(A/N: Part 2 of 2)

(A/N: Warning: Description of injury. Also, some language, used in ignorance, that might be considered racist. That was not my intent. Also a scene of misread sexual signals coupled with culture clash. The character involved feels awful, says so and apologises)

That is why I will never be a general. I am never going to be the man that leads men into battle, or a fight or any kind of situation where other people's lives are in danger. Whatever it takes for a man to be able to examine the entire situation and make those kinds of decisions. I don't have that thing. I just don't.

When it's a decision about my own safety, then yes, I will run into the burning building, I will decide that I am not going to take any more of the torment and I will attack. I will also run away without fear of shame as I would rather be alive at the end of things. I would rather people say of me “He was a coward when he ran away from a fight,” than to say, “yes, he was very brave.”

In that moment on the beach. I thought we were beaten. I was ready to run. I very nearly did so as well. I very nearly told them to stop, that it was pointless and that we should head back to the wave-Serpent and save ourselves. My mouth was literally in the process of opening so that I could make that speech.

But Svein, and Helfdan, are different kind of men. I know that both of them are cautious and careful. I have heard the stories and I have seen it first hand. That both men would not push their people into a hopeless fight or an impossible situation. Svein even told me, once, that the last stand of a hero is the last stand of a foolish man. You can stop when there is no other way forward or if that is the best defensible position that is in sight. But you never just pick a spot and wait for the enemy to come.

Helfdan went one further. He said “It is an easy thing to die for one's lord. It is much harder to live for them.”

But they had looked at the battlefield and they had seem something that I hadn't. They had seen “the tipping point.”

According to “How to Fight a Battle. Taken from the musings of Jon Natalis”, the theory goes like this. There is a moment in a battle where both sides are roughly equal. Where both sides are just beginning to get tired or just beginning to falter and the fighters start to remember the fact that they are actually mortal after all. The men start looking around for their Sergeants and their officers. For their lords and masters. I've since read up on this subject and apparently, what is actually happening in the mind of the soldier is that he is looking around for someone to give them permission to flee from the field of battle. They are looking for reassurance. So if the Lord is already running away, then why should the warrior stay and fight to give the lord time to escape.

But if the Lord is charging, then everything must be fine and we must be about to win. It can happen to one side first, or it can have already happened as part of the campaign before the battle even starts. But the real trick is that you recognise that point in your own forces and in the enemies forces as well.

If you leave it too late for your own men, they will, at best, flee. At worst, they will continue to fight, but the heart will have gone out of them and they will simply get slaughtered. So the trick is, to charge. Give them a rallying point. In the larger scale battles that are fought with the communication being performed between the hills with flags, runners and horsemen. The tipping point is the moment when the general commanding the battle draws his sword and leads his personal knights into the thickest part of the fighting.

This movement can have a profound effect on the rank and file of the troops. This was best exemplified by Constable Natalis of Temeria who excelled at that kind of manoeuvre and it was partly this effort that broke the Nilfgaardian line at the Battle of Sodden field and ended the first Nilfgaardian invasion. The presence of the army commander makes the common soldier fight even harder. There are a variety of reasons for this. One of which is that they want to show off. Regardless of whether they love, hate or respect the general. The urge to show off and maybe get noticed is a powerful one. No-one, or almost no-one actively wants to be in the front lines of the PFI carrying a sharpened stick and armoured in what is essentially a blanket with holes cut in it for the head and arms after all.

The other reason is that the presence of the general means that they have faith that they are about to win. That burst of energy and confidence can be a powerful thing. Is a powerful thing.

But just as important as recognising when your own troops have reached that point, is recognising when the other sides' troops have reached that point. That is the moment of a battle when, if you strike at the right time, the other side will break and flee. If you strike too early, then you are striking at the forces when they are still at the height of their strength. If you strike too late then they will already be turned to run, or their commander might have realised the danger and already be retreating in good order ready to fight another day. After all, the point of fighting a battle is to ensure that the other side is not in a position to fight again another day.

Well, actually, most commonly, the point of a battle is to force the other side into coming to the negotiation table but that is a debate for another time.

So the ability to recognise this point when it comes is one of the most primary skills of being a general. Depending on who you listen to, it comes second to making sure that your troops arrive at the battlefield well fed, healthy and well equipped for the coming battle. Also, in case you are wondering, the ability to actually fight is one of the least important skills for a general. This according to Nilfgaardian military theory.

Not Skelligan theory though. Skelligans expect their Captains, Lords and Warchiefs to be able to fight.

The two men, Helfdan and Svein, seemed to come at the decision and the realisation at the same time and for different reasons. Helfdan saw that it was needed on an instinctual level. That part of him that sees things and thinks in a different way to the rest of us had realised that it was needed. Whereas Svein saw the danger and the opportunity due to his many years of being in the same situation and being trained to see those things in his own troops and in the enemy that he was facing.

As for me? I gaped. Just standing there watching as Kerrass rolled his shoulders and bounced up and down a bit as though he was getting ready for a run. The way he does when he's about to do something particularly unpleasant to me on the practice yard. Or the same way that an athlete does before they begin a sprint.

Helfdan did something similar although his movements were more precise. What he did was to swap weapons. Normally, when I've seen him ready for a fight, or when we're all training together. He fights with his sword in his right hand and his smaller axe in his left. A traditional stance for someone who fights with a smaller off-hand weapon. But now he was fighting with the axe in his right and his sword in the left. He didn't do any twirls or anything fancy. He rolled the sword a couple of times using his wrist. It was the same movement that you use to parry a lunge when fencing. One of the few things that I remembered from my brief time studying fencing at Oxenfurt. With the axe, he made a couple of short, sharp chopping gestures.

But Svein was who I was looking at really. He stood on a nearby rock, lifted his arms above his head and roared something. There were words in that scream but I was too stunned to hear what they were. All over the battlefield, the men of the Wave-Serpent looked up from what they were doing and started to move over towards where Svein was standing and waving.

They didn't come quickly, or at a run. Some of them had to disengage from the creatures that they were fighting. Others would have had monsters at their back and others took the opportunity to kill a monster that they were passing. But in pairs or small groups, they came together.

A flash of green happened next to me and I flinched at the arrival of the Empress, not that she looked much like the Empress there and then. She was dripping in sweat, blood of monsters and what I hope was snow water.

“You're going to have to get over that.” She teased me.

“I remind the Empress that that is the same kind of green that happens when a Spectre teleports.” My mouth answered for me without my telling it to.

“What the hell is going on?” She asked, taking the time to pluck something unspeakable from her hair.

“I have no idea.” I was watching Sigurd chew a mushroom.

The effect on the monsters was extraordinary. The Trolls were looking around themselves in confusion, trying to see where the things that they had been swinging their huge clubs at had gone. The hounds milled around a bit and it would not be unfair to say that they had been the creatures that had taken the most casualties. The Harpies were still, mostly on their way back from where they had still been attacking the fleeing crews of Finnvald and the Giants were pointing towards us with their own weapons.

“Remember,” Helfdan was saying. “The idea is to get them to talk. So we burst through to the giants, get the Scribbler to them so that he can tell them that we just want to talk....”

“Wait... what?” I heard myself say.

“In the elder Speech Freddie.” Kerrass told me. “You speak it better than any of the rest of us. I will be with you.”

“But when that fails, because it will, then we take them down but I want one alive to answer questions.”

“I like that part.” Someone said. I thought it was Kar.

“They've spotted us.” Someone else warned.

“Proud of you boys.” Helfdan told them all. The lack of inflection or emotion made it all the more powerful, then he nodded at Svein.

“Right lads.” Svein moved to the front. “Same as before. Port rowers on the left, Starboard rowers on the right. Witcher on the point. Get the scribbler out when you're done, eh Witcher?”

“Done,” Kerrass was drinking a series of potions, sweating and trembling with the effort, the veins pulsing under the skin.

“Ursa on the Witcher's right. Sigurd on the left. Scribbler behind them in the wedge, Haakon and Ivar next to clear room, Captain and I behind them. Swallow?”

“I'm here.”

“Watch our backs.”

“My pleasure.”

“Here they come.” Perrin reared up and shot a hound as he called before casting his bow aside and drawing his axe, shrugging his shield into place.

“Let's show these fuckers how heroes of Skellige fight.” Svein snarled.

The answering rumble from the surviving men of the Wave-Serpent was terrifying, even to me and I was on their side. I tried to count how many had survived the opening of the fighting and wondered how many would still be alive at the end of it. I supposed that it would not be a lot.

Svein did not call “charge”. Nor did he shout “Forward” or “Attack” or any of the more traditional orders that are given before men stride forward into battle. Instead, he banged his own axe against the rim of his shield, which was answered by the rest of the men making the same noises. Those, like Helfdan, that fought with a weapon in each hand, clashed them together. Those who used shields followed Svein's example. Those who used two handed weapons like Haakon and Ivar, tapped their helmets with their weapons.

Then we charged.

The dictionary definition of the military maneouver to charge reads “To advance, rapidly, towards the enemy to engage with them in enthusiastic combat.” Never was that definition more properly applied. I had thought that the men of the Wave-Serpent had been fighting before but that was nothing compared to this. That was... that was playing at it as we charged down into what might as well have been the mouth of hell.

What strength I had recovered fled from me almost immediately and I stumbled. Strong hands on my shoulder lifted me back to my feet and I was pushed on but over and over again, I was overwhelmed with confusion. My brain had just shut down and I had no idea what was happening or what was going on. We should have been leaving the field of battle. Returning to the Wave-Serpent in order to get away. We were outnumbered and these creatures were awful in their power and in their strength.

But so were the men of the Wave-Serpent and they showed me that that day, just how terrifying they were.

Flame preserve the continent if the Skelligans truly unite under one banner and decide to invade. Would we defeat them? Yes. We outnumber them. But they would take more of us with them than we could easily absorb. A hopeful theory would be that the quality of the men that followed Helfdan were at the extreme limits of what the Skelligans are capable of. That is.... optimistic. Those men were incredible, there is no doubt about that at all. But how many other men of quality do we all think that live on the islands. How many men? how many women?

I saw a man run, jump onto the back of a running hound of Frost and use it as a springboard to leap and bury his axe into the neck of one the ice trolls. The beast roared in pain, dropped it's club and reached to pluck the man from his neck. But then the warrior, pulled a knife from his boot and slashed the palm of the trolls hand so that the thing flinched away in pain before the warrior plunged the same dagger into the eye of the troll. All of the time, he was still holding onto the axe that was buried in the things neck.

I saw Ivar rear up out of the formation and with a speed and a timing that was extraordinary, batter away a Harpy that was diving into the unprotected top of the formation.

We hit the enemy group like a hammer blow and it was as though that hammer had shattered a pane of glass. The trolls didn't know what to do. The Hounds were running away from the shields and the bright spears. And we just rolled over them. The Hounds that had bent to feed from easier meat, the fallen Harpies and other bodies that littered the sand that we fought on, those hounds just fell under our boot heel. Already well dead and the trolls fled back from us in confusion and fear at the sudden death of one of their number.

Only the Giants knew and recognised the danger. One bent to pick up one of the larger rocks that littered the ground and slung it at us. But the men of the Wave-Serpent were quick. They broke apart, I felt a hand grab me by the shoulder and I was steered round it. I know that not everyone got free as I heard screams behind me. Some of our number had broken off to clear the way and to keep the sides free of enemies.

We reformed, again, the person behind me steering me into place behind Kerrass' flashing sword. I was so tired that I was stumbling around. My arms felt as though they were made out of lead. My feet were cold and I was more afraid than angry. I suspect that it was all getting too much. Caught between anger, fatigue and fear, I was all but frozen, trying to find the energy to do anything. Mostly though, I was just trying to remember the words that I needed to shout in order to get the giant's attention.

We got close. Painfully close. Much closer than I was comfortable with. Much closer than I wanted to be. Far too close in my opinion. I had no idea of what was going on. My world had shrunk down to just the need to put one foot in front of another and get ready to scream.

At any second, I expected a club to land on our heads. A boulder to come crashing down on us. I expected to be lifted into the air by harpy wings or the grasp of troll or giant. I wondered if I would have time to feel it when a hound would close their jaws around my neck or whether my fatigue and my own driving force would mean that I was already numb to whatever was going to happen next. I wondered what it would be like to be eaten alive.

I was almost tired enough to want that to happen. Then at least, I could get a bit of rest. But then I remembered a beautiful face with dark hair and dark eyes. A woman who always covers her mouth when she smiles because she thinks that the sight of her teeth and fangs will scare people.

Then the thought occurred that if I had been thinking about it. I could have called her for help. An angry vampire Sorceress would be just the kind of thing that would help right about now.

And I laughed at myself. It was like a weight that was lifted off my shoulders, the fog cleared from my mind and I felt energy rush into my limbs again.

For those people wondering why I hadn't asked Ariadne to help, the truth was that I hadn't been able to contact Ariadne for some time. That kind of thing happens occasionally when she's in her magically sealed and protected lab for her work, or when she's visiting someone else that uses the same precautions. So the fact was that it simply didn't occur to me in advance.

Others might be wondering if there was something going on with my mental state there. Whether there was some kind of magical effect or will that was directed against me and the other men of the Wave-Serpent. I can't answer for that. It's possible I suppose. It is known that the Giants can bend certain creatures to their will and what I might have been feeling was the Giant's will working against mine. I never got the chance to ask them.

But it's just as likely that I was tired, scared and horrified that these Skelligans, these wonderful, crazy, amazing people would risk their lives on my behalf in a hopeless battle that they couldn't possibly win. That the enormity of everything that was happening in that time and place simply overwhelmed me.

It's even likely that the answer is a combination of the two.

But the thought process had carried me off for a moment.

“Now Freddie.” Kerrass had been fighting, almost the entire time, cutting a path through the odds, his silver blade flashing out and every time it did, a harpy, a hound or even a troll fell back howling in pain. I looked up and that same analytical voice at the back of my head. The same one that tells me jokes and tries to get me to laugh at the wrong times was busy pointing out that the giants did indeed look like giants when you got closer to them.

That comment wasn't particularly helpful.

I looked up and bellowed in a shout that I hoped would do my old voice teacher proud.

“Daethon ni I Siarad. Rydyn ni'n dod mewn heddwch”

For those that are wondering. That's how you write down the Elder speech for “We came to talk. We come in peace.”

The giant paused as it looked down at us. Then it scowled and lifted it's foot to stamp down. Someone hit me in the back and I tumbled out of the way as the foot came crashing down.

The ground shook when the thing's foot hit the sand. The sheer power of the impact dazed me and I had to shake my head in an effort to clear it which, of course, only went on to make the existing problem worse. There was a strange echoey sound to things and I felt dizzy with it. From a long way off, I thought that I could hear someone shouting. Images rushed at me and I fought to try and return to my senses.

I watched the giant that had tried to stamp on us die.

Helfdan, with a strangely calm but calculating expression on his face had darted around the descending foot and had positioned himself just behind where the ankle was going to be when the foot hit the ground. He didn't even stagger with the impact, riding it in the same way that he rode the deck of the Wave-Serpent in a storm. The foot landed and Helfdan brought his axe round and buried it in the back of the things ankle. I can only presume that he hit the giant equivalent of the tendons at the back of the leg because the thing bellowed and staggered backwards, it's full weight crashing back on it's other foot.

There was a green flash and Ciri was there, following Helfdan's example her own blade flashed out and the thing staggered and fell sideways, it's ankles no longer able to support it's bulk.

I was screaming at myself then. Screaming at myself to stand up. To get in the fight. My hunger for the combat had been reawoken and I wanted to get back into it. I wanted to do my part and get involved but I just couldn't clear my head and get to my feet.

I was not alone. It wasn't just me. I couldn't see Kerrass but I saw Haakon the axeman slapping the side of his head and Ivar blinking as he weaved from one side to the other. Svein was roaring something and trying to get people going but he didn't look any better. Only Ciri and Helfdan seemed unaffected.

But they fought like demons.

The giant had fallen to one side and was now on one knee having caught it's weight with it's arm and it's hand. But it was far from taken out of the fight. It was on it's right side so it transferred it's club over to the other hand and lashed out with it. Desperately trying to swat the things away from it that were causing it so much pain.

I saw that club strike at least one warrior and send him flying into the air. I have no idea who it was.

Helfdan had ducked, staying behind the giant as it fell so it had no idea where he was and his blade flashed again across the wrist that the giant was leaning on. He had time to strike twice before the giant reared up to try and cradle it's injure wrist. But it had forgotten the paralysing injuries that had already been inflicted and fell backwards, trapping one leg underneath it. Ciri leaped up onto the thing and stabbed down into the groin. Helfdan, again, had read the situation perfectly and knew exactly where the thing was going to fall so he was standing just where he needed to be to attack the neck.

Black Blood fountained from both injuries and you could see it begin to weaken as it bled to death. Helfdan took no chances though and made sure that he had cut the entirety of the thing's throat before he was done. Ciri had already vanished in a green flash.

But he wasn't the only giant.

I curse myself every day for my weaknesses. I hate myself for even the moment where I neglected Ariadne, I hate the times that I lost my temper and I hate the frailties that I have that lead and have led to other men's deaths.

Even as I saw that first giant bleed to death I knew, on an intellectual level, that there were at least two more giants. I knew that they were there and that that was almost certainly where Kerrass had gone. I couldn't see Ursa or Sigurd and so I suppose that that was where they had gone as well. I desperately needed to get to my feet and get back into the swing of things. But I still couldn't really see.

I could see that the giants were aware of the threat. I knew that because the trolls, Hounds and Harpys were beginning to ignore the men that had broken off from their formation and come towards us in an attack. That disengagement cost them but it would end us even further. I knew that too and wanted to warn people. But I just couldn't get my feet under me or recover my breath from when someone had pushed me away from the descending foot.

Only a matter of heartbeats had passed since the giant had stamped and died.

But then a giant was there, lifted it's foot and kicked Haakon of the axe. It hit him hard enough that it sent the man flying.

He just stood there and watched it happen, blinking at it. I could see the same fear that I knew must be in my mind as I could see his axe twitching towards movement. The look of fear and helplessness just before the giant's foot impacted with him.

He flew away somewhere. I heard a whistling sound in my ears, my lips peeled backwards from my teeth in a snarl.

The giant reached down and picked up Ivar who howled in pain. I found myself up and then...

It shames me that it took the death of a man for me to recover my wits. But now that I was up, I was angry. But I wasn't going to reach the giant in time.

The giant squeezed and blood exploded from Ivar's mouth. The giant was lifting him up towards his mouth and I knew that he was going to bite Ivar's head off. The imminence of death had an effect on Ivar. His mouth opened in a grin, blood staining his teeth and running down his chin. He still had his club and as he got closer to the things face, he swung his club as hard as he could into the things teeth.

The giant roared in pain and dropped Ivar automatically, lifting his hand to his mouth. I had reached it then, as had Svein by that point. Flame only knows where he had come from in the mean time. I think he had been shouting orders that I had barely heard. But he leapt past me and swung his axe in a great ark into the groinal joint of the giant.

I reached Ivar who was shuddering and dragged him out of the way. He groaned with the pain of it but his legs worked to help me move him. I'm not sure I would have managed to move him if he hadn't done that. I propped him against a nearby rock.

“I'm sorry.” I told him. I couldn't find any injuries on him but I knew he was dying. In the same way that I knew that water is wet and fire is hot. “I couldn't move.”

“Not to worry lad.” He spat blood and grinned horribly. “Who else gets to say that they smacked a giant in the teeth?”

“I'm sorry.” I said again.

“Away with you lad. You need to get busy. Leave my club though eh?”

I did as I was told and wiped the tears that were already tumbling down my face away. Because Ivar was not wrong. There was work for my spear.

The giant that had killed Haakon and was killing Ivar was being fought by Svein, Ursa and Helfdan, although it would possibly be a little fairer to say that Helfdan was mostly watching. I got the impression that he was mostly staying out of the way, the fighting was so fierce. I honestly thought that if they other two men had got out of his way then he would have been able to get in and deliver a finishing blow or a seriously debilitating one. But Svein and Ursa were fighting on a level all their own. They were not two warriors that were used to fighting with each other now. These were two men who were avenging their brother.

Helfdan was right to get out of their way as the two men howled their fury into each and every axe stroke as they chopped away furiously. Their axes biting deep into wood and armour and flesh.

But even in their grief and in their fury there was a coordination to their attacks. When one of the two brothers would attack, the giant would turn and look for them to be able to kill them. But then when he did that, the other brother would have moved and struck. It was like a three way dance. An incredibly violent dance where one of the dancers didn't know the moves. It was already bleeding from a dozen wounds, not least the initial wound in the groin.

The third giant was being fought by Kerrass and Ciri. Although the fight was still going on, the giant was massively outclassed and I suspect that the two of them were toying with it a little in case they needed to keep this one alive to be talked to.

Truth be told though. They were not the main threat that was massing. The main threat was coming at us from the remaining Trolls, Hounds and Harpies.

I didn't find this all out until later. But what had happened was that the directive to get us through to the giants had been followed to the letter. From behind me, in the wedge formation, the warriors had pushed the trolls and hounds back and circled them in order to get those creatures to pay attention to them rather than from those of us that were going to attack the giants.

Saying that they did their job too well is unfair. They did their job perfectly but that meant that the two groups had been split up and the entire thing had devolved into a general melee again.

The man that saved the remaining crew of the Wave-Serpent was Kunnr the Shining, Son of Hlaff the Boar-biter. What he had done was find a rock that was big enough that a troll couldn't climb up it or pick it up from under him. Then he had stood up on that rock and clashed his axes together so that the other men of the Wave-Serpent could see him.

He had found them all a defensive position. His idea being that, if he made the warriors a nice, juicy target, then those of us that were engaging the giants would have a clear run at them. The other men saw what he was doing, the benefit of having a less rigid command structure is that men can show their initiative. They had formed a defence around that boulder and had held it through everything the remaining creatures could throw at them.

But then the giants realised that they were dying. The will of the giants must have been awesome because those self-same creatures turned and like a white tide of cold and death they surged away from Kunnr's men and came to kill us. This was the threat that needed facing.

The creatures paid for leaving the battle half fought as Kunnr's men pursued. But another man stepped into the way.

If you'll forgive me for settling into epic prose for a moment.

And so it was that I saw the charge of The Fury.

Sigurd the White he was called after that day, as well as being called Sigurd the Fury. Also, they called him Sigurd the bloody for the amount of monster blood that he spilled. Sigurd Monsterslayer he was called as well and Kerrass did not begrudge him that title.

I have never seen anything like it and I hope, to the bottom of my soul, that I never see anything like it again. Sigurd had also been stunned by the stamping and had been the reason that the other giants didn't just roll over us. He had fought like the warrior that he is in keeping the other creatures at bay but now, Kerrass and Ciri had arrived. Svein had shouted his warning and Sigurd had seen the danger.

He didn't need a mushroom. He slung his shield on his back. He walked over to where Haakon had been killed and picked up the dead man's axe, his own still slung on his back over the shield.

Then he held his arms in the air and howled...

No that's not right. He bellowed. Roared even and it was just like the roaring of a bear.

Then he charged the oncoming monsters.

It took me fully twenty heartbeats before I could realise what was happening and what I needed to do which was when I leapt to join him, so entranced was I by the movements and sights of what was happening here.

It might be worth our while to just remind everyone what Sigurd looks like. He's a huge man both in height and width. Well over six foot tall with long straggly hair and beard. He wears a close fitting helm that covers the top of his head which gives the impression that his skull is made of metal and the only thing that you can see of his face is the beard coming down out of the bottom.

Massively strong, he is not lean like Kerrass and you can't really see the muscles in his arms and in his chest, other than to know that they are, in fact there. According to Svein, depite his natural shyness and relative timidity, he regularly wins strongman competitions in Helfdan's village. Carrying stones and lifting iron onto the pedestals. It was said that he could single-handedly beach the Wave-Serpent with a large enough rope although I always suspected that this was an exaggeration.

Off the battlefield, he is almost excessively gentle. Gentle to the point of ridiculousness. He is kind, open and honest, especially towards women and it was his worst kept secret that he had a crush on Ciri who he treated with the clumsy gallantry of a man who knows when a woman is beyond his reach. He is also remarkably shy and likes to hang back from things, never putting himself forward but always the first person to step forward and volunteer.

This was not the man I saw in battle.

The remaining monsters were charging towards him, the hounds streaming out ahead, the harpies coming in overhead and the remaining trolls lumbering up as well, swinging their clubs in the air. Sigurd met a hound first, feinting one way before moving to the side and with a huge strike of an axe, the hound was almost cut in two. Then, using the same strike, which had carried on through the hound, he cut the first of the harpies out of the air.

And he hadn't stopped running forwards.

A Troll had hurled a rock at him which Sigurd simply dodged out of the way of meaning that the rock did more damage to the other monsters than it did to Sigurd. But again, the same movement of the dodge meant that Sigurd could kill another hound and another Harpy.

A Harpy landed on his back, scrabbling at his shield and not understanding that it wasn't getting at the body of the man. Haakon twisted and grabbed the thing by the tail and swung it like a huge flail, knocking several other Harpies out of the air before dashing it's brains out against the rock that the troll had thrown at him.

And still he was moving forward. A little slower now but even if he had stopped there, he would have done his job. The hounds and the Harpies were moving against him.

I saw him lose the first of the two great-axes that he was carrying, the blade of Haakon the terrible, Haakon the axe. A troll was coming for him and Sigurd leapt. I have no idea how he managed to get such height on the leap but he managed it and he brought the axe down in a blow that echoed off the cliffs that surrounded us. He brought the axe down in a great, cleaving blow and buried the head of that axe into the head of the troll.

How he managed that strength we will never now. It should be impossible. Kerrass did not believe it when he was told by those of us that had seen it. He refused to believe it until he was shown the corpse of the fallen troll with the axe-head sticking out of it.

But the axe buried itself into the Troll's skull and the wooden haft of the axe broke under the strain. As we speak, there are poets that are composing the story and song of that battle and they are already composing verses about how the axe itself mourned the loss of it's master. How the axe achieved some measure of vengeance against the creatures that had killed the Axe-man. I do not like this idea because it takes away from the achievement of the man wielding it at the time.

As he fell, Sigurd turned the splintered haft of the axe and buried the point into the brain of a hound beneath him. Then, as he landed he bodily picked up the corpse of the hound and hurled it into the oncoming mass of creatures which gave him room to draw his own axe from his back and to begin swinging.

All of this in the first few heartbeats as I was struck dumb by the sight of this man attacking his enemies. Then the realisation of what I had to do as I brought up my spear and charged after him.

Was it stupid of me? Undoubtedly but so far, this battle had taught me that the sensible course of action is not always the best.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

I have little idea as to what happened to him in that mess as then he was hidden from me as I looked for my own targets. Kerrass had also seen the threat and had come to join my, leaving Ciri to tie up the last of the Giants who was still fighting for his own life. Helfdan was next to us to with Svein and Ursa needing to exorcise their own rage and grief, it not yet being spent on the giant that had fallen under their axes. The five of us charged after Sigurd.

Kunnr and the men he led chased after the fleeing monsters and struck them from the rear. This was no longer the calm and ordered fighting from the formation. Fighting from behind the shields and the safety of your men next to you. The whole thing had been a battle, but now there was a fight.

And there can be joy in a fight.

I saw many things in those moments. I saw Sigurd fighting as we desperately tried to reach him. He was wounded now and had lost his second axe. He had pulled the shield from his back and was fighting with that and a shorter, one handed axe that he had, presumably, found in the hands of one of his fallen companions.

But his arm wasn't moving right, his shield wasn't being lifted quite as high as it should have been. He was injured.

Helfdan fought like a dancer. I had always disagreed with the term that watching a fight was like watching a dance. It had always seemed faster and more brutal to me. But Helfdan must be the exception that proved the rule. He fought in a series of disjointed movements. One move moving into the next and on and on and on. Each move ended with a dead creature. I saw the weakness in the technique. He stopped to think between each movement to consider which move he should use next. A skilled opponent would punish him for that but he was fighting against instinctive creatures and he cut through them like a farmer's scythe cutting wheat.

Svein and Ursa hit the tide of creatures like a stone thrown into a lake and I didn't see much of them after that while Kerrass and I fought in the same way that we ever did. With Kerrass killing and my watching his back, picking off those creatures that were sneaking up behind the pair of us.

It was then that the thought finally occurred to me that we were going to win this. I know this because I heard Ciri shriek a warning. I turned to see what she was shrieking about to see her standing on the body of the third, now dead, giant. At first, I felt a flash of anger. We had needed to talk to him but then I realised that she had known that and had taken the necessary step. Because another giant had stepped out into view.

Two thoughts hit my brain, at almost exactly the same time. The first thought was from that small and petty part of my brain, the part that had been disappointed in the size of the giants that we had fought so far. That voice looked up at the coming creature and thought.... “Now that's more like it.”

The second thought is the reason that I knew we were going to win. Because we were going to win. The cost might be ridiculously high. Higher than I would be happy with. So high that I would be distraught at the cost and the names and faces of the dead would haunt my dreams for a long time. But we were going to win. And I knew that because I realised what I was thinking. I looked at this thing that had stepped out from behind the rocks and thought to myself. “You poor fucker.”

Sometime, there are just insights that you get. This was the giant in charge. He stood taller, straighter somehow. The way he carried himself made him feel more powerful. There was a regality in his carriage that the other giants had lacked. Just one of those things that made us feel a little inadequate.

He also carried a sword which, to be fair, was a big hint. That and the way his head seemed to be shaped into what I would have taken as a crown in any other circumstances.

His sword was, unsurprisingly, made of ice and it seemed to ripple with a blue white energy that reminded me of what lightening would look like. And he swung it like he knew what he was doing. It seemed that at least part of the magic in the blade was to make sure that it held up under combat conditions.

He was a great giant of a creature. I would say that he was twenty foot tall, if not more and he towered above where I remembered his fellows standing. His hair was long and seemed, to me, to be cleaner, straighter and better groomed. His armour was made out of ice which had the same rippling lightening effect going on beneath the surface and he was covered in the stuff, rather than the primitive, bits of wood tied to the legs, kind of effect that the others had.

But he had come out too late. If he had emerged at the beginning then his strength, presence and power might have had an effect. One blow from that great, frozen blade of his would have wiped out the wedge as we charged. The added weight of his armour would have crushed us and that was not including any of the other magics that he might have been able to command.

The other thing that was clear was that this had been the intelligence that had been directing the actions of the trolls, the hounds and the Harpies because as soon as he started being fought, the other elements of the battle started to fly away. The trolls, especially started to look around and start to be confused, dropping their clubs and staring at their hands in confusion. Not that they stopped fighting though. The remaining men of the Wave-Serpent hadn't realised what was happening and continued to fight. And I can't blame them for that.

Ciri engaged the King of the Ice Giants first which already tied him up. She was fast and nimble which was where I was reminded of another truth. It doesn't matter how big and strong you are. If the thing that you are trying to hit is as elusive as a candle flame, then you run the risk of being a bigger danger to yourself than you ever did to your targets.

One combatant in the person of Ciri, all but neutralised the King of the Ice Giants and she did so without landing a blow.

Again, if he had come out sooner, Ciri would have been tied up by the other creatures.

We struggled to free ourselves though. Despite the effect that this combat was having on the surviving creatures of ice, we were still in the middle of them. Kerrass went into a frenzy of movement, trying to cut his way free to get to this new threat thinking, not unreasonably, that his skills would be needed there. I couldn't see Helfdan but the weight of creatures and the moving, fluid nature of the combat meant that I couldn't find Sigurd or the brothers.

But I did see Kunnr. Kunnr the Shining as he cleaved into the back of the monsters from an unexpected direction. Their confusion at having lost the driving force of the King of the Giants, meant that they began to mill about in confusion and were utterly unprepared for him.

Kunnr had also seen the King of the Giants and there was vengeance in his heart. I have no doubt that when he saw the thing emerge, all he could hear were the cries of the children like him. The tears of his mother and the screams of the dying.

The now setting sun shone off his armour, and it seemed to me that Kunnr caught fire and reflected the sun back at his assailants as his axes wrought bloody ruin on the ranks of his enemies as he fought to cut through them all in order to cut his anger and pain into the flesh of the giant.

But he wasn't without strategy. He wasn't without thought as he did so. He broke through the last of the monsters with black blood streaming from the blades of his axes. He was probably roaring, his mouth was certainly open as though he was screaming but I wasn't close enough to be able to tell the difference from one person to the next. I was struggling to get free myself so I was able to see that while the giant was focused on Ciri, Kunnr was able to to run to the side and chop into the leg, right into the back of the knee.

But this thing wasn't as clumsy as the rest and he was able to realise the danger. He spun his blade so that he could fend off this new attacker while keeping his sights on Ciri, he reached out to grab her...

Which was when she vanished in a green flash.

The giant then spun to face his new attacker who darted backwards. Surprisingly lightly for his size and the amount of armour that he was wearing.

Kerrass finally managed to cut us a hole in the remaining mass of monsters so that we could get clear and we ran forward. He lifted his crossbow and fired. I think he hit but it didn't seem to do much damage and I heard him begin to roar as he ran.

I levelled my spear and ran with him, keeping my eye on that spinning blade. The Giant was certainly no slouch when it came to his blade movements.

But Svein and Ursa were the next fighters to reach the new Giant. The giant that I was already subconsciously thinking of as “The King of the Giants.” Their brotherly bond meant that they knew how each of them was going to attack. Ursa stepped in and drove a huge blow into the things belly and the giant jerked forward as though he had been winded. Only for Svein to strike out with his axe into the side of the giant's head.

I don't know how much damage that did through the thing's armour but it certainly sent it tumbling backwards.

Then we got there. I was trying to hold on to my sanity and examine the creature's armour the way that Kerrass had taught me, looking for a gap that I could drive my spear into. I chose the groin as it had worked fairly well so far and jammed the blade into the gap as hard as I could until I felt it bite. It saw what was coming and stepped back from my spear and Kerrass' swinging blade.

The sword of the Witcher spun and he tucked it under his arm in order to send a steam of sparks towards the face of the giant who continued to fall back.

Which was when he fell. By virtue of Helfdan, Captain of the Wave-Serpent. Hersir of Clan an Craite. The Black Boar whom some called Fatherless. Terror of the seas. How did he do it?

He crouched on his hands and knees behind the giant's ankle and it began to fall backwards. The childish prank from the playground and it brought the giant low.

Svein struck at it's breast-plate. I stabbed, Ursa hammered. Kunnr attacked the back of the leg and Ciri ran in in an effort to try and help push it over.

In stories, the beast topples like a tree. Slowly at first and then accelerating as it hits the ground. This was not like that. What happened was that it pin-wheeled it's arms meaning that Kunnr and Ursa had to step back in an effort. If it was a human, it was the kind of fall that people would point and laugh at if you saw it on the street. The kind of fall that clowns and jesters perform when they are on stage and pretend to slip on a banana or something.

It was the ultimate lack of dignity and it would have been funny under other circumstances.

But he fell with a crash, as he did, his sword skittered away from his grip and shattered as soon as it left his hand, the strange lightening effect no longer rippling through the material.

And just like that, it was all over. The trolls backed away, the hounds going with them. The Harpies all but bolted for the sky, their wings labouring to carry them higher and higher. Further and further away from the awful spears and axes of the Skelligans.

Helfdan climbed to his feet and brushed the snow and sand from his clothes. He had sheathed his sword at some point beside his axe and so he drew it. He looked calm to my eyes but that was because he was far away.

Kunnr had finally lost control of himself and was screaming at the giant. Obscenities about vengeance and blood. Ursa was holding him back along with some other people.

There was a whistling in my ears and I felt my legs wanting to buckle as the full impact of the day hit me like a boulder thrown from the mountainside.

By a troll. Or a giant.

I had sat down before I knew what was happening and Kerrass had to help me to my feet.

“You hurt Freddie?”

“I don't know. Am I?”

“Bit of blood, we'll clean you up in a minute but...” He nodded to where Helfdan was standing. He had climbed onto the Giants chest and had the point of his sword at the thing's throat. “The day is not over yet.”

I climbed to my feet with the help of Kerrass and the lever action of my spear.

The survivors of the Wave-Serpent started going through the mess, pulling out the dead and injured. I thought I could see Perrin and Kar running back to the Wave-Serpent and watched as Thorvald started to work on the injured.

I had been hurt. Now that I wasn't fighting for my life, I found that I was limping over to where Helfdan waited. Ciri was there and even she was leaning on her sword, breathing deeply. She looked dirty, sweaty and she was still covered in other people's blood. She was also trying not grin. Helfdan nodded to me.

Svein was not smiling. He started shouting orders. I didn't really listen but it seemed to, mostly consist of “It might not be over yet so I want guards set, keep a look out and don't relax yet.” Ursa was leading an openly weeping Kunnr away as Kunnr was taking parts of his armour off and just dropping them in the sand where they made small craters in the sand. Like ripples when you drop a stone in water.

“Tell this man,” Helfdan began. “Tell him to call his people off. Whatever it is he's doing in order to command them, he should stop. Now. Or I will cut his throat. Now.”

I nodded. It took me a while to find the right words in the Elder speech. My brain was still trying to think in the way that it does when it is in battle and the higher thinking of translation was beyond me.

I got half way through the translation before the Giant spoke.

“I can understand you,” He rumbled. His voice was deep, surprisingly rich, but raspy. Like a man who smokes a lot of tobacco. Or.... or a hermit who has come into town after a long winter in the wilderness to stock up on supplies and hasn't spoken to anyone in months. The giant also struggled to pronounce the words. It was not a new problem for Kerrass and I. Sometimes, monsters mouths are simply not constructed in such a way that they can easily pronounce our words. But it would be a mistake to assume that such beings are stupid because they don't talk the same way that we do. What he said sounded a little more like “Aye k'nnderstnd yoo.” So it took a while to decipher it for Helfdan.

Now that I was closer I could see that Helfdan was not so calm as he had first appeared after all. He looked as though he was trembling and he would occasionally wince as though in a sudden pain.

“Good.” Helfdan said before looking up to watch what was happening amongst the remains of the battle.

“What will you...?” The Giant began.

“Wait,” Helfdan snarled and seemed to lean on his sword a little more. He flinched from the sound of his own voice and I could feel, rather than see, the gritted teeth in his jaw. Then he watched the battlefield as things came to a close. But his trembling slowly seemed to be getting worse.

I was discovering another truth about the differences between a fight and a battle. When a fight stops it's because the swords, claws, feet and whatever have stopped being swung. People have stopped trying to hurt, maim and kill each other.

But a battle actually goes on a lot longer than that. It's like a fire in that regard. A fight is like an explosion of gas in a mine. Or like a mages ball of flame where as a battle is like a fire. You take time to build the fire first, getting the sticks, putting stones in a circle, setting up the cooking tripods, positioning the tinder in the right places. All before you strike a flame. Then it sparks up and there's that initial bright burn before it settles down. Then you feed it with a constant supply of fuel before slowly and surely, you let it die down and eventually go out.

Battle was like that for me. We had started strong with some organised close combat before we had fed the flames a little and now it was dying out. It was a slow process.

We were angry and upset and the trolls, Hounds and Harpys were angry and upset. Some hounds and harpies made some half-hearted swipes at passing humans where the trolls stumbled around in confusion.

Occsaionally they would find fallen friends and, presumably, loved ones in the detritus of the battle and then we would hear the sounds of their grief.

It was not the first time that I have ever heard the wailing of a broken hearted troll and I prayed again, same as I had the first time, that I would never hear it again.

This was also part of the battle. Just as much as the combat itself was. Just as much as getting the troops to the field and lining them up properly. Just as much as the manoeuvring and the charges and the retreats and the orders. Just as much as the killing. Now came the time of seeing to the wounded and counting the dead. Even though the issue was decided. The battle continued.

A famous general, although I cannot remember his name at the moment, once said that the only thing that comes close to the horror of a battlefield after defeat is a battlefield after victory. This was the first time that I had seen that and he was absolutely right as he said that. I sometimes think that the politicians, Kings, nobles and courtiers that order men to their deaths.... As well as working a few days in the fields along side the farmers that conjure the food out of some scrapings of dirt. As well as fighting in the front lines of battle amongst those troops that are considered “expendable”. As well as having to live in the same way that the lowest peasant or commoner has to live and eat the same food.

Those people should also have to walk on a battlefield as things draw to a close. They should be there when their comrades are moving through the broken and shattered bodies looking for survivors.... those men who had ordered these things should witness that. They should see men decide whether a wounded comrade was worth putting through the pain it would take to get him to the surgeon or whether it was kinder to sit with him, hold his hand and give him some water.

In this case, although every one of those men would disagree with me, I was the man that had ordered this. I had been the one who had asked these men to come this far and my heart was breaking as I saw and heard it all. Tears were running freely down my face as I saw it and heard it and felt it. Thorvald, Kerrass, Svein and Ciri all tell me that I should not feel grief. That these men knew what might happen and they fought and died bravely. That that is the ultimate climax for a Skelligan warrior and that they would all have been proud to die in the cause of a blood oath and in a quest to rid the islands of a horror from ancient times.

Haakon had died almost instantly. They found him slumped against a rock. For all of those people that would say that war is glorious then I would say this. Haakon had flown through the air, head first into a rock. The impact had shattered the top of his skull before driving the rest of his head down into his already badly damaged chest. His body was found, upside down and head first in the sand. For all the world, I'm told, it looked as though he had literally buried his head in the sand.

The rest of his body was floppy. There were only a few of his bones that were not broken. His brothers gathered and laughed at the ridiculousness of it telling each other and those people that were watching that Haakon would have found the sight just as funny as everyone. The other survivors laughed with them and toasts were raised to the fallen warrior.

I was appalled. I had not known Haakon well. Like many people I had found his long, thin face with the slightly morose looking eyes to be quite frightening. I had been afraid by how much strength his thin frame had and had not got to know him as well as I could have.

Or should have.

Apparently, to those who knew him best. His humour was dry, wicked and always always found it's mark. Not as bright as his other brothers but that had never upset him or left him feeling as less. And his brothers had loved him.

But it is the nature of the Skelligans that they mourn the dead in private with their closest loved ones and otherwise they celebrate and take pride in the dead and the way they died.

I can appreciate that. I can. But I struggle with the concept. I like the idea of it but when I think about those times where someone I have cared about has died, I could not summon the mirth and good cheer that these men exhibited.

Sigurd survived but he would never be the same again. A hound had got hold of his upper right arm and had chewed until all that could be seen to connect the arm to the rest of his body was the exposed bone. We had to hold him down to amputate. It meant that he would have a new and exciting nick-name to go with being called Sigurd the Fury. Now he was already being called Sigurd One armby his comrades.

His other injuries were many though and although he swore that he would be on his feet in no time and would learn how to fight with his other arm and that his broken feet and shatter ribs would heal in time... I, for one, could see the knowledge in his eyes that he would never fight again. Helfdan would find something for him I didn't doubt. He was not the kind of man to leave a man who had fought and bled for him in the gutter....

Take note nobles of the north.

But Sigurd would be “The Fury” no longer and he wept, even as he traded jokes and insults with the men around him.

I sat with Ivar. By some miracle, or curse if you prefer that point of view, he had survived to see our victory. I stayed with him and we talked for that hour or so that it took for things to wind down. I left him to help Thorvald, a far more accomplished battlefield surgeon than me, amputate Sigurd's arm and returned afterwards, absolutely expecting him to already be dead. But he was still there. To my eyes it seemed as though he was dying of old age. As though his vitality was being leached away along with his blood. We talked about a few things that I will not talk about here. He gave me a good piece of advice though. He told me that, in marriage, you should never be slow to apologise. He told me that you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. He also told me that, even though I would be marrying an ancient creature and that there would be enough trials in our coming lives together, that we should never go to sleep on anger. Even if if means that I end up awake all night.

I intend to remember both pieces of advice. He told me some stories and I made some jokes. I like to think that I helped him in those closing moments of his life. He was laughing when he died but the groan of pain he made through the giggles, is something that I still hear in my dreams occasionally. He gripped his club like a drowning man holds onto a piece of wood in a storm.

When he died I wiped my eyes and went to see what was happening.

Helfdan was still stood on the giants chest, it was a lot more visible that he was trembling now. His colour was up and I had the sense of a man who was holding onto his sense of calm with both hands and his teeth. He was angry in a way that he had not been throughout the battle.

“What's the count?” He was asking Svein through clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

“When we sail away, there will be twelve men with us who can row and fight, not including the passengers of course. We lost nine men dead straight away and another four that Thorvald doesn't think will live to see the morning.”

Helfdan nodded. “Meaning that we have five wounded.”

Svein nodded.

Helfdan sighed and rubbed his brow with his left hand before turning to watch the dead men being wrapped in left over sailcloth ready for transport.

His sword never wavered from where it was pointing at the giant's throat.

“How many of the wounded cannot be moved?” He asked suddenly

“Sigurd is the worst. I would say to leave him with the locals to recover and to pick him up after the ship has passed but I worry that he might be despairing a bit. I don't know what to do about that. Friends might remind him of what he has lost whereas strangers will not be able to keep his spirits up.”

Helfdan nodded again. Although I had no doubt that he heard what had been said, he seemed to snap.

“What, in the name of fuck was all that about?” He bellowed at the Stricken giant. “The scribbler wasn't lying. We came to talk. Instead you have forced us to kill your fellows.”

“Talk.” The giant sneered. “Talk. You invade our lands armed for war.”

“To defend ourselves. You attacked us you fucking coward.” Helfdan was spitting with rage. “You sent better creatures than you, and yes I realise that I am talking about fucking Harpies here, better than you to their deaths. You enslaved them with your....whatever and you forced them to fight.”

“No force.” The Giant protested. “They volunteered. I just guided them. What about you. You came to our shores armed for war. You do not try and talk to the hounds. You just draw weapons and start swinging... Your men died at your own orders so in what way am I worse than you?”

“We were being attacked.” It was Helfdan's turn to be defensive now. “Your forces attacked us. What were we supposed to do? Fight them off with harsh language.” He sounded close to tears now. “Those lives are never going to be returned and you killed them because we came to your beach. It's not your beach. It has never been your beach. Where is the sign that says it's your beach. How were we supposed to know?”

“How are we supposed to know that you came in peace.” The giant argued. “Where was your sign that says you came to talk. You came in armour with bright swords and axes with hatred in your heart. Why should we have thought that anything was happening other than we were under attack?”

“I think that that's enough now.” Snapped a woman's voice. She sounded calm and rational and her voice seemed to come out of the rising wind itself.

My very first thought was utterly unhelpful. My very first thought was to wonder how Ciri said that without her mouth moving. I would hope that I can be forgiven for thinking something so utterly, mindbendingly stupid. I had just lost a friend, I was tired, strange things were happening, Adrenaline comedown and the rest and then I heard a woman's voice. The only woman that I knew was in the vicinity was Ciri. Therefore I assumed that it was Ciri that had spoken.

It wasn't. I know that because she was standing right in front of me and she spun to look over my shoulder with the same expression of shock and surprise that everyone else was wearing. I watched as her own hand darted for the sword that was slung on her back. It was a reflex action, the same action that Kerrass uses to draw his own sword and a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye that said he was moving almost as quickly.

If not more so.

But then, also as I watched and just began to turn to see what was happening behind me. Ciri's mind exerted it's own influence over her body and she forced herself to put the sword back. It's always fascinating to see people fighting their own instinctive reactions.

Instead she was lifting her hands out to everyone and shouting. “HOLD.” She was yelling. “Hold, put your weapons away. HOLD.”

I was cold. A wind blew. It was a cold that I had not felt before. There was a strange edge to it that I did not recognise. A scent that was at odds with the overpowering smell of sea and the leftover smell of dead and dying human and monster. It was a clean smell.

I was turning myself to see what was happening. Five women had appeared behind us but I have never seen anyone look so utterly out of place as those five women did. But at the same time, they clearly belonged there.

Their skin was white. Not pale but white. The white of pure snow which contrasted with their hair which was utterly black and kind of shiny. The same colour as wet Kaedweni coal. Their hair was utterly straight and on the two women that had let their hair hand straight and loose, it hung like a curtain around the back of the head. Utterly straight and thick. One of the others had her hair pulled back and tied in a simple but elegant knot behind her but the others had pulled the hair back and piled it on top of their heads in extravagant styles that drew the eye and left me wondering how such a thing was managed while also looking for the beginning and the end of the hair.

Their faces were round or heart shaped with cheekbones that could have cut glass, but their eyes had the slant that some Elves have. Their eyes were pale blue and as far as I could tell, they did not blink.

They all wore, loose fitting but utterly concealing robes. You could tell that they were women, but the way that they wore those clothes hid any kind of shape or flesh from the neck down. If there were hips or bosoms in their bodies, then I could not see them. The robes seemed thick and warm while their hands shared the same colour as their faces.

Their fingernails and lips were the pale blue of thick ice. Small details like that kind of stick out in the mind.

We could see their feet just below the ends of their robes and they seemed to go bare foot. Despite the warmth of their dress, they must have been freezing and I shivered in sympathetic tremors.

There was no ornamentation about any of them and unless the white skin colour was artificial, they also wore no make-up.

Two of them were plainly warriors. They carried strange, long, thin but slightly curved sticks that seemed to be wrapped in silk bags that were tied with elaborate knots but I was not reassured. I had little doubt that whatever weapon waited in that bag could be drawn free and used as quick as it would take me to blink should the wielders choose. They also wore armour. Breast-plate, arm guards and greaves. They were lightly armoured to be sure but they held themselves the same way that Kerrass does. Weight on the balls of their feet, their eyes scanning everything.

The one with a more simple ponytail had a small, also slightly curved, knife at her waist and a huge stringed instrument on her back made from a white wood that seemed to shimmer. I hope that it goes without saying that the instrument looked like nothing that I've ever seen. She looked around with interest. Although her face remained impassive as she looked around, I thought I could detect some sense of wry amusement and fascination in her eyes. She reminded me of myself when I had first gone to Toussaint. I had a job to do but I still walked around with wide eyes trying to drink everything in and remember as much as possible.

The last two were in charge. One slightly older and there was enough of a resemblence between the two that I thought of sisters, or mother and daughter. The weapons in their belts were longer and they carried small fans that they used to alternately fan themselves as though they were warm and to cover faces. In a strange way, the way that these two women held their fans seemed to be some kind of indication as to their mood. Otherwise, like their fellows, their faces were impassive and their body language was utterly neutral.

All five of them were intensely beautiful but that beauty was alien to me. As though it was from a different place and I was looking at it from the outside. There was something about it all that drew me though. I felt myself becoming aroused and the younger of the two fan wielders turned her gaze upon me. I felt that I was being measured in some way and I was forced to tear my gaze away. Long hours spent with Kerrass means that I am now aware when someone or something is playing with my perceptions and this was happening now.

I stooped and scooped a handful of snow into my hand, welcoming the pain of the cold and rubbing my face with it. I looked up and saw Kerrass watching me while he moved his fingers over himself with a complicated gesture. He nodded at me before slowly and nonchalantly moving between the five newcomers and everyone else, I honestly couldn't tell you whether he was moving to protect those women or whether he was getting ready to protect us from them. Ciri moved with him

The Skelligans are vocal people. I have heard the men of the Wave-Serpent give roars of anger, and growls of hate. When they laugh, they don't chuckle gently, they guffaw with big echoing laughs. They cheer and shout and stamp and clap. But this was a new sound. They were growling in lust.

I saw Svein shaking his head as though he was trying to clear water out from his ears. Ursa, next to him was openly gritting his teeth. Many of the others were doing the same. It took me a while to realise the pattern.

The men who were resisting whatever was happening were the men who were married and even one or two of those took a step forward.

The only person who seemed utterly unaffected was Helfdan. He looked down at the giant that he was standing on before transferring the sword into his left hand and drew his axe. He hefted it a couple of times.

“You will stop whatever it is you are doing to my men,” he warned “or I swear that my axe will be buried in his forehead.”

“Petty threats.” The older woman in front sneered.

Helfdan's eyes narrowed. “I tend to get petty and angry when my men are being controlled. I warn you again. I have a very good arm.”

The woman astonished me by smiling slightly and turned on the other four with a stern gaze. “Stop it, this instant. We are not here for that. Control yourselves.”

“But they are so warm.” The musician complained plaintively.

The woman in charge moved, tiny little steps so that her robes were shown to be incredibly restrictive. It almost looked as though she floated across the snow and sand. But she was lightening fast as she reached out and struck the musician across the face with a slap that echoed around the beach.

The musician straightened, her face returning to the mask that the others wore. The mark of the slap had turned her skin a light shade of blue for a moment before it faded back into white. “Thank you My Lady.” She said, her voice calm and stable.

The effect lessened and I don't think that I was alone in sucking down deep lungfuls of clean air.

Helfdan was checking his men. “Svein?”

“My Lord?”

“Is your mind your own?” It was not a criticism, nor was it said in anger. It was just the question.

But Svein winced nonetheless. “As much as it ever is My Lord.”

“Then come and guard the prisoner.”

Helfdan seemed to be calming down a little. I knew that he had an interesting reaction to battlefield stress but he seemed to either be over it or to be channelling it into new directions. He jumped down off the giant's chest and strode to meet the newcomers.

“Right.” He began. “So my name is Helfdan. Some men call me Lord. Some men call me Fatherless. The less kind call me “The Bastard.” My men call me “The Black Boar” because the sword I was once given by my Lord has a pommel carved in the shape of a boar so the symbol seemed fitting. I am a Captain, a raider and I serve the ruler of these islands. Who are you?”

The leader smiled. It was an utterly false smile. When you have been working in the courts for some time you get the chance to see the difference between a genuine smile and a practised one. “Do you mean “Who am I?” or “What am I? There is a sincere and severe difference.”

Helfdan froze. I had moved closer so that I could hear the conversation. I had never heard of these white women before and on the possibility that we were meeting someone or something new, my historian's and chronicler's instinct, said that I should be nearby in order to record things.

Helfdan didn't move. But I was beginning to know him a bit better now and although his body hadn't moved or changed, he had just become angry and was considering violence. I had seen the same change on the harbour of Kaer Trolde when he had decided that he was going to kill that merchant all that time ago.

“I am a simple man.” He said suddenly, his voice quiet and all the more chilling for it. “I dislike thinking in curves, circles and spirals. I like straight lines and sharp corners. I like rules and set orders of things. But you arrive here, you use some kind of ability on my men who have just fought a battle and have done nothing to you. And you try to get clever. So let me be clear. I do not care what you are. I do not care who you are either. I am being polite.”

She stared at him. I am not sure I could have withstood her gaze.

“I came here to ask the ice giants a question.” Helfdan went on. Biting off the words. “My men armed and armoured themselves because of the swarm of Harpies that were visible above the beach. Creatures who are not known to be friendly to my people. When we landed, they, the hounds and the trolls attacked. We defended ourselves and still we tried to talk. Then the giants and this FUCKER RIGHT HERE.” He pointed at the fallen giant as he gave vent to his building fury before he hauled himself back under control. “Continue to attack. I bear no ill will to the trolls. They look as though they are as confused more than angry. I don't really care about the harpies either. Or the Hounds. They act according to their nature. I do not get angry at the cat for killing the mouse, or the dog for chasing the cat. But he hid while his people died and that makes me furious.”

He hissed that last between gritted teeth.

“You are angry.” The woman told him. I noticed that the fan in her hand was moving rather rapidly.

“Fucking. Right.” Helfdan all but whispered it.

The staring match continued. “Oh what a husband you would have made.” The woman told him. “It is a shame that your heart is already given elsewhere otherwise I would be tempted to claim you myself.” Her voice was conversational. Calm and collected.

“We are the Yukki-Onna.” The lead woman said. “That is both our name and what we are.”

“Never heard of you.” Helfdan seemed to be fighting for control. “Scribbler? Witcher?”

I shook my head. “No,” said Kerrass.

“I have.” Ciri told him.

“I was coming to you next.” A slight smirking smile tilted the side of Helfdan's mouth.

“I have no doubt.” Ciri's own smirk echoed his. “They are the Yuki-Onna. Ice women from a distant land.

The five women watched patiently. I was watching them rather than Ciri but it would not be unfair to say that I hung on her every word.

“I do not know but I would guess that they came through one of the rifts that were opened in these parts a few years ago when the wraiths of Morhogg attacked Skellige. We should treat them with respect, they come from a very distant world and a country so different from our own that it would not be recognisable.”

There was a small pause, long enough for me to see Ciri straightening up from some form of bow. It was not one that I had seen before. Normally bows are elaborate affairs with every movement of the hands and limbs meant to signal different things. The most famous example being the Nilfgaardian hand on chest, left hand out by the side, horizontal to the floor routine where the bow comes from a step back and bent knees. Northern Courtiers like to remove whatever hat is in fashion at that time and place and bend so low as to brush the floor with the garment.

This seemed much simpler, only bending from the waist, arms by the side. She only bowed slightly as well and maintained eye contact with the five women. I found myself wondering what all of the little movements meant. What would the Yukki-Onna take from Ciri's gesture. Flattery? Respect? Or would they be insulted and angry?

Professional curiosity was roused.

I saw the eyes of the musician widen slightly. Only slightly though. The two warriors seemed to bridle a little bit. The other two, the women that I was subconsciously labelling as being “in charge” and “noble” in some way. I found myself thinking of this as a noble woman's entourage. Admittedly in a society where women had the precedence over men....

Or if theirs was a species that even had male as a gender.

But I found myself looking at the two people in front as a woman and her daughter. The woman in front returned Ciri's bow. Bending from the waist, arms down by her sides, maintaining eye contact. The musician's eyes widened again slightly before she herself bowed but the warriors did not hesitate.

“In the land from which they hail,” Ciri began to speak again from the moment that the others had straightened up. “The Yukki-Onna are mostly considered to be some kind of “peasant superstition”. There are all kinds of stories about men being seduced by beautiful women who come to them in the snow before inviting the male to chase them until the man dies of the cold.”

I saw the older woman smile slightly. “I note that you... correctly state that there are stories of such things.”

“Indeed,” said Ciri, speaking in her “Empress” voice. I moved so that I could see them both. This seemed to be turning into some kind of contest between the two women. I was not wrong. “The more reliable accounts describe beautiful women who emerge from the snow and ice in order to ask for small acts of charity. Such as space by the fire or a warm drink. Occasionally, tests are offered to the men that they approach which are nearly always fatal.”

The smile in the Yukki-Onna leader finally seemed to reach her eyes although nothing else moved on her face.

“Those that succeed in their tests are often rewarded with many riches.” Ciri continued. “Although, in my admittedly sparse reading on the subject, I could not find a record of what was meant by “riches”.”

“The greatest treasure of all.” The Yukki-Onna said carefully.

The conversation seemed to die there as the two, formidable, women stared each other down.

“Well that's just lovely.” Helfdan said into the silence, thus skewering the atmosphere and bringing us all down to earth. “What do you want?”

The woman turned to face him. “You said that you came here to talk correct?”

“I did.” Helfdan told her. “I did until this fucker either ordered or commanded his people to kill my men.”

“Do you not see your own culpability in that?”

Helfdan considered this. Honestly as far as I could tell, before shaking his head.

“No.”

“You came onto the beach fully armoured and equipped. Do you not see how that was a provocation?”

“Not really. We could see a cloud of Harpies flying above the beach. Harpies, which are well known for the accepting and friendly dispensation.”

The men, who had mostly recovered from the impact of the Yukki-Onna's arrival, laughed. Helfdan did not react but then again, neither did the Yukki-Onna.

“Why did you arm and armour yourself?” The woman asked again.

“I dunno, Habit?” Helfdan was either getting angry, or doing a really good impression of getting angry. “We were entering an unknown beach that was covered with enemies. We didn't know if the Harpies were just there separate from the Giants or if the giants controlled them. There is also no known interaction with giants that hasn;'t ended in violence. The man who trained me once told me that a wise man prepares for the worst and so I did. No sooner were we on the beach than we were being attacked. So I was right to order my men to arm. What would you have done I wonder?”

The Yukki-Onna nodded before lifting her voice and calling over to the fallen and trapped Giant. “He is not wrong. You did attack them. Why did you do that?”

“Ah, so you're the mediator.” Helfdan nodded.

“It would seem that you need one.”

“Why? Why do we need one?” Helfdan asked. “Why do you need to translate what he says to me but not what I say to him?”

For the first time, a look of scorn crossed the ladies face. You would have had to be looking for it in order to see it though. Just a slight narrowing of the eyes and a drawing up of the brows.

“Humans.” She said. “Always the same whether in this world or the next. You equate the ability to communicate as being a marker of intelligence when the only means of communication that you accept is the one that you yourself use. It never occurs to you that some perfectly intelligent species are able to communicate with each other without using words. Or even without using what you would think of as sounds. For some people, the mouth is merely a way of taking on sustenance.”

Helfdan looked at her for a long time. Just a low, steady and flat stare. “I merely asked a question.” He said carefully. “I did not call him stupid. I called him cowardly, a thing that I stand by. I can understand a battlefield General needing to stand on the hilltop in order to see the entire battle. I can even understand that person fleeing the field in the event of the loss of his army in order to preserve his own skin. Especially when the general in question is the Monarch of a nation and their loss would mean chaos. I don't agree with that and I would still label that King a coward. I wanted to know why we need a mediator.”

“Because you are angry.”

“Never as angry as I look.” He told her. “But always angrier than I think I am.”

“And so is he.”

Helfdan considered this. “I can see that.”

“His grip of your language does not carry enough meaning for his satisfaction and so I am needed. You both need to calm down.”

“Not an unfair comment. But I would also point out that I have every reason to be angry.”

“He would say that he has plenty of cause to be angry as well.”

It was fascinating. The thrust and parry of speech was lightening fast. Helfdan wasn't looking at the woman. He stared, as was his habit, at the floor just in front of her. I thought that she searched his face intently, what for I couldn't tell you.

The giant rumbled something.

“Oh shut up.” Helfdan snapped at him. “The Grown ups are talking. We'll get to you in a minute.” Then he sighed. He rocked his head from side to side. I saw Svein and Ursa move to stand on either side of him but Helfdan held his hands up to forestall them. “What did he say?” He asked after a while.

“He said that this was his beach and that you had no right to land.”

Helfdan nodded. The conversation froze for a moment. It was interesting to see the older woman being taken aback by the way that Helfdan thought. She waved her small fan gently although it did seem to change speed occasionally. I thought that I could see confusion in the depths of the woman. As though this was all a little bit strange to her. Certainly the musician was not taking as great a care to hide what she was thinking, looking at Helfdan with open curiosity.

The warriors could clearly care less seeming bored now that they had scanned the horizonand the remaining men of the Wave-Serpent for threats several times before deciding that there were none and that they could relax. Of the five of them. Only the one that was labelled “daughter” in my mind was impassive. She was alternating between looking at Helfdan with a concentration that I would have found off-putting and then flicking glances to something on the beach. I have no idea what it was.

“Why are you here?” Helfdan asked suddenly. “I don't mean philosophically as in “Why are any of us here,” or regarding your people's history with the recent gaps in reality that The Swallow refers to. I mean, why are you here? Talking to me and mediating between two races that are caught up in a conflict that exists as far back as my people's prehistory. Why involve yourselves in so much hate? Because you cannot tell me that he doesn't hate me.” He gestured at the giant. “I certainly hate him.”

“Is it important?”

“Vastly.” Helfdan said carefully.

“Why?” The woman seemed genuinely curious. Presumably that's why Helfdan didn't take offence. The movements of the fan were still gentle.

“Because you'll have to forgive us mere mortals who can only communicate with verbal forms of communication. But it means that we must rely on what we are told. You translate for him but he gets my words directly. You cannot be unbiased because if you were, then you would not have intervened. What do you want out of all of this?”

“We wish to be left alone.” Her fan fluttered a little stronger.

Helfdan lifted his eyes and seemed to search her face for a moment. “I don't believe that for a moment.”