prevailed upon them, despite my best objections to the contrary,"

There was a lot of laughter. As I say, if you want to know more about the history between Lord Ermion of the druid's circle and Lady Yennefer, then I must emphasise my recommendation on going to read the works of the bard on the hunt for the Swallow. You will find how much these two people care about each other and hate each other at the same time.

"There will be a net of magical detection cast over the islands that will detect any magic cast over that area. This net will start in the morning. Like the rule regarding the shedding of blood, any use of magic to influence the outcome of the trials will result in the instant disqualification of the person that that person represents. We'll quibble about the details later." The last part was met with laughter and Ermion stepped back.

"The first test will start in the morning to choose a champion. The top three fighters will win a figurine. All

combats will need to be finished by the close of the festival. Could champions make themselves known to the Skalds by midday tomorrow. Order of combats will be announced following the draw."

There were some rumbles as people, already, started taking bets on who the final champion was going to be.

I leant over to Kerrass. "Are you going to compete?"

He grinned his Witcher murder grin. "You'd better fucking believe I'm going to compete."

"You should." I told him. "Although a thought occurs. You know how you often tell people that they should hire a professional when a professional is required?"

"Yeah so?"

"So this is one of those times." I told him.

He grinned. Not quite his murder grin but more his... "I'm going to fuck people over" grin. He has so many grins. "What do you want me to do?"

I leant forward and whispered in his ear.

His grin didn't falter.

"He's gonna be angry." He warned me.

"He will." I admitted.

"And what should I say when he loses his temper?"

"Say... Say "Test of cunning"."

Kerrass nodded, obviously already thinking furiously.

The afternoon carried on, the crowd and the court were abuzz with what the challenges might be and who the eventual Jarl would be and what they would do.

My table didn't care. They were reuniting with people that they had left behind. They were talking about plans for the future. They were talking about the new ship that Helfdan was going to have built. They were remembering old friends and telling stories. There was laughter, warmth and friendship and I cherished, and continue to cherish that evening.

What I'm saying is, the good party was at our table. Hjalmar joined us with his own tales regarding some of the fallen. Then Cerys came over along with a couple of the Skalds. Ermion joined us and had a very entertaining argument with Yennefer. It was the kind of argument where people laugh at all the points and keep score.

There was something niggling at me and I sidled up to Lady Eilhart who was standing, drinking from a goblet of wine, watching the proceedings.

"Lord Frederick." She greeted me.

"Lady Eilhart." She glanced at me.

"You have questions." She decided after a few moments of side-long glances.

"I do." I said.

"Hold on." She told me. "I feel as though I need to prepare for this. I've read some of your interviews and I feel as though I might need some fortification." She took a moment to finish her drink.

"Ok go." She decided "I'm enjoying watching some of this. Especially all those moments where Yennefer is getting her ass kicked by a druid."

"Is she though?"

"Yes she is. There's a chance she's losing deliberately to play to the crowd but, I think Ermion's genuinely getting the better of her."

I looked over and watched for a while.

"She's certainly not as vehement as she is when she's arguing with me over something to go in the book."

"Mmm," Lady Eilhart agreed. "Now normally that means that she's either going to ignore what's being argued and is going to do what she wants anyway, or she doesn't really care."

We watched for a while.

"She doesn't care." We both decided.

"What's your question?" She asked after a while.

"Sorry?"

"You came over because you had a question."

"Oh." I took a breath. "That thing that Ermion talked about. I thought that that was impossible."

"Which thing?"

"You know, that thing about casting a detection net over the island to detect magic everywhere. I thought that that was impossible. We had an entire argument with you about it in Toussaint where you wanted to take control of the anti-monster problem and you couldn't give us an answer on that. You were asked repeatedly whether the Lodge could detect the presence of monsters using just such a device and you said no."

She nodded her acceptance of the question.

"Ok, two things. The first thing is that Monsters are not magic. Not all of them anyway. The magic that we're talking about is not in my particular area of expertise. I know about triangulation to detect specific magical sources but that's something different. No, what we're talking about here is an overall detection net."

"But isn't that similar?"

"Yes and no."

"What's the second thing? You said that there were two things."

"At the time, I said it couldn't be done. And at the time I was correct. The Lodge of Sorceresses didn't have the necessary expertise to create the ritual required."

"And you do now?"

I had never expected to see Lady Eilhart grin. "It's not infinite, and as I understand it, it's over a much smaller area than was suggested, but as the majority of the action is taking place in Kaer Trolde anyway. I am reassured that we would be able to detect any magical influence from outside Kaer Trolde and I am reassured."

"What's happening here Lady Eilhart?"

She smiled at me. "Let's just say that that," she gestured at the argument where Ermion was increasingly seeming to get the upper hand over Yennefer. "... is not the only piece of entertainment that I am looking forward to tonight."

I swallowed.

The party continued. The crowd around our table would seem to grow to a critical mass before knots of men and women would split off and go to other places before the crowd would build again. The afternoon turned into evening, a long evening that seemed to extend itself on an indefinite level, going on and on as the sky began to turn all the other shades of colour that you can expect. The reds, the oranges and the yellows.

At first, I was a little concerned that all of this commotion might be a little bit overwhelming for Helfdan but he seemed to be bearing up really well. He wasn't an active part of the festivities except when people spoke to him directly but he sat there, looking relaxed and smiling faintly. He was enjoying watching the world go by.

And then abruptly, the sky began to darken. I don't know who noticed it first but I think that the first that I heard about it was when someone commented "Here comes the storms."

Something tingled at the back of my neck. Looking around I noticed that both Lady Eilhart and Lady Yennefer were watching me with interest. Yennefer was openly grinning.

Time for the final reunion of the evening then. I found myself a good place to sit in order to watch the festivities, filled my tankard and stretched out my legs to enjoy.

I had been looking forward to this.

The first sign that something was seriously happening outside of the standard series of events was when the first flash of lightening and the peal of thunder. When it was loud enough to shake the castle.

The thunder and lightening flashes coming from the windows continued to build gradually, coming closer and closer together, to the point where it honestly surprised me that the Skelligans didn't notice that there was something going on. But they seemed oblivious, continuing with their drinking and their partying.

Then, abruptly, I saw The Druid Ermion's head tilt upwards suddenly as he gave a start. It was a quick, abrupt thing as he looked up, a lot like Kerrass does if we are being honest. He looked up and seemed to sniff the air. Then he stuck his little finger in his ear and gave it a good little twist around before sniffing again and swallowing. Then he examined the windows through which it was possible to visibly see the storm-clouds gathering.

Then he sighed and audibly kind of subsided in his chair. He glanced over to where Yennefer was sitting and visibly raised his eyebrow at her.

Yennefer ginned at him before shrugging.

Ermion put his head in his hands for a moment before shrugging and like me, settled back to enjoy the show.

The thunder rolled again. It was already pretty loud and ear-splitting enough to shake the foundations of stone but now the rolling itself was beginning to sound as though there was an earth-quake happening.

Ermion climbed to his feet, rather wearily I thought, and approached the Queen and whispered something in her ear. Cerys looked up as she listened and then nodded, gently and quietly moving through the crowd until she was at the dais and the throne.

And still the Skelligans hadn't really noticed. There were a few small comments about "The storm's a strong one today," and things of that nature and I just a moment of treacherous thinking that Ariadne would need to step up her game if she wanted to make any kind of impact in this particular court.

And then she did.

The windows whited out with the flash, the thunder on top of it. It was like a physical wave of sound that buffeted the ears and the stomach. That kind of noise that you feel in your chest and in your stomach more than you hear it in your ears. I saw a man fall off his chair in surprise at the shock of it and he wasn't the only one that was surprised.

Then someone noticed that although there was thunder and lightening, there was no rain. Don't get me wrong, this can happen and if there is any nationality that has a good, general weather sense, then it is the Skelligans. Not surprising really given that their entire lives revolve around storms, tides and weather.

And suddenly, the realisation that something was amiss ripped through the crowd.

The lightening struck again, but the flash was no longer the blueish white that you mostly see in lightening storms. Now, the lightening was red. A deep, blood red as well.

There was a mass calling for arms as men and women strapped axes to their waists and shields to their backs. Feeling suitably fortified, Hjalmar led people to the doors and threw them wide open and led the way outside to see what was happening.

Kerrass and I went with the mob. Helfdan and his people came with us.

"You don't look worried." Svein commented to Helfdan quietly.

"I'm not."

"Why?"

"I do believe that the Scribbler's betrothed is in the process of making her entrance." Helfdan was looking round with interest.

We all went out into the open air. The weather was certainly warmer than it had been when we had been in the middle of our mission and yes, there was always the possibility that there would be storms in this kind of situation. But it was still cold. We were protected a little, from the press of people that were around us, still warm from the insides.

I saw Lady Eilhart muttering something before a slight glow surrounded her. Lady Yennefer pulled a pair of gloves out from a pouch at her side and put them on. I thought that the two women were glaring at each other but I couldn't really tell from where I was standing.

A wind had picked up while we were in the hall. It was the kind of wind that you only really hear about in story books. I have certainly never come across a wind like this one and I have spent a considerable amount of time over the last couple of years on the road. It was a shrill wind. It shrieked and moaned around the place.

"This is no natural storm." Someone shouted.

I had to work at it to keep from laughing.

I mean really.

"Guard yourselves." Hjallmar called. "We have no idea what is happening." I will say this for him. He cuts a dashing figure in moments of crisis. His tunic was open at the neck, displaying his muscled chest as he moved around with his axe in one hand and shield in the other. His red hair blowing gently in the wind. He looked to be every image of the Skelligan warrior hero of old.

"There are fell voices on the air." Someone shouted. "Listen."

I don't know if it was part of what Ariadne had cooked up. But there really was something else going on in the wind. There were echoes of words and there was a sound to it that put a man in the fear for his soul. If you were a particularly superstitious man then you would be prepared to swear that you could hear the voices of the dead calling out for you to join them.

The crowd moaned with the fear and the dread of it.

"Stand firm men of Skellige." Hjallmar called. "Stand tall women of Skellige. Whatever new threat that this is that comes for us, we will face it with shields on our arms and weapons in our hands. Stand and there is no foe that cannot be overcome by our strength and our will."

"The God's are punishing us for dismissing the Skeleton Ship." Someone shouted.

"Doom," someone else called. "Doom upon us all."

"Silence." Roared Hjalmar. "We do not know what is happening yet. We have no way of knowing and I will not stand for this kind of cowardly talk. If there is a threat then we will deal with it. If there is some kind of vengeance from whoever it was that sent the Skeleton Ship then we will do that..."

"LOOK." Someone shouted.

The storm clouds were tinted with a red so deep that it was like blood. The clouds themselves seemed to pulse with veins and arteries. As though they were part of some great monster, some great creature that covered the land. It was still daylight so, presumably, the sun shining through these clouds had dyed us all into this deep crimson colour as we looked out over the harbour.

After someone had shouted, men and women lost all formation of order as we all rushed to the rails and to the walls in an effort to see what had been seen. It took a long while but then someone else saw it.

"There, coming over the ice."

Someone else groaned, more than one person recoiled from the railing in horror at the sight.

"Laying it on a little thick aren't you?" I muttered into the link that I shared with Ariadne. She didn't answer but I did get a small feeling of smugness.

I didn't push my way through to the front of the crowd. So I waited until there was enough room to make my way to the rail easily and I looked out over the harbour.

Out in the town, men and women had come out of their homes. More than a few were making their way up to the castle. You could see torches running this way and that way as men prepared for battle and for the attack that was surely going to be coming at any moment. But that was not what was drawing everyone's eye. What people had seen was a shadow out in the harbour. Just a little shadow, coming over the rapidly melting ice. It spread as well as it approached out of the west.

Because the shadow was moving. Creeping towards the harbour and the keep.

At first, it was just a smudge. A red-tinged smudge but then it seemed to grow and grow until it became more. It became a stain that was spreading over the ice slowly, very very slowly. Then it seemed, to my eyes at least, to be like smoke, rippling and moving.

"What is it?" More and more people were asking that question. More and more people were beginning to call out in fear and dismay.

It seemed to come on in fits and starts. As though it was just staying still for a while before it would explode forwards with a burst of movement. We watched as it crept across the ice, getting closer and closer to the harbour.

"What do we do Lord?" Someone called. "Do we call for archers?"

"No, do not be foolish." Shouted someone else. "In these winds, we would just as likely kill someone in the village, let alone if we were to use fire arrows."

"What about magic?" A woman moaned. "Surely Lord Ermion and the other Sorceresses can do something about this."

Slowly, it became clear that the stain was not some kind of smoke. Nor was it something moving underneath the ice as someone else would have it. We couldn't yet see what it was. Not really. But it was made up of things. Many things of many various sizes. A little too small to properly make out what those things were. But you could see them. Small, black and chitinous things that climbed over each other. It no longer looked like smoke, or a stain. It looked like a pool of water. Or oil, that was more like it. The kind of black goo that can come to the surface in certain parts of Kaedwen and the empire as it slides across the surface.

But it wasn't a liquid, a jelly or anything else really. It was made up of things. Small things. Tiny little things that we could not quite make out.

It had also become clear that we could see the back edge of these things and that they were not infinite. That there was an ending to them and at the same time, it was obvious that they were not moving towards the town or the harbour at all. They were moving towards the massive tower of rock that the castle was standing on.

It reached the foot of the outcropping of rock and at first, it seemed to pool at the bottom.

"It cannot climb." Someone shouted. "We are saved. It cannot reach us up here."

"LOOK." A voice came. And you could see the first parts of it, beginning to scale the walls. Small jittering movements as the things started to climb.

It was then that someone realised what it was.

I know I keep saying "someone" but that was what it was like. No-one could see who was shouting and when I asked around later, no-one admitted being the one that called out. No-one knew anyone that called out and I found myself wondering if these panicky voices were part of the entire illusion themselves.

"They're spiders." someone breathed in horror. "Lots of them, hundreds, thousands even. So many spiders."

Then we heard the voice. A voice that seemed to whisper in everyone's ears. It was just a quiet noise but one of infinite menace and promised terror.

"I am coming." It whispered. "Prepare for my arrival."

Back," Hjalmar shouted. "Back into the hall."

No-one needed to be ordered twice.

"Lord Ermion." Hjalmar strode up to the druid who looked as though he hadn't moved. "What is the meaning of this? Who is coming? What is coming?"

"I do not know." Ermion moaned. "I have been trying to pierce the veil that protects the being that scales our walls as it is."

I am told that Ermion was actually born somewhere in Redania and that he came to the circle as a young adult. But he is as much a Skelligan as any of them. His love of drama was obvious and he had clearly decided to play along.

"Whoever it is that is coming, she is a being a of great power." He whispered it so that all could hear the dread in his voice. "Do not anger her for her wrath would be terrible."

I might have been imagining it when he directed those words at me.

"Her?" Someone wondered. I don't know who but it seemed to come from the side of the room that housed the foreigners.

"Oh yes." Ermion grinned horribly. It was not just Witchers that have a weaponised arsenal of smiles. "Can you not feel it?"

Then Ermion bent down and whispered something in the Queen's ear. I might have imagined that her face went carefully still before an expression of grim, resolute determination settled over her features like a mask. Hjalmar stepped up and demanded something. Probably an answer as to what the hell was going on. I didn't hear it, nor did I hear the response that was given. What I did see was that after the response, Hjalmar turned around and gazed at me for a long moment, before he realised what he was doing and turned away.

As he did so, his shoulders started shaking.

Sounds came from outside the hall. There were shouts from the guards outside. It was easy for them to be interpreted as shouts of fear but I rather thought that they were closer to shouts and calls of dismay. There were a lot of "Stand your ground" and "Hold the line," from authoritative sounding voices.

Then there was a pause which seemed to stretch out over a long period of time. A really long period of time.

Then there were sounds of combat. Not very much combat but combat nonetheless. Metal on metal. Metal on stone, metal on wood. There was something wrong with it though, something not quite right. Someone screamed suddenly with a blood-curdling shriek, leaving me wincing.

There was another long pause.

A solid boom echoed through the hall as someone struck the entrance door. Another boom. And another.

Men groaned with the sound and more than one person recoiled from the hall doorway as though it had suddenly grown hot.

I was really struggling to keep my face straight by now. I will admit that the sounds of combat from outside were a little worrying and that shriek of pain and terror might have caused a little bit of concern. But I was more than convinced that I knew what was coming. Although that wasn't what made me laugh what made me laugh was this particular piece of people watching.

As I watched, when the first knock sounded. Men and women, both, jumped as though shocked. When the second knock sounded, they fell backwards.

After the third knock, things started to get a bit interesting. Some people, not being combatants, continued to fall back. But others, realised that they were being watched by the other people in the hall. So rather than wanting to appear weak or foolish in front of their peers, they kind of squared themselves up. Puffed out their chest and marched purposefully forward to meet whatever threat might be coming through those doors.

To be clear, both men and women are capable of puffing up their chest to make themselves feel big and imposing. It's exactly the kind of instinct that cat's display in the presence of a threat. You watch. Next time a cat detects an interloper. Then watch people in the tavern when they're trying to look big and scary in order to protect or impress a person that they want to sleep with. It's exactly the same thing.

As a result, there was a loose line of warriors from a variety of different clans in a variety of different states of drunkenness who were frantically trying to get themselves into some kind of semblance of order.

Silence fell.

I gestured for some mead. Something was telling me that I wouldn't have a chance to have much to drink for a while and I wanted to make sure that I was properly fortified. The thrall was stuck dead though. Not moving, he gazed at the doorway with a slack mouth of terror. I waved in front of his face and he suddenly started out of his terror enough to pour me some mead. Even if the stream of liquid shook visibly as it fell.

"Don't worry." I whispered to him, suddenly struck by a feeling of pity for the hapless man. "She doesn't bite."

He looked at me as though I was mad. Not an entirely unfair thing to wonder if we're being honest with each other.

The silence dragged on and on. Just a few whispers of wondering came from the hall before the knocking started again.

Queen Cerys stood up after the last echoes of the knocking had died away. "Open the doors." She declared. "They might be enemy or they might be friend. But whether friend or enemy, they are bound by hospitality just as we are."

"What about the sounds of combat?" I think it was Jarl Jost that called out.

"We will deal with that as it occurs." The Queen decided. "Now open the doors."

The guards who were in charge of moving the huge, heavy and iron-bound doors sprang forward and pulled the doors open. It might have been my imagination but the doors seemed to groan in protest at being moved against their will but finally the doors opened and a figure stood in the outline of the door. Put into silhouette by the torchlight behind her.

Of course it was Ariadne and she looked... amazing.

She was in her full "evil-queen" get-up. A high collared, dark crimson dress. The shade of which matched the colour of the clouds and the lightening from earlier, held together at the waist with a thin golden belt. She wore a large black cloak as well which served to disguise her size and shape while in her hand was the long, golden spider staff. Her face was almost, but not quite, the mask that she had worn when we first freed her from the tower. Almost I say because this was no illusion. This was the clever use of cosmetics at play. Her eyebrows clearly defined and her eyes seeming shadowed in a way that, I understand, is described as smokey. Her lips were painted to match her dress and her long, dark hair, that she had been growing at my request, was held back from her face with a small golden circlet with a red ruby in the middle of it that seemed to glitter with some kind of internal flame.

The entire look was somewhat incongruous with the holy symbol of the Eternal Fire that hung around her neck and I could see her engagement ring on her finger.

Kerrass later accused me of preening.

And why wouldn't I. Don't I have the excuse to feel just a little smug at the sight of this impossibly beautiful woman coming into the room, causing all eyes to watch her, and to know that soon, very soon now, she would be my wife.

I think I'm a little entitled to feel a bit smug.

Ariadne took a moment to have everyone stop and register her presence and the sight of her. Her eyes scanned the room coldly. I rather thought that she was enjoying the attention and was more than a little amused at the reaction that she got.

Then, slowly, she took a step forward, using the staff more for an effect than for the walking support. It made an echoing clack as it struck the ground.

She was briefly impeded by a couple of warriors that moved to block her way. She didn't do anything, she just stopped and smiled at them. One of those smiles. I couldn't see whether she showed any fang but whatever it was that she did, the two warriors, who were only really there for some mutual... trying to show each other how strong and brave they were, stepped aside and stopped barring the way. She nodded graciously and imperiously to the pair of them and continued towards the throne.

After those first two hold-outs, the other members of the court of Kaer Trolde simply moved out of the way. It was like the parting of some kind of channel or, as I have been in the islands for quite a long time now. It was like a ship cutting through the sea. Leaving a wake of parted warriors behind her.

I finished my mead as I rather thought that I was about to have to take my cue, gave the tankard back to the waiting thrall who looked, even more, as though I was mad before I moved towards the dais.

Ariadne moved until she was standing in front of the throne.

It was another one of those moments that was torn out of story books and deserves to be immortalised in oils and canvass.

The vampire stood before the throne, looking up at the seated Queen of Skellige with her brother the Jarl on her right-hand side and the Druid Ermion on her left. Ermion stood easily, his own staff of office held proudly, every inch the wise court wizard. Hjalmar stood, his shield held easily in his hand and poised ready to be interposed between the Queen and harm.

I judged my moment.

"Majesty." I pitched my voice to carry. "It is my honour to present, Madame le Comtesse de Angral, Countess of Angraal, Kaedwen and the greater Nilfgaardian Empire. Member of the Lodge of Sorceresses and called the Spider-Queen."

There was some murmuring at the list of titles.

"Madame Comtesse," I went on, using all the muscles in my belly to overwhelm the whispers and the mutters, "it is my honour and sincerest pleasure to present, Her Majesty. Jarl of Jarls, Guardian of the isles, the Sparrowhawk, Queen of Ard Skellig, An Skellig, Spikeroog, Hindersfjall, Undvik and Faroe. High Queen of Skellige, Cerys An Craite.

There was a moment. Just a moment when the two women locked eyes together before slowly, Ariadne dipped into a curtsy. By some considerable margin, the lowest curtsy I have ever seen.

"I greet you Your Majesty." She said, her voice carrying over the plainly astonished crowd. "I was hoping that I might prevail upon your hospitality as my fiancee is a guest of your halls. And I do believe that my fellows may require my services over the next few days."

Cerys stood up, every inch the Queen.

"Rise." She said sternly and Ariadne unfolded gracefully to stand before the monarch of Skellige.

"There is the matter of my guards." Cerys began

"Your guards are unharmed." She said. "On or two raised their hands to me when I made no threatening gesture and I incapacitated them without long term damage. They are fine."

"We heard a scream." Hjalmar spoke loudly.

Ariadne smiled. "One or two people might have been a bit caught up in the moment,"

(Freddie's note: Apparently, after Ariadne made her presence felt, she had had a brief chat with some of the warriors of Skellige guarding the hall and had persuaded them to take part in her little display. Much to the amusement of the guards in question. I understand that a couple of them were punished in a few small but important ways for their more questionable senses of humour)

"The red clouds?" Ermion asked. "The Spiders?"

"I thought it best to make an entrance." Ariadne said. Allowing a few glimmers of humor to creep into her voice. "It is my understanding that a number of people have done their best to conquer that to which I have laid claim. I did not want there to be any doubt as to any consequences that might occur as a result of these actions."

"I see."

Cerys was visibly, NOT grinning or laughing.

"Is the..." She cleared her throat. "Territory aware and happy with your intentions?"

"He seems to be." Finally, Ariadne turned to me and smiled radiantly. It took all of my willpower to not grab the woman that I love and kiss her soundly and thoroughly. That sense of northerner propriety was still strong in me although I feel sure that the Skelligans would approve. Instead, I carefully walked forwards and bowed low, kissing her offered hand as ardently as I dared. I thought I could hear the voices of the Wave-Serpent lifting to cheer the loudest.

"I've missed you." I told her.

"And I've missed you." She whispered back.

Helfdan's people did me proud that night. Not that there was any doubt that they would do anything other than making Ariadne feel utterly welcome but I was grateful to them all nonetheless. Ariadne is getting better in large gatherings of people, but she still has a bit of a tendency to stand on the outskirts of things and look in. That element of her that is still the outsider, that wants to understand and measure everything according to her beloved scientific method.

Every so often, she needs to be startled out of that reflex of hers and it was happening here. There were a lot of jokes at my expense of course. Lots of "What are you doing marrying that reprobate?" kind of teasing remarks. I will admit to thinking that it took her a little while to get used to the more brutal and blunt sense of humour that the Skelligans tend to prefer.

But after a while she started experimenting with her own humour. Using her outsider's sense of comedy as a dagger, or a short blade in order to cut people down to size. It was clear that she had managed to make friends with Lady Yennefer, or as much as Lady Yennefer makes friends with anyone.

I couldn't really get a read on her relationship, if any, with Lady Eilhart as it had been a while since I had seen them both together. They laughed at each other's jests and things but I just thought that I could detect a certain edge to the mirth. A certain... how to put this... The laughter never reached Lady Eilhart's eyes. That distance is part of Ariadne's character. She is always watching from behind those eyes and it is a rare person that can make her honestly engage past that.

I flatter myself as being one of the few that can manage it. But she still guards herself closely so that she doesn't, as an example, laugh aloud and frighten people away with the obvious fact that she has fangs in her mouth.

To be clear, I can absolutely understand her reasons for wanting to conceal parts of her nature in order to better keep herself protected, but it still saddens me. It saddens me a lot. That night though, I was too busy enjoying being with the woman. Being able to look at her and hold her hand. When we were apart due to the press of people or because someone wanted to talk to either one of us in private. I loved the shared, silent glances and the slight, wicked and knowing smile that we shared.

In return for the jokes at my expense, I was told that I was a lucky man more than once until Ariadne overheard one of these jokes and killed that topic dead with a comment of, "I prefer to think of myself as a lucky woman," and that seemed to be the end of that.

She got on really well with Helfdan. I had not expected that but they seemed to understand each other on a level that I had not anticipated. Maybe it's that whole "outsider" thing again but she asked to see his diagrams and they talked about it for a while to everyone's enjoyment.

The people of Skellige accepted Ariadne's entrance in the way that it was intended for the most part. Their love of sagas and tales meant that they enjoyed being scared as much as they enjoy being happy or laughing or any of the other things that they do to entertain themselves. So they mostly saw it as the jest that it was intended to be. Also, it did indeed see off any interested parties from among the shieldmaidens that might still have been plotting to conquer my bed chamber.

The foreign dignitaries were less understanding. More than one person came to demand what she had been intending and "How dare she?" and various other things. More than one person asked what had happened if someone had been hurt. She did not stand for any of it though. She told people that she would not have hurt anyone and when someone else asked what would have happened if someone had attacked and hurt her she told them, in a rather flat tone "I was never in any danger."

Much to Yennefer and the men of the Wave-Serpent's amusement. The dignitary in question realised that he was not going to get out of this particular conversation with his dignity intact and he fled.

There was another burst of hilarity when Ariadne asked for separate quarters from my own. The Skelligans, in the way of their people, wanted to know why. We were clearly besotted with each other, had given our promise to each other if not before the Gods so why would we deprive ourselves of the company of the person that we loved?

I was not entirely immune to that argument, but this time it was Ariadne who had the strength to resist. She pointed out that, while such matters were acceptable on the islands, they would not be acceptable on the continent and for the sake of propriety and appearances, we had to remain apart.

Many, including Queen Cerys, found this arrangement ridiculous. In the end, it was solved by Ciri who insisted that Ariadne could spend the night with her as they had "much gossip to discuss".

I groaned on cue. Having lived with Ciri in close quarters on the Wave-Serpent for some time I was quite certain as to what kind of gossip the pair of them had in mind.

In the morning, the challenges began.

I won't go through all of them as if I did, we would still be here, you reading my accounts, this time next year when, by now, the results of the challenge are well-known on the continent. And mostly, Ariadne and I were taking the opportunity to be close together and do that sickening newly together couple thing. You know the thing, staring into each other's eyes, holding hands and ignoring conversations and events around us in order to just look at the other person. That kind of thing. It used to really frustrate me when friends used to get like this in Oxenfurt but now that I was in the thick of the thing, I have to say that it really is marvellous.

We talked about the coming winter that we would be spending together. Plans for Angral and plans for the future that we were both beginning to look forward to. We talked about the coming wedding with her doing a lot of telling me as to what was going to happen while, very occasionally, asking me what I wanted out of the ceremony and the party afterwards.

We also talked of things between a man and a woman that I don't really want to discuss in public.

We watched those heats of the contest of champions that Kerrass took part in. It seemed to be one of those things where everyone had submitted their names into the pot and most of those early bouts were over in heartbeats as clear winners were quickly lade apparent.

We also attended the archery competitions and at Ariadne's request, we attended the test of knowledge where men came in and were asked questions about the history and culture of the Islands. Skalds were meant to be neutral and as such were forbidden to enter the competition otherwise any Skald would be the clear winner. The questions were asked, judged and an overall winner would be announced at the closing ceremonies where the final Jarl would be announced.

The evenings were spent with story-telling, contests of insults, arm-wrestling, Dice and Gwent. The story-telling was judged by the imperfect method of having the story-telling judged by the crowd who would cheer the loudest for the best stories. When it was argued that some people would have smaller crowds, the judges responded by pointing out that the better story-teller would attract greater crowds. The drawing the crowd was part of the skill of the story teller.

The contest of insults was a similar kind of knock out affair to the contest of champions in that the insults would be traded until one opponent had no come back or dissolved into their own fits of laughter. Apparently, the official win or lose to these kinds of contests was that it went on until one side or the other lost their temper and demanded satisfaction. There was much complaining among the older audience members that these things were simply not as good as they used to be. But those complainers were soon quietened down by other onlookers until the contest was left rather good-natured with the insults drawing roars of laughter from the crowd. Points were lost by being repetitive or irrelevant but I could not detect what made something one or the other.

Ariadne was fascinated by the entire thing.

One of the benefits of these contests were that they took place indoors. Something that soon came to prevalence when the promised Storms started to arrive and make their fury known. We still made an effort to go and see Kerrass fight but there were many other contests that we missed. Either through the weather or because Ariadne and I were being "all lovey-dovey with each other" according to Svein.

As a result, we didn't see the rock-climbing competition, the horse racing (which Ciri won on her black horse that she calls Kelpie. Apparently it is not the first horse that she has owned named Kelpie but she loves that horse.) The foot race or the hunting contests.

After the ice had begun to thaw we did go out to see Helfdan compete in the small boat competition as he dodged the giant blocks of ice through the harbour. He placed third out of the field behind two people that worked as small boat handlers in the harbour itself. The winner, a woman named Aud, handed her trophy to Helfdan arguing that she sailed in that harbour with that kind of ship every day and therefore, of course she won. The second place pilot agreed and as a result, Helfdan walked away with the winner's totem to some cheers and some jeering.

We did not stay to watch the drinking competition although we understand that Yngvild and Svein placed quite highly in that particular contest. Nor did we watch the eating competition which, frankly, looked disgusting.

The foot race was out in the cold as well and I found that I was done with the cold for now. I wanted to stay warm.

There were all kinds of contests. There was a carving contest as judged by the council of Jarls. There was a spear throwing contest, a stone throwing contest (More impressive than it sounds. The stones were approximately the size and shape of a dwarven torso.) and a log throwing contest which the Skelligans called "Caber tossing", I have no idea why. I watched a few of these when the weather started to improve and Ariadne was consumed with other business to do with the Lodge of Sorceresses.

I did take part in the Gwent competition but I was eliminated almost immediately. I was knocked out of the contest of insults by, apparently, being too subtle for the crowd.

As I say, Ciri won the Horse-racing competition while Svein won the contest of Warlords.

I did attend that as part of Svein's cheering section and I found it quite fascinating.

The idea was to asses a man's abilities to order a small group of warriors around and lead them to victory. The warlord was not allowed to carry any weapon and was made vulnerable by having their hands tied behind their back. They were then, randomly, allocated twelve warriors who wielded a different array of weapons. Each warrior was allowed to accept twelve hits each before they were eliminated meaning that they had to throw their weapons down and leave the field. The object of the exercise was to eliminate the other team's own warlords. Each warlord could only be struck once before they, and the rest of their team, were eliminated.

Svein won. I don't want to say that he won handily but he certainly won convincingly before standing a round for his team in the tavern that night.

His wife also won the contest of guarding. Her "subject" was also bound by the hand and blindfolded. Yngvild was armed and armoured. She was allowed to be struck five times where her subject was only allowed to be struck once. The object of that exercise was to get the subject from one end of the gauntlet to the other without the subject being struck. I didn't see it, but I understand that she won it quite easily by taking an approach that no-one had thought of. Something to do with taking your time and being careful rather than doing it quickly. There were some ugly accusations that she had cheated but the Skalds monitoring the contest declared these accusations to be false.

Then came the final day. The final day of boasting, fighting and the promised test of cunning although no-one could tell me what the test of cunning was yet.

We were finally told about the test of cunning on the morning of the final day. There were several finals of various contests scheduled for that day including the wrestling, bare-knuckle fighting, archery and, of course, the test of champions. First thing in the morning, the Skalds stood up before everyone and the lead Skald informed us that he had concealed a number of the figurines around the islands in secret places that only he knew about.

How many carvings? He wouldn't say. Where had he hidden them? He definitely wouldn't say. How long did they have to find all the token? Until the close of the competition that evening. When did the challenge start?

It had already started.

There was this elongated pause as men looked around at each other as the Skald's smile broadened further and further and further before there was a sudden and almost simultaneous explosion of movement towards the various entrances and exits of the hall.

Helfdan didn't move. He had competed in the sailing contest and had gone to support various people that were officially competing in his name. When one of us won a figurine it was given to Svein and he hid the figurine somewhere secret and safe. I understand that there was some negotiation going on in the background as to who would receive the various wooden statues that we were winning. Who would trade them with us for different favours and who would be deserving of those figures that we would be able to hand out accordingly. I was astonished to find that there was no bitterness about the entire thing. I could not help but imagine this taking place on the continent where the possibility of an Barony or a Dukedom would be offered as a result of a series of contests. Wars have been fought over less and I was astonished that there hadn't been even a hint of any bloodshed.

But after people went running this way and that way to try and find the hidden carvings we had a simple breakfast between us before we went down to watch the finals of the test of champions.

I should also point out a couple of things. Not everyone had chosen to compete. The personal champions of the various Jarls had chosen not to compete in any of the champions, nor had any of the major warlords of the clans. These men were often being used as adjudicators in order to be able to watch the contests and declare those clear winners when that came up.

So in the test of champions, they were being administered by the Champions of the clans under the overall oversight of the council of Skalds.

I had been at all of Kerrass' major clashes. There had been very many contests between him and other men that no-one thought that Kerrass would lose. These were often old men that were past their prime but still believed that they had what it took. Or young men that had a name to make for themselves, a girl or a father to impress or otherwise make some kind of point. This kind of thing, I'm told, is absolutely expected. The two face off and it is soon clear as to who the victor is.

But as any experienced swordsman would tell you. The best swordsman in the world is not afraid of the second best swordsman in the world, he is afraid of the worst swordsman in the world as the worst swordsman will perform some feat or take some action that the more skilled and experienced man would not have considered. It is, apparently, part of the duties of a champion to fight even the smallest of foes with honour but also to spare those people who do not deserve the outright destruction that would normally be deserving. Champions are expected to build up young folk and give them something to aspire to while also letting the older warriors down easily so that there is no loss of face.

I am told that Kerrass struggled a little bit with this requirement. His philosophy was more geared towards, "They should know their own capabilities," and "They humiliated themselves rather than letting me do it. Those people were humiliated long before I even got into the square."

But I missed some of those contests, purely on the basis of being with the woman that I love and also being overwhelmed with all of the other things that I could see and do.

Towards the end of the week of the thaw, the air had become thick and muggy. The melting ice along with the returned heat of summer had conspired to form an almost permanent mist that caused most men to sweat and shift around in discomfort.

Kerrass was lucky there as he was used to fighting in these kinds of conditions, what with all of the marshes and things that he had had to wade through in order to get to his quarry.

He had climbed up through the ranks steadily, dismissing many of his earlier opponents with an ease that was almost worrying. I am told that more than one of his opponents outright yielded to the better opponent rather than having to face the intricate and chaotic movements of the Witcher from the Cat school.

But I had also wanted to support the other man that I had come to watch. Skallagrim, the champion of Clan Tuirseach had chosen to enter the contest. He had taken to the entire thing with a vehemence that had almost seemed to match Kerrass' own. His reputation of invulnerability had been punctured and now he was having to fight men that, previously, would have been beneath him or who would have knelt and yielded to his superiority when they found that they had to fight him in this kind of contest.

So Skallagrim was hungry. He wanted to beat people and remind them all of exactly who he was. That he wasn't some minor warrior that they could all just ignore and walk all over. I watched more than one over-confident fighter get into the fighting square with Skallagrim looking all confident before trying to attack in a mirror to how Kerrass had defeated the giant warrior before realising that their bodies simply didn't move in the same way that the Witcher's body had moved. Or that the gap that they thought that they had seen was no longer there and they got clattered about for their troubles.

Skallagrim himself, despite being hungry to prove himself again, was enjoying himself, reminding people why he was considered one of the finest fighters, if not the finest fighters in Skellige.

I took some time to introduce Ariadne to the warrior and he greeted us warmly. I subjected myself to another round of the jokes about "What are you doing with him," and "You're a lucky man," although the fact that he still appended the "Lord Frederick" part of the sentence was gratifying.

Ariadne blushed on cue and paid the man many compliments. I also took the opportunity to meet Skallagrim's wife. A deceptively slight and delicate woman who was surprisingly demure and almost shy, given her huge and dominating man. I had heard stories about the iron woman to whom Skallagrim was married and the tales and the eventual sight of the woman did not entirely add up in my head.

But there was no doubt that she ruled her man. No doubt in that at all. Attended, though she was by a number of children, she was able to summon the mighty warrior with a look and that he waited on her every need. It was easy to see why after all. They loved each other. It was impossible to guess as to how the two had met, let alone how the two had fallen in love but at the same time, here they were.

We exchanged brief words. Nothing that is really worth recording in detail. The lady asked me to pass on her thanks to Kerrass for not killing Skallagrim when he had the chance, as well as thanks to Helfdan for not demanding the death as would have been his privilege. I told her that neither Kerrass nor Helfdan were in the habit of wasting talents when there was a possibility to the contrary and that both had expressed an admiration for her husband. A compliment that caused the lady to blush and turn away. I will admit that, just for a second, I saw what the giant warrior saw in the diminutive woman.

For himself Skallagrim was relishing the moment to moment existence of a warrior who knew what he was doing and knew that he was the best at it. The only person that he thought he would have difficulty with was Kerrass and he expressed gratitude that the Witcher was in the other bracket when it came to the draw of the contest.

"Would it make you feel a little better if I told you that Kerrass expressed similar sentiments Lord Skallagrim?" I told him.

"It would." The big man admitted, "although not too much. And please don't call me Lord, it is a title that I have not yet been granted."

"An oversight that I expect to soon be corrected." I told him "and I also suspect that I will need to get into the habit of calling you Lord so if it is all the same to you, I will call you by a title that I think you deserve rather than a title by which you have not been labelled."

"Then I thank you for that." He said. "I will admit to wondering if some SKald has arranged matters so that there will be a rematch between the two of us for the final."

"If such a Skald did so then I have no knowledge of such an act." I told him. "Although I look forward to that final should it transpire. Have you thought of a counter to the move that he used?" I wondered.

He laughed at that. "And would I tell you if I had?"

But that was the final that we got after all.

There has been a lot of speculation about whether or not anyone had a hand in arranging matters so that Kerrass and Skallagrim would face each other again in the circle of champions. Honesty time? I have no idea. I was not watching closely enough. I will admit that for my own personal designs, I could not have got a better result, but that was by the by. I like to think that it wasn't entirely deliberate. I like to think that it was the kind of manufactured showmanship that the Skelligans do so well. There was no guarantee that the two would end up facing each other but I do wonder if some well meaning Skald arranged matters so that the two were in separate halves of the draw so that such a combat would not be wasted in the opening conflicts. I don't know the truth. But I do know that no man came close to challenging either man on the field.

A large crowd had gathered to see the event. It had already been decided that this would be a best out of three contest. That the conflict would be fought until someone would get a killing touch, as judged by the Clan champions of Clan Heymaey and Clan Brokvar as the most senior champions of clans that were not represented in the conflict.

It was the last day of the festival and tomorrow would begin the various departures so there was a sense of revelry in the air. Stands had been erected so that all could see the coming combat in the arena that was set up outside Kaer Trolde itself in an effort to ensure that as many people could watch the two "titans of combat coming together."

I stress that those weren't my words.

Helfdan and his people were given pride of place given our association with Kerrass and opposite us was a number of men under Clan Tuirseach.

The two men were already there doing some warming up exercises and working each other through some forms. There was a sense of no hard-feelings and neither of them were giving anything away.

The Skald in charge of the contest walked to the centre of the square that had been roped off for the contest and held his hands up until the crowd had quieted. Then he re-explained the rules for all to hear before informing both combatants that he expected a clear and honourable fight without cheating. He reminded them both that this was a contest of skill at arms, not one of cunning, conniving and base treachery. All of which are acceptable on the battlefield. Then he asked them both whether they understood, with Kerrass raising his hand to say that he did and Skallagrim nodded.

Kerrass dressed as he ever did whereas Skallagrim had chosen to where considerably less armour. This was about being touched by your opponent's weapon after all so the extra weight was potentially damaging to his chances.

They fought with wooden weapons which contained steel cores. Not as heavy as proper practice weapons that are used in training yards all over the continent, but I guessed that they would be as heavy as axes or swords would be. I guessed that this would give Skallagrim something more of an advantage as he had fought with an axe rather than the Witcher's sword.

The two combatants were stood in opposite corners of the square with the two judges from the other clans on either side of them.

It started much slower than the previous bout between the two of them had. They edged towards each other for a moment or two, Skallagrim keeping his shield much higher than he had previously, his sword resting on his shoulder. Kerrass advanced with equal caution. They stood, a couple of sword lengths apart before Skallagrim grinned and held his sword out for the two of them to touch in salute. Kerrass' own smile was somewhat more ironic but he answered the gesture before backing off quickly.

Which was when SKallagrim started his patterns. As I say, he started things much slower than he had done previously where he seemed to just leap into things from a standing start. He reminded me of that moment when a tree just begins to fall after the woodsmen have started striking it with their axes. Just that slow tilt that begins the eventual fall. He was watching Kerrass carefully over the rim of his shield. Watching how he reacted to the movements.

Kerrass changed his stance slightly before shifting to one side.

Skallagrim was playing it cautious. He advanced on Kerrass slowly. Where before, he had been the inexorable tide that swept all before him. Now he was advancing cautiously. A cat edging towards something that it knew might have been painful. He was frowning with concentration.

Kerrass made an attack and SKallagrim's pattern shifted instantly. Skallagrim was quicker this time and I wondered if, before, he had been more slapdash about his movements. Or if he had underestimated Kerrass before. Or if the purpose of the court of spears was true. That he had not had his heart in the conflict, but now that he was hungry for a victory, hungry to re-earn his crown, that he was being that much more careful.

The tension in the crowd was thick. There had been outbursts of emotion at the various things that each combatant had tried and succeeded in the previous time that these two men had fought. But now there were no rules as to who was allowed to cheer for whom and under what circumstances. But the crowd was silent. There was a pressure in the air as we waited for the first proper exchange, all the while Skallagrim edged towards Kerrass closer and closer and closer while Kerrass waited patiently.

Ariadne was next to me, just as rapt. She was watching the crowd as much as she was watching the two men at the centre of things, enjoying the raw emotion in the place, the small rituals that people were taking part in. I knew that the betting pool on both men was immense and that more than one watcher would have their lives changed on the result.

But I couldn't think about that now. I could only watch and wait for something to happen.

Skallagrim edged closer. His feet sliding over the floor, barely adjusting his stance.

Closer still.

Closer.

Then there was movement as Kerrass exploded into action. The sound of the two wooden swords meeting each other was loud in the arena and Kerrass came tumbling away from the bigger man to the roar of the crowd. Skallagrim came after him quickly and Kerrass was forced to roll again coming to his feet in another movement but he was at the edge of the arena now and Skallagrim was on top of him.

There was another clash and I swear that anyone who claims that they saw what either combatant did is lying to you. But one of the judges held their hands up and called out.

Kerrass and Skallagrim pulled apart with both of them breathing heavily. There hadn't been that much exertion in it all so I guessed that it must have been something to do with the tension of it all. The two champions that were being used as judges had a small conversation, presumably where they worked out what had happened before they turned to the Skald and nodded.

"Point to Skallagrim."

The crowd roared with enough volume to cause my ears to ache with it. SKallagrim beat his chest in his own triumph and, I guessed, some kind of catharsis. A man beating a fear, or defeating a bogeyman of some kind.

Kerrass shook his wrist out a little and flexed his hand, smiling a little ruefully before spinning his weapon in a few arcs to settle his shoulders and returned to his own corner.

Skallagrim enjoyed the moment a little longer before returning to his own original position with a renewed look of concentration and just a glimmer of confidence in his eyes. I could easily imagine what he was telling himself. He was telling himself that it could be done. That it would be done and that if he had managed to do it once then he could do it again.

The Skald stepped forward into the middle of the square again and held his hands up until the uproar died down again.

"One point to Skallagrim of Clan Tuirseach." He declared. "Witcher Kerrass must win the next point to stay in the contest. A reminder that as this contest is for first and second places in the overall contest, then both of these combatants will receive one of the three idols."

There was much cheering at this. This meant that this contest was just for the honour of the thing. It was only here so that one man or the other could declare themselves the Champion of the Skeleton Ship's passing.

They might even be able to call themselves the Champion of the ship's final passing.

This time Kerrass came forward quickly. At first it looked as though he was being cautious but then he accelerated, getting faster and faster until he was inches away from Skallagrim who was only just in the process of beginning his movements. Kerrass rained blows down onto the man, quickly, brutally. SKallagrim did not even get the chance to get his patterns moving, so fierce was the onslaught.

Thinking about it since, I suspect that this wouldn't have worked in a battle, or a duel to the death. Skallagrim's weapons and shields are too heavy to be knocked aside and kept away like this but here, with the wooden swords that were provided, this wasn't a fight to the death. The crowd was roaring now. Roaring long and loud. Some of the crowd were cheering for Skallagrim and still others of the crowd were cheering for Kerrass. But a good portion of the crowd were just cheering because of the contest that they were witnessing.

No man could have held up under Kerrass' onslaught. In truth, Skallagrim managed it for longer than he had any right to. Longer than most would have managed but even as it was, his shield showed the signs of wear and tear and the solid impacts of the wood encased Iron bar that Kerrass was slamming into it.

Eventually, I think it was this that won the point for Kerrass. Skallagrim had assumed that something like their previous fight was going to take place. That the patterns would begin and that Kerrass would spend his time trying to find ways through the whirling blades. So he was taken aback by the sheer ferocity of the movements and the assault.

There were five blows. The first knocked SKallagrim's sword aside, the second struck the shield into position. The third was a parry that knocked Skallagrim's sword away again as he had had time to recover. The fourth knocked the shield aside and exposed Skallagrim's chest.

The fifth finished it.

To the outsider, Kerrass was just striking at Skallagrim with little or no finesse about the entire thing. But I saw more than one person looking at each other and nodding their approval of Kerrass' technique.

This time there was no argument, no debate about what the judges had seen. Kerrass was the clear victor and the Skald didn't even bother checking with the judges before awarding the point to Kerrass.

The crowd roared again with the excitement of the thing.

There was a longer pause before the beginning of the deciding point as both men walked to their respective corners and drank some liquid. Probably some heavily watered wine or whatever passes for that kind of thing in Skellige.

It was Kerrass that was hungry this time. He looked for all the world like some kind of caged animal. After drinking his water he was pacing backwards and forwards quickly before bouncing up and down on his feet with a rictus half snarl, half smile on his face.

Skallagrim was frowning in thought. The concentration visible.

There is an argument that suggests that Kerrass' victory there was a little unreasonable that in a proper fight, both combatants would have died as Skallagrim's blade was on it's way back towards Kerrass and would surely have killed him.

But this was a contest. Not some kind of battle to the death. Although looking at Kerrass' face, it could have gone either way.

The Skald gave everyone a few minutes to calm down and regain their composure. It took a long time for the crowd to die down as well but I think it was more about prolonging the moment. The inherent nature of the Skald to provide some kind of showmanship to proceedings was in full display.

Then he nodded and Skallagrim and Kerrass came together.

Skallagrim did not fall for the same trick this time and closed the distance between he and the Witcher with as much speed as he could, his blade already swinging into the first of his many patterns. He was moving quicker and quicker as Kerrass leapt to meet him.

Kerrass feinted one way before leaping the other. I've seen him use that move before and it nearly always results in Kerrass' opponent being skewered. I would have thought that Skallagrim would have been immune to that kind of thing though, given that his movements worked differently. So the only reason why that would work is if Kerrass had seen a gap that no-one else had.

But it was a feint, instead Skallagrim seemed to have set up the opening that Kerrass had tried for and had stepped into meet the Witcher with his shield. Thus bringing in the bigger man's strength and weight to the play. Kerrass flew backwards trying to roll to his feet.

Skallagrim went after him. Trying to duplicate the conditions of his previous victory but Kerrass was up, on his feet and his blade was a blur to fend off the approaching warrior and so the fight was still going. Skallagrim had reset to his original pattern and was advancing on the Witcher again. Sword moving on the pattern. He was faster than the last time he had used this tactic but still slower than he had been in that initial flurry of activity that had cost Kerrass the first point..

Kerrass was backing away now. Going slowly and carefully, he looked winded as though one of the impacts had taken it out of him a little. I don't know though. He was also, occasionally, taking his left hand away from his sword hilt and pressing it into his side, as though he had been bruised or something. Skallagrim was relentless though. Advancing forward step by step. No pause given, his face a mask of concentration and hunger.

The thought finally occurred to the crowd that Kerrass was going to lose. He looked pale and confused. He was still concentrating himself, but now that concentration had an edge. As though he was reaching for something that he couldn't quite find in himself.

As I was trying to decipher that expression on his face, he attacked. A blistering series of movements that were unleashed from relatively close range. There was no rhythm to the strikes, nothing that you could base any kind of defence on. But those blows met Skallagrim's shield, or his sword as it whirled away in the patterns that were still active.

Then Kerrass was backing away again. The slight look of confusion back on his face. The crowd roared. Even Skallagrim paused for a moment as he glanced at the two judges to see if he had missed anything. It was obscene to think that neither he, nor the Witcher had been struck during that flurry of blows. But there it was, the two judges were still watching carefully with nothing in their expression to suggest that they were trying to decide anything. No blow had been struck.

Skallagrim took a deep breath and started to walk forward again, his blade swinging and moving.

Kerrass was tiring now, you could see it. He would dance backwards before leaning on his wooden training sword and taking a few breaths before Skallagrim's advance would force him back into a retreating position. Even worse than his fatigue, Kerrass was beginning to get visibly frustrated.

In every way that Kerrass had been able to circumvent Skallagrim's tactics the first time that he fought, it looked as though he wasn't going to succeed here. There had been an exchange of points and Kerrass was beginning to run out of ideas as to how to defeat the huge Skelligan.

Kerrass sprinted towards his opponent, in a mirror of the same movement that he had during the court of spears. He attacked, leapt and rolled in the same way, but this time, Skallagrim had a counter, he followed through on one of the blows that had, previously, only been an off-hand manoeuvre now became a full on strike and Kerrass was battered away.

"This is it," I heard myself mutter as I leaned forward.

The blow had pushed Kerrass onto the rope which he bounced off and straight back into Skallagrim's waiting arms, or rather should I say, Skallagrim's waiting blade.

Frantically, Kerrass tried to fend off the heavy strikes that rained down upon him before it became clear that he would not make it. He was trapped, no where to go and no way to get into a crouch or begin a roll or a pirouette or any of the other avoidance tricks that he would use otherwise. Out of reflex he shaped his hand into a sign.

But then he seemed to realise where he was and his hand relaxed. But that moment of hesitation cost him.

Skallagrim's sword struck, knocking Kerrass' blade aside before it then struck again, capturing Kerrass' blade and forcing it downwards before the pattern reversed and Skallagrim's sword came to rest at the bottom of Kerrass's sternum.

In a real fight, both men would be dead. All Kerrass would have to do would be to lift his sword a little and Skallagrim's arteries in his groin would be severed. But this wasn't a real fight and Skallagrim had won.

The crowd went nuts. The home crowd champion had defeated the interloping outsider. It's one of those stories that will be told around camp-fires and tavern hearths for decades, if not centuries to come. In a way, it even re-emphasised the truth of the previous court of spears. I could almost hear them.

"Well it proves it," they would say. "It proves that the court of spears is accurate. In a contest, the Witcher could not have possibly defeated Skallagrim the strong. Skallagrim the clever, Skallagrim the inexorable. But in the court of spears, when the right of the matter was on the Witcher's side. Then Skallagrim was defeated. The good man fighting for the wrong cause, an evil cause, a cause that he didn't believe in."

The story was already being written I was sure of it.

I made a play of the matter of course. I had gambled on Kerrass quite heavily, and lost all of it but for reasons known only to Skelligan minds, they accepted me all the more for it. I was clapped on the back as I went down to see the defeated champion to commiserate with him in his loss.

But the show wasn't over. Kerrass was walking Skallagrim into the middle of the square of ropes and held the bigger man's hand aloft to the roar of the crowd. I cheered alongside them. It was a heroic sight after all and the rest of it couldn't have happened better if the poet had written the script for the actors to play the lines himself.

Skallagrim held his hands in the air, accepting the roars of the crowd and bellowing his own defiance back into their teeth. Everyone that had judged him in the wake of his defeat at the hands of the Witcher in the court of Spears would now see him for the victorious warrior that he was and none would, again, dare to challenge his might.

Kerrass applauded from the sidelines before he made to walk away. Holding onto the strangely injured side while still wearing the shocked, puzzled and faintly bewildered expression that he had before he had lost.

Seeing this though, Skallagrim pounced on the defeated Witcher, seizing the hand that wasn't being used to press into whatever injury was affecting the losing man, he raised Kerrass' hand aloft and the crowd roared again. Men love victory, but they love a gracious victor all the more. Especially when combined with a gracious loser.

Kerrass accepted his own round of cheers with a faintly bemused expression before Skallagrim pounced on him again, enveloping him in a huge embrace. Much to the approval of the crowd. I think the two men said something as they pulled apart. Skallagrim was frowning about something, almost seeming angry, as he spoke but when Kerrass answered, Skallagrim smiled ruefully before nodding. Kerrass gestured to the crowd before gesturing back to Skallagrim as if beckoning the crowd to adore their new champion as Skallagrim held his hands aloft and accepted the adulation.

The competition for third and fourth place had already taken part and so the third place in the contest came out to some cheers and applause where he greeted Kerrass and Skallagrim warmly, exchanging some small words with both men before the Skald came and handed out the three prizes. I was pleased and gratified at just how much noise was generated by that crowd for my Witcher companion. I knew for a fact that he was genuinely moved by it. So much so that he was genuinely shaken and I had to cover for him as he retreated.

We went out towards the end of the harbour where Kerrass spent a good amount of time looking out to sea.

"I have never come here before." He told Ariadne and I as we stood there with him. "Why have I never come here before?"

"You never had reason to Kerrass." I told him. "You never had reason to and it never occurred to you that you would receive that which you have been given That which you deserve."

Kerrass nodded at that.

"You know, I would have sworn that I didn't need that. I would have killed any man who told me that I needed to hear men cheer my name and accept me in unlooked for friendship."

He shook his head.

"Why did I never come here before?"

I sensed that he didn't really want, need or expect an answer to his questions, so I just stood there for a while and let him be.

It was Ariadne that saw Skallagrim arrive.

"Lord Champion," she said loudly to attract Kerrass' and my attention. "I would have thought that you would be off enjoying the adulation you have earned so well."

Skallagrim laughed. In many ways it seemed as though a great weight had been lifted from him and he seemed ten years younger than he had been when I had met him outside the trial of spears.

"I thank you Lady and I would ask as to whether you would join me in order to take part in that self-same adulation save for the fact that I am married and I see that I would be competing with the Scribbler for your affections."

"Are you worried that you would lose?" I asked him.

"Not even slightly. But I would not wish to break your fool northern heart." He grinned.

Ariadne did not make me feel any better as she laughed uproariously.

"But the truth is that it is tradition that the champion buys the runner up a drink." Skallagrim told us, "And I looked around to find out where my opponent had gone off to and found him out here."

"I am here." Kerrass had shaken himself and turned round to see his opponent.

"Are you well my friend?" Skallagrim enquired, guessing as to some of Kerrass' mood.

"I am... This is all very different for me." Kerrass told him. "It has been a long time since a stranger has called me a friend and even longer than that before I admitted that friendship in return."

"Well," Skallagrim grinned slyly. "It's not every day a man allows another to win a great competition like this one."

Kerrass sighed. "Sorry Freddie, he actually figured it out really easily."

" I don't know about that first point." Skallagrim admitted, "But there's no way that you didn't know exactly where those ropes were that I trapped you against, on the last point. No way that you didn't know exactly which way that you should have gone to escape me. I mean, don't get me wrong. As cunning traps go, you played a blinding one."

He grinned again. "I'll get you next time though Witcher. I'll take it though. My wife has that look in her eye that she hasn't had for ages, meaning that I can look forward to her chasing me round the bedroom tonight." He sighed happily. "Isn't love wonderful."

"It really is." Ariadne agreed, grinning at me.

Kerrass allowed himself to be persuaded off towards the tavern, accepting my admonishment that he should ensure that he was still sober enough to attend the evening's festivities.

Ariadne and I wandered around Kaer Trolde for the rest of the day until the evening sun began to set in the west. There was plenty to do and see, plenty of people to talk to and things to admire. At one stage I saw Helfdan in close conversation with an older, bearded man around the ship building area. I was fascinated by the place with the troughs and rolling logs that were used to put longships in the water, but I had also been informed, not unkindly but also rather firmly, that there wasn't really anything to see and that I would be better off finding my entertainment somewhere else.

Which was not hard. A few disgruntled people tried to pick a fight with Ariadne, I guess that they had been made to feel like less of a man in some kind of way, but she laughed, smiled and steered us round them. At her request, I humiliated myself in a number of the stalls as part of the carnival atmosphere where she extorted me onto great efforts of throwing the balls at a set of stacked wooden cups in order to win her a wooden carving of a bear.

Obviously I failed but the look of amused commiseration on her face was worth the couple of copper pieces that my valiant attempts at crushing the wooden cup menace cost me. I had my revenge late while watching Ariadne attempting to eat a toffee apple. Something that she declared should not be quite as delicious as it was. While also complaining that it couldn't be sanitary while she picked a few bits of sawdust, hair and other bits of harbour detritus out of the sticky outer coating.

We had a great time. It was strange and a little bit amusing. We had not seen each other since she had come to visit me outside of castle Kalayn even though we had spoken often, but I had missed her fiercely. I hadn't even realised how much I missed her, but now I could feel myself perking up when she was nearby and I was looking for her whenever she was called away on business of the lodge or to maintain the magical detection field that she was part of.

I tried not to ask questions in that regard and just let her get on with it.

But it began to seem increasingly absurd to me that we had spent so long apart and I found myself wondering how I had survived without her. And I dreaded the coming morning of our separation even though I knew that that day could not be put off indefinitely.

But the sun began to fall and everyone tramped up to the castle to see who was going to be chosen as the new Jarl.

It was a hell of an evening and I considered myself fortunate to have a place at the table near the front. Men and women were crammed into the great hall standing shoulder to shoulder. The hall still had it's tables for the Jarls and the top captains and Lords of the Islands as that was the tradition of the piece as well as adding numerous other tables. I don't know who it was that had been forced to do the balancing act between getting enough tables into the hall while also leaving enough room for all other onlookers to attend at the same time.

I don't know which master of ceremonies, chancellor, herald or whatever was forced to do that job but whoever it was, that person was a genius. Some continental folks were moaning about the fact that guests should be given precedence over existing people, but these complaints were mostly ignored by the Skelligans. Their attitude seemed to be that this was a Skelligan moment in history for Skelligan people and that if the northerners or the southerners wanted to complain about any of that then they could fucking well go and wait outside.

But I had my seat. Helfdan's table was taken up as he sat in his customary seat. At his insistence, Ciri sat at the head of the table in the place of precedence where the Captain of the ship should sit, but Helfdan obviously wanted to have his back to something solid. That two hand-picked members of his personal guard were standing behind him in their full armour, despite the heat and pressure of bodies, did not seem to dismiss his worries. Nor did Svein's careful allocation of the seating.

Ciri obviously made a big, and loud fuss of refusing to sit in a seat of such high honour, making the point, loudly and for all who could listen, that that seat belonged to Helfdan but she did eventually allow herself to be persuaded and sat in the chair, twisting so that she could see what was going on on the dais. I was sat next to Kerrass who carried his winning carving like it was something precious and with Ariadne on my other side.

In the few days since she had arrived, Ariadne had been firmly accepted by the rest of the crew and I was grateful for that. A few more people tried to pick fights with Helfdan regarding his allowing some foreign dignitaries to sit at his table and not allow others, but he ignored them. Literally ignored them. He didn't even acknowledge their presence. Forcing them to either escalate the confrontation or move it elsewhere. Most of them chose the latter of the two options.

The Queen was already on the dais, chatting easily with the other Jarls, the Skalds and Lord Ermion. Lady Eilhart and Lady Yennefer were also on the dais, Yennefer looking a little bored but politely attentive to the whole proceedings while Lady Eilhart looked on with interest. I couldn't see Lady Merigold but I would later find that she considered this entire proceeding to be a work affair and was off talking to dignitaries around the hall.

There was a constant stream of food and drink although I rather thought that the ale was somewhat weaker than the stuff that is more regularly served in Kaer Trolde and I wondered if this had been deliberate or if it was just that I was becoming more inured to the constant stream of ale and mead that had been passed around for me to consume. I have no way of knowing of course so instead I simply enjoyed the food and drink as we all speculated over who the new Jarl was going to be and, almost as importantly, how the choice would be made.

There were musicians playing to be sure. Contests of dice, Gwent and axe throwing. A fight started in one corner but it almost seemed a little half-hearted. As though people were going through the motions. No one wanted to miss the moment where history would be made in this hall this night and we were all fascinated to see what was going to happen.

The Queen waited for a long time before she stepped to the front and gestured. The Jarls returned to their own tables and sat down.

"This is our ancient charge." The Queen began. "Later, I will bid the Skalds tell the stories of the founding of the clans to remind each and every one of us why we are here and what our tasks are. They will tell those tales of those ancient sons and daughters of the Ard Ri (High King) Hemdall who formed the clans in order to guard and protect these islands and the people that live on them. We will hear about them long into the night so that the new Jarl, whoever it may be, might know what kind of person they are following.

"But in short, our charge, our duty, is to protect these islands. Protect them, our people and our way of life against enemies without and within. They protect us from threats that we can only dream of now and other threats that are still used to terrify young folk to sleep despite them long having been destroyed.

"So that is why we choose a new Jarl today. This is not a popularity contest despite some people thinking that that might be the case. This is our choosing who will stand at our side in battle. Who will protect our rear. Who will protect our homes for us while the rest of us are away. The most popular man might be the best spoken or the strongest man here. But that does not make a Jarl. A Jarl is the best person for the job. A Jarl should be a man, or a woman, who we could leave in charge of the islands while the rest of us go to war and we can trust that, when we return, that the islands will still be here."

She took a moment to let her gaze move around the room.

"So here I hand over to the learned Skalds themselves in order to ensure that this process is carried out fairly and according to the law."

She gestured and the old man from before moved forward. He still had that look of a man who was enjoying himself a little too much for someone that was in charge of such prestigious and important proceedings, but I suppose that this kind of things happens when you are a story-teller or a bard who has spent years without a proper audience.

"So it begins like this." He said to the mostly silent room. "Inside this hall there are many participants of the various contests that have taken place over the course of this last week. First let me wish my own congratulations to each and every man who was worked so hard and won so much to achieve these things. I would ask everyone, barring those people that might have new carvings as a result of finding them as part of the trial of cunning, to place their statues of victory on the table before them."

There was a general rustling and a series of thumps as people reached inside their cloaks and produced the small carved warriors and placed them before themselves.

"It has to be said that this situation is almost unique in Skelligan history." The Skald declared. "Normally, when a Jarl dies without successor then a new Jarl is chosen from the Captains and other Hersir that made up that Jarl's retinue. When a clan has died or been wiped out, then the line has been tracked, into other clans if necessary before another is found in order to be able to take up the banner. But this is not what happened here. Here, we are replacing a clan and a Jarl that betrayed Skellige and betrayed the throne and the crown in our hour of darkest need."

Masterfully, his tone became dire and dreadful as he spoke over the various thumps and scuffles that were still carrying on around the hall.

"A clan who's history was tracked back into the founding of the Nation, turned on everyone because the Jarl was grieving and refused to obey the lawful decision of the council of Jarls. Not only did he betray, but he betrayed when the armies of Nilfgaard, when they were still our enemy, were on our doorstep and the islands needed to be united before a common foe.

"But even more awful than that. The Wraiths of Morhogg chose that moment to attack. An attack so foul that even Nilfgaard chose to join the battle on our side. Even Nilfgaard stood with us against a common enemy and clan Drummond did not."

It was skilful filling of the silence as men finished up placing their figurines. Judging that all of the carvings that were going to be place on the tables were now on the tables themselves, the Skald nodded.

"That is what we are replacing. And that is what we need. We need a good, strong and honest Lord to police the southern reaches of Ard Skellig and watch to the south. Against Ice Giants, and pirates from Cidaris and Vergen. Who will we trust to perform this duty?"

He grinned. "Lets find out."