“Oh goody.” Gudavsson said, sighing contendedly and climbing aboard his own horse. “Life is always so dull when you are away from court.”

We rode up the tunnel, keeping the horses fairly close together. I got the general sense that word of our coming was being passed between the guards that lined the sides of the tunnel and that there was a growing sense of excitement. We emerged out onto the bridge that carried us over towards the keep and the wind was bitter enough that we had to dismount and take our shelter behind the bulks of our horses. Luckily, there is a small wall on either side of the bridge to stop us from falling over otherwise I honestly believe that there would have been a few less people accompanying Helfdan into the royal hall.

Including myself. It is a long way down to the harbour below and I wonder if I would have time to realise what was happening, and to come to terms with it before my body was splattered all over the harbour.

The torment was not long though and we made it into the castle courtyard.

I was not imagining the excitement in the other guards now. Grinning men came to take our horses and other men were seen clustered with each other and could be heard muttering.

“This is going to be so much fun.” Gudavsson was all but rubbing his hands together in glee.

“I don't understand.” I said aloud. Kerrass once joked that he would have the words “I don't understand,” inscribed on my headstone. It would be fitting.

“What don't you understand?” Helfdan turned to me with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, Finnvald is part of Clan An Craite isn't he?”

“He is.” Helfdan replied.

“Then surely this is a brewing conflict within the clan. And some of these men will have a vested interest in warning Finnvald of our arrival.”

“And some of them have already tried.” Gudavsson stepped forward. “Including Grimar on the gate. Unfortunately, that might mean that I have to hang that lad for deserting his post.

I sighed as I realised what I was about to say. “I don't understand.”

Gudavsson raised his eyebrows. “Grimar's word supersedes the child. Unless someone comes forward to declare that Grimar is lying in saying that he didn't order the child to warn Finnvald of your arrival then it is the word of the child against the word of Grimar. Grimar, who is a proven veteran and warrior. So the child hangs.”

“Is there no way to intercede on his behalf.” I was appalled.

“There is.” Helfdan said. “But it all depends on what happens next.”

“But that doesn't explain why more people are not trying to gain favour with Finnvald by warning him of our arrival.”

“Two things.” Gudavsson said. “The first is that this is not the first time that Finnvald has told this story to much sadness, wailing and gnashing of teeth. The men out here are mostly men, like me, who do not like, or do not believe the story. Men who have fallen afoul of Finnvald's ambitions before. So we are all looking forward to watching Finnvald being taken down a peg or two.”

“And the other thing?”

“Skelligans love the drama.” Helfdan responded for Gudavsson who nodded. “Make no mistake Scribbler. What happens next is going to be sung about for years to come.” Helfdan turned back to Gudavsson. “Can you get is into the back of the hall, quiet like?”

“Easily. This way.” He gestured.

“Hold on.” Ciri said quietly, keeping her hood up. “Before we go in. What is the Imperial presence?”Gudavsson seemed to realise who was speaking and, if anything, his smile broadened. “There are many merchants but that is not unusual. Lord Voorhis and your closest advisers are still here. Trapped here by the weather.”

Ciri nodded. “Can you tell me how they reacted to news of my death?”

“Lord Voorhis quashed it. He asked the Queen to close the harbour, not that any other ships were going to leave in the face of the Skeleton Ship anyway, and no messenger birds would make it through the storm. Having said that, it's almost impossible to think that rumour hasn't left the islands.”

Ciri nodded. “It's what I would have done and, unfortunately, doesn't really tell us anything.” She frowned in thought before shaking her head and squaring her shoulders. “Very well then.”

Gudavsson led us round the side of the main hall where Hlefdan gestured for us all to raise our hoods as we were let in the side entrance.

Even the gentle warmth of a hearth, especially after so much cold, can be painful but again, it was a good pain. It was wholesome and it felt better. Even if there was an overwhelming sense of smoke and body odour. The hall was packed, shoulder to shoulder with people and we had to make our way through with no little amount of force.

At first, I worried that this movement would render our disguises moot and useless, but no-one even turned to glance in our direction. So intent were they on the scene that was before them. So we were able to make our way easily. Svein, Kerrass and Thorvald used their elbows with enthusiasm to get us through the outskirts of the crowd, pushing Helfdan, Ciri and myself into the middle of the group.

It has been said before, including by me, that the political courtroom is just as much a battlefield as, well, a battlefield is. Never before had I seen that metaphor more properly used. We were no longer a nobleman and entourage returning home. We were a battlefield unit and Svein deployed us as though we were marching into battle. He moved forward after having a whispered conversation with Kerrass that I didn't hear. Thorvald and another man were employed in screening Helfdan and Ciri from view. A gesture sent Kar off to one side as he darted through the crowd. Another man peeled off from the back of our formation. Looking around I could also see that Gudavsson was whispering to a couple of guards so that the guardsmen in the room were slowly shuffling around and into various positions that must have been chosen for relevance.

Or they just wanted to get a better view of course.

We made our way to the side of the room. Not in the thin line of people between the main part of the hallway before the Queen's dais. But also not back amongst the press. We were just back from the front row so that we could see what was going on. I had wondered if our hooded nature would make us stand out but I needn't have worried. There was a show going on in the main hall and all eyes were on it.

I will say this for him. Finnvald could put on a good show.

He was stood in front of the room, occasionally moving around while he gesticulated wildly, hands waving in the air. He was wearing his armour although he was unarmed having left his weapons by the wall as was proper in these kinds of situations. I will admit that he looked good. We had all lost some weight due to the privations of time on board ship and presumably looked haggard and thin. But he looked in the bloom of health as he spoke about our many many failings before a rapt audience.

Sat in the throne, Queen Cerys looked on impassively. One elbow rested on an armrest of the throne and she rested her chin on the hand that this elbow provided. She had her legs crossed as she watched Finnvald's display. I do not know the Queen well. She share's with Ciri, that quality of looking as though she was always thinking several steps in advance of the rest of us. But I think she was a combination of faintly bored, thinking of other things as well as being slightly amused at the display that was being put on for her benefit. I am also, although I cannot be sure, but I also think that she saw us all come in. Make of that what you will.

Lord Voorhis was there. He was pacing in a corner along with several other dignitaries from the Imperial court that I recognised but didn't know. I was almost grateful that Madam Yennefer wasn't there as I rather dreaded her wrath should she decide to take offence at whatever would happen next. Lord Voorhis looked terrible. An already pale and slightly sickly looking man, he looked worse. Large bags under his eyes which I thought were bloodshot from this distance. He was frowning in a deep thought that I don't think he could bring himself out of. His movements were jerky and abrupt without his customary grace and decisiveness.

Every few steps or so he would stop and rub at his forehead as though he was fighting off a headache.

I looked for Jarl Hjallmar as well while Finnvald's story dragged on. He was sat at one of the few side-tables that hadn't been pushed aside to make room for the crowds. He was watching the display with a grim and sour expression on his face while drinking from a large jug. Much to my surprise, Captain Rymer was sat with him. He was watching the hall with a faint air of distaste and boredom.

I also saw Lord Dreng in the room with the Tuirseach contingent who was watching Finnvald speak with open disbelief and scepticism painted large on his face. His men seemed to share his scepticism although that seemed to be the rarest sentiment in the hall. Most were wrapped up in the story like any good Skelligan. They laughed at the jokes, groaned at the tales of disaster and cheered all the moments of Finnvald's self-described heroism.

It sickened me to my very core. But it is a truth that men believe that which they hear. Especially when the thing that they hear is said with conviction and surety by someone in authority. I found myself wondering how long Finnvald had worked on his story. Had he come up with this plan before or after that battle on the beach. Had he sailed with us in order to make that plan happen. And under who's orders had he acted in order to give us all into death and torment.

But as I say, he spoke well. I will admit that at least.

Ostensibly, he was talking to the Queen, begging to report on the fact that one of her most trusted Captains had fallen to ambition and, as a result, had disgraced himself before the world in getting himself, his crew and the Empress of Nilfgaard killed in his efforts to elevate himself beyond where his abilities lay. I won't repeat the entirety of his tale here. It was long, boring and utterly false so I will just recount some highlights.

Apparently, Finnvald had advised caution in attacking the Beach of the Ice Giants. This was because the beach itself was actually fairly narrow, surrounded by huge cliffs and that the army...

Yes, the army, he made it sound like there were hundreds of the things rather than the half dozen or so.

…. of Ice Giants meant that beaching was all but impossible. This as well as the harpies and the Ice hounds and the other perils that were arranged against us.

Apparently, I had begged Helfdan to attack when my desire for answers had overwhelmed my own good sense. I quote a little here. “The desire for a brother's vengeance can be overwhelming. But when it leads to the deaths of so many good and dear friends, then that desire can lead to tragedy and murder.”

Ciri, described only as “The Empress” had also advised caution along with Finnvald. But this had done no good. Helfdan had merely remembered all the pain and suffering that he had endured at the hands of the Empress and the others during his childhood and that this had helped push him into a frenzy of desire to prove himself. It also bears mentioning that Helfdan was quoted in this. That he expressed a desire to see Ciri punished for her actions during their childhood.

But he saved the best for last. The main driving factor for sending Helfdan into an un-winnable battle, sacrificing his men, his charges and his Empress on the alter of ambition was the target of that ambition. The target of wooing and seducing the Queen of the islands.

“Everyone knows about how Helfdan lusted after the Queen.” He told the crowd. “Everyone knows how he hid at doorways and peeked through key holes. How he tried to get into her chambers when she was bathing and how he always conspired to be nearby when she was dressing or entertaining better men. Every one knows the stories about Helfdan's lusts.” notice that he wasn't “Lord” Helfdan anymore. “It was only a matter of time before he put his sick and twisted desires into action and made an assault onto the Queen's person.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jarl Hjallmar draining his jug of mead and gesturing for another from one of the thralls in the middle of this particular speech. I looked to see the behaviour of others. Helfdan was impassive. I thought I saw the Queen raise an eyebrow slightly but I could not be sure.

“How do I know all of this?” Finnvald continued. “Because Helfdan told me as much during the planning of his suicidal attack.”

“There it is.” Svein muttered. “That's what makes it true. That's what makes Helfdan a pervert and a rapist in the eyes of the Isles of Skellige.”

“What do you mean?”

“Finnvald is a Captain and a lord of men. He says it. Therefore it is true. No other witnesses will come forward.”

“Except us.” I said.

“Indeed.”

I couldn't see much of Helfdan's face from where I was standing. Not least because his face was hooded and shadowed. But he let the matter go on for much longer than I would have. Long after I would have stepped forward and called Finnvald out for his bullshit, Helfdan was still stood there with an attitude of relatively polite interest.

Three times I went to step forward in order to protect the man that I had sailed with. Three times I made to push my way through the throng of people in order to make my presence felt and sound my protest at the lies that were being thrown at the feet the man to whom I owe my life. The first time was when Finnvald insulted me. I acutely remembered the guilt that I had felt as the men died around me and I remembered the moment where I had wanted to call them back. To tell Helfdan to turn around and to let the matter pass.

Less self-centred, I also went to take a step when Finnvald was talking about the brash nature of the crew. About how they had been too hungry for the glory that the coming battle would bring. Specifically it was the moment where Finnvald stated that it was their own hunger for glory that got them killed. That was the point where my patience snapped.

I endured when Finnvald talked about Ciri. I even endured when he talked about how Kerrass had led Helfdan on with false promises about a Witcher's abilities and about how Helfdan and his crew would be protected from the evil magics of the Ice giants. I reasoned that if Kerrass felt the need to defend himself then he was more than capable of doing precisely that.

But I also stepped forward when Finnvald talked about the many things that Helfdan had told him about the Queen. All of the things that Finnvald claimed that Helfdan had said and done in his pursuit of that lady. I was sickened by them. Not least by the fact that such lies could be dreamed up, nor by the fact that it meant that Finnvald himself would have had to have made more than a few plans of his own in that direction. Or that, as far as I could tell, Helfdan's behaviour towards the Queen was beyond reproach. The thing that got to me though was that, as I looked around I was dismayed by the number of people that seemed to be nodding in agreement of Finnvald's assessment of Helfdan as a pervert who had dark and improper thoughts about the Queen. I went to take a step forward in the middle of that speech as well.

Twice, I felt Svein's hand on my shoulder holding me back. Twice, I looked back into his large, sad eyes and he shook his head at me mouthing the words, “not yet.” Twice, I took that advice and returned to my original place in the hall and went on listening.

The third time though, during the insults being poured on Helfdan's head, I shook Svein's hand from my shoulder and took another step. Only to be blocked by Ciri. “Let him do this,” she whispered fiercely with her hand flat on my chest. “He does not need protecting. We can back him up when he makes his move.” Her eyes were hard and I saw my own anger reflected in them.

So we let Finnvald continue talking. As I said before, I can say many things about Finnvald. Many, many things but I will say that he was a gifted speaker and had the skill that all good storytellers have which was that he held the hall's attention. They laughed when he wanted them to, they wept when he wanted them to and they were utterly still and silent when he wanted them to as well.

Helfdan shifted his weight and crossed his arms.

The tale was drawing to a close. The tragedy of Helfdan's folly had reached it's natural conclusion as Finnvald and his grief-stricken crew watched from the sea as the Ice Giants proceeded to flatten each of the remaining member's of the wave-Serpent's crew. We were all given our suitably heroic last stands. Ciri was picked up by a harpy and torn apart as they fought over the privilege of feasting on her flesh. Kerrass was overwhelmed by Giants and was struck by a club in order to fly through the air and strike the cliffside where his shattered body slid to the foot of the cliff to be eaten by hounds.

All of the famous members of the crew had a little scene. Svein tried to lead a retreat to return to the Wave-Serpent but could not make it in time. Ursa died fighting the King of the Ice Giants.

In case you are wondering, I was squashed by a flying boulder relatively early on in the entire affair. I was a bit disappointed to tell the truth. I was hoping for something much more gruesome.

It was during one of these moments that the hall started to hear a new sound intruding into the air of the hall.

“I did not see The Fury die.” Finnvald claimed. “But I did see him charge. It was during Svein Hardhand's heroic, but doomed, attempts to retreat back to the Wave-Serpent. The Fury saw that his men, his people were being overwhelmed and he acted. Like the hero that he was, like the heroes that they all were in truth despite their refusal to accept that their Lord was doomed and weak of heart and mind. He saw the danger and, determined, he cast his shield aside and roared his defiance into the faces of those monsters that were coming for him. He...” Finnvald shook his head as he seemed to lose his place. “He....ummm.... He roared his defiance into the faces of the monsters that were coming for him and his crew and he cast his shield aside. Drawing his....”

He looked around the hall for a moment as he tried to find something. “Drawing his sword he threw himself towards the.... the.....”

He stopped, his face was getting redder by the moment. “Who dares?” He demanded. “Who dares laugh at the fates of these men that died. Who dares laugh at the deaths of brave men?”

The laughter continued. It was wild laughter. Untamed laughter. The laughter that hints at the madness that lies underneath it.

It was Helfdan that was laughing.

And he was really going for it. The effect on the hall was profound. Hell, it was profound on me too. I had never heard Helfdan laugh. He guards his emotions almost as much as Kerrass does although I do think that there is a difference in the two men. Where Kerrass' emotions are naturally subdued due to training, trauma and long years of practice at hiding what he is thinking, I think that Helfdan is the opposite. His emotions are so large and overwhelming that he deliberately tamps them down. So he restrains himself and I wonder if that is another reason that he had had his... breakdown or whatever it was that he calls it. That the emotions had just become too much for him.

But I had never heard him laugh before. It sounded as though he was unused to it as well. Which kind of seemed to add an edge to the open guffaws. The laughter cracked and seemed raspy. It was oddly heart-breaking.

As I say, the effect on the hall was profound. Men, instantly tried to move away from Helfdan to give him room but there was simply no space for that. Men and women had been forced into the hall, shoulder to shoulder, in order to hear this speech and to see how the Queen would respond. The natural urge of the mob is to stand aside from the main players in any public drama. They need the room to be able to see apart from anything else, let alone not wanting to be associated with the men around whom violence is about to take place.

What this meant was that no-one could tell what was happening. Confusion reigned as people looked around for the source of the laughter. The close quarters conspiring to mask the noise and where it was coming from.

So it took a long time for Helfdan to be seen.

He was still standing with his arms folded but he had taken his hood down so that everyone could see him as tears of amusement ran down his face. Slowly, the laughter subsided and Helfdan held his palm out as a man would who might be trying to stifle something and want someone to wait for just a moment longer.

“I apologise Finnvald,” he said after settling himself back down. He took the time to have another little chuckle and wipe a couple of tears from his eyes. “I'm sorry. I know that we're all supposed to remain quiet at this kind of thing but it's been so long since I've seen a proper comedy performed well that I just could not contain my laughter any longer.

“So I'm sorry Lord Finnvald. Your majesty,” He bowed slightly to the dais. “Lord Jarl and honoured guests. I apologise for spoiling your entertainment. I will endeavour to contain my mirth while Lord Finnvald finishes this entirely entertaining story.” He turned and returned to the rest of us that were still hooded and gestured to Finnvald magnanimously. “Please continue.” There was another little chortle of laughter as he turned back, folded his arms and fixed Finnvald with a look.

The Queen was no longer looking bored. She had unfolded her legs and was sat, leaning forward slightly. It was not lost on me that her hand hovered near her sword which was propped up against the arm rest of the throne.

You could have heard a pin drop in that hall. Finnvald paled. The only other noise that could be heard over the guttering of the torches and the sputtering of the fire was the sound of Lord Voorhis' exclamation at the sight of the dead coming back to life.

We stood as statues in that hall, all of us, waiting to see who was going to blink first. They call it a Rivian Standoff in Plays. Where people have been rumbled, most people are armed and in that moment just before a fight kicks off. But no-one wants to be the person who starts it. You can see it on any weekend evening in most taverns on the continent. Where most people are looking for where the exits are and the barman has his hands beneath the counter. Before violence had entered my life, I had always wondered why someone doesn't just slit the other guy's throat. Or dive for cover or throw something and flee. It just always seemed pointless to me when I saw it in plays and read about it in books when people have daggers and swords at each other's throats. Why don't they just start the thing going?

But then I was there for one and I understood. There is a pressure to this kind of thing. It's tricky to explain but it's as though there is a force that keeps you in place. The giant hand of the God of Drama keeps you all standing there, watching and waiting to see who is going to blink first.

In this case it was Finnvald. His mouth opened and closed a few times as his mind could be seen to visibly work things out. Then he closed his mouth for a moment and then started to speak.

But Helfdan was faster.

Finnvald, like myself, had forgotten that there are two areas in which Helfdan excels. The first, and his favourite and the more famous of his skills, is that when he is on the deck of a ship, there is no-one to touch him. But the other is that he is a genuinely gifted courtier. He can see through the bluster and the pomp and the ceremony until he finds the truth of the matter. He can easily ignore even the most convoluted of obfuscations into what lies beneath.

“Oh I see.” He said in obviously feigned astonishment. “You meant these things to be seen as truth, not comedy.” He nodded slightly. “In that case.”

All pretence left him then. Suddenly he was the man of astonishing violence and the promise of wrath.

“In that case, you lie.” He snarled. “You lie and you lie and you lie. You besmirch good and decent men with your lies. You doomed men to death who would have lived had you but had the courage to remain loyal. So instead, you betray me and do not even remain behind to see to it that the job was finished.”

He moved forward as he spoke and we all moved with him.

“Not only did I survive, Lord Finnvald. I conquered. My men conquered.” He made the words into blades and spears that he hurled into Finnvald's body. “We all conquered and then we continued to do our duty. We conquered, we forced the giants and their allies to terms and then moved on. You lie.”

Helfdan spun on the rest of the hall who literally fell back from his rage. “I am Lord Helfdan. The Black Boar. And what you say as insult, I take as truth and virtue. I am Helfdan Fatherless, the Bastard of Clan An Craite and I say that this man lies.” He spun back, drawing his sword as he did so and hurled it at Finnvald's feet. “My sword says that you lie.”

“As does mine.” Kerrass was faster on the upkeep. His harsh, calm voice was a powerful counterpoint to Helfdan's raw and cracking emotion. The Witcher's blade clattered as it joined Helfdan's on the floor.

“And mine.” Svein cried, “although mine is an axe.”

I finally found my voice. “I think my spear is kind of redundant.” I said into the growing noise as I screwed the two halves of the spear together. “But I will add mine to the pile you lying piece of filth.”

Finnvald fell backwards as though we were striking him physically.

But someone else wanted to ask questions.

“Where is the Empress?” Lord Voorhis demanded pushing through to stand before the angry lord. “Where is she Helfdan? Answer me, damn your eyes, or I swear....”

“His name is Lord Helfdan.” Ciri's voice was like nails on a slate as she all but appeared from the back of the group. Her sword appearing in her hand and held out towards Lord Voorhis' throat where the man paled, his eyes widening. “And you will demand nothing.” She hissed. “Until you tell me about the treasonous attack on my life and the lives of my friends and allies, by my so called countrymen. And don't claim you knew nothing about those ships that attacked us, because that either makes you incompetent, or a traitor yourself.”

Lord Voorhis' arms crept up and he held his hands out from his side.

“Kneel.” Ciri growled.

The poor man sank to his knees and another tableau was formed.

There was a brief burst of activity after that. A couple of the royal guards took a prominent step forward and put themselves to the fore on either side of the Queen. Their massive shields, similar to the one that Ursa used to use and that I had held to protect Kerrass, were poised ready to be lifted into place so that the Queen would be protected.

There was a scuffle elsewhere in the crowd which showed itself to be Kar holding his dagger at the throat of a man that had a small crossbow in his hand. Udolf was next to him with his own axe drawn and held ready, his facial hair bristling in indignation at anyone that might start anything of violence.

Most tellingly for me, there was a sound of doors being slammed and bars being slid into place. I saw Gudavsson deploying men around the place, some of whom were putting helmets on and lifting shields into place. A whole line of these guards stood between the overall crowd and those parts of the hall where the weapons were stacked.

Then the world became still again.

There was even more exchanging of glances between all the major parties. As I say, I don't know the Queen very well, but I strongly suspect that she was kind of amused. Also excited a little bit although I don't know why. The spilling of blood in a feast hall is one of the ultimate taboos of the Skelligan isles. At the time, I found myself more than a little confused that she didn't intervene. If such a scene had occurred before any of the other monarchs on the continent, there would have been guards running around. There would be shouting and general shouts of outrage.

Here? It was almost silent. The only noise being the rattling of armour as Lord Voorhis sank to his knees.I have since learned why the Queen didn't intervene and that was because it wasn't her hall. Despite their presenting themselves as a relatively simple people, the Skelligans have many complex and ancient laws that govern their behaviour and actions in different formal circumstances. The rest of the continent has a habit of dismissing them for this perceived simplicity and I hope, if I have done anything with these last few chapters, that it is to illustrate that they are a highly complex people. They just don't value the same things that we value. But to underestimate them is death.

Here, the hall belonged to Clan an Craite. And so far, this was a conflict between two Captains of Clan an Craite. Therefore it was an internal matter. An interesting and dramatic matter to be sure, but still an internal matter nonetheless.

So we were all stood there, waiting for the next move to materialize. The most recent moves in the dance had placed matters firmly in Finnvald's hands. He could accept the challenge and fight to preserve his honour. Even though his falsehood had been laid bare before the entire court given his flowery descriptions of our deaths.

I now suspect that this had been the thing that Helfdan had been waiting for to intervene. He had been giving Finnvald enough rope in order to hang himself. Having thought about this matter in the meantime, this is the option that he should have taken. As soon as Helfdan's sword hit the ground, Finnvald should have stepped forward and taken it up as Helfdan's weapon skills leave much to be desired. Then the victory would have cleaned all sin and dishonour away from Finnvald. Washed away in the blood of Helfdan. Or, if he lost, then at least his death would be quick and honourable.

He could admit that he was wrong and take the resulting disgrace on the chin. He could claim that he was mistaken. He could argue that he, and his crew, had been overcome by strange magics conjured by the ice giants and their cohorts that had convinced him that he saw the deaths involved. He would still be disgraced, retreating from a battle, even a hopeless one, is a bad thing in Skelligan society. But he might survive it with his lands and powers intact.

He could even throw himself at the Jarl and Queen's feet and beg for mercy. He could have come completely clean in the face of everything, explained everything and heaped the blame on someone, anyone really. This is almost certainly what he should have done. Just come clean.

He could even have have taken the offered way out. He could have said that he was playing a prank on everyone's expense. I don't think that this would have gone very well for him in all fairness. But it was something that he might have considered.

But he didn't. As Svein told me, all that time ago. A span that felt like years ago despite only being a week or so ago. Finnvald was an ambitious man. He was stood there, trying to figure out what the solution was. Trying to guess what he should do and where he could steal advantage. And I think that that was his doom in the end. Because the longer he stood there, his mouth working like a fish that has just been tossed onto land in order to die, without answering the charges levelled against him, the more and more guilty he appeared to be.

So we had thrown him the ball, and he was failing to decide what to do with it.

So in the end. Someone else decided for him.

“That's enough.” Hjallmar stood up from his bench. He did so slowly and deliberately, the movement drawing eyes towards him. He picked up his flagon and drained it as well, wiping the foam away on the back of his hand. Despite the cold weather, he was still wearing his open necked shirt. The tartan cloak that he had wrapped around himself was a little thicker than it might have been the last time that I was in the area but he seemed to have made little or no concession to the weather.

He put his flagon down on the table so that the noise echoed in the hall.

Then he walked, slowly, over to where Ciri had Lord Voorhis at sword point. He was slightly drunk. You could tell because he was placing his feet with deliberate care. He didn't weave as he moved, nor did he stagger, but he was careful with the way that he behaved. He came to stand beside Ciri. Then he took several deep breaths.

“Sister of my heart, if not in blood.” He said, the words seeming formal in their language. “My heart is overjoyed to see you alive again in this world. I was waiting for the ice to retreat before my fleet would have gone to Undvik and we would have the world scoured of the ice Giants for once and for all out of vengeance for your death. So do not doubt how I feel about your return to us now.”

Then he looked down and shifted his feet slightly. I have seen that movement before, on practice fields and in other places all over the continent. He was readying himself for a fight.

When he raised his eyes again their was a fury burning in the depths of his piercing blue gaze.

“But of all people,” he growled. “You, at least, should know the penalty for threatening another man in my hall.”

“This is an internal matter, Hjalmar.” Ciri intoned, similar rage in her voice.

“I don't care if he shat in your bed.” Hjalmar snarled before calming again, just as suddenly. “You will put up your sword and you will go and place it with the others, or hand it to one of my warriors. You will do so, right now. Or I will kill you. Right now.” He signalled and a pair of his warriors came to stand near him and near to Ciri. Kerrass and I shifted to go and help her but Hjalmar spun and glared at us. “Remain where you are.” He told us. “Or join her in death.”

I had heard about the anger of the Jarl of Clan an Craite. I had only known the jovial, happy drinker and so this man of barely contained violence was shocking.”

Another warrior moved to stand between us and them, his shield raised and axe poised. He looked at us apologetically, but there was no compromise in either posture or expression. It suddenly seemed desperately stupid to have thrown our weapons down with Helfdan. But it had seemed like such a good idea at the time.Ciri stood, frozen in place for a long time before she abruptly shifted and lowered the sword. She sheathed it on her back in her characteristically smooth movement before un-slinging the weapon and handing it to one of the guards.

“Thank you.” Hjalmar said to her. “It would have broken my heart to have to kill you.”

“You would have tried.” Some of Ciri's old humour was in the expression.

Hjalmar grinned at her. “I'm not rising to that.” He told her in friendly tones before his voice turned formal. “I understand that you have internal matters of state to address.” He told her. “But I would ask that you leave such things out of my hall and address them well away from my royal sister's court.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Ciri nodded before turning back to Lord Voorhis. “Get up Lord Voorhis.” She told him. “I have commands for you.”

He was shaking as he followed her orders.

“My companions and I were attacked by ships flying Nilfgaardian colours and belonging to the (Freddie: I have removed the name for political reasons.) trading company. There is a mage that we took captive being held in the courtyard. You know what to do from there. I must remain here and finish this.”

He bowed, still pale and shaking. He gestured and two of the black armoured Imperial Guard that were stood at the back followed him as he left the hall. Two more detached and stood next to Ciri on either side. I might have been imagining it, but it almost looked as though they were standing a little closer to her than they normally would have, quivering with the desire to do her bidding.

“Now,” Hjalmar stalked over to stand next to Finnvald but a little in front of him, between Finnvald and Helfdan. “Lord Helfdan.” He growled it. Again, I was struck with a sense of barely retrained fury. “You know how I feel about my Lords fighting with each other do you not?”

Helfdan didn't move.

“How many times have I stood in this very hall?” Hjalmar demanded. “How many times have I made speeches and demands. How many times have I spoken about the need for Clan An Craite to be unified against our enemies. How many times Lord Helfdan?”

Helfdan said nothing.

“The Queen is from our clan.” Hjalmar spoke to the hall. “And Clan An Craite has a duty. A responsibility to defend her and to do her proud. Even though the Queen exists outside the clans and above them. We must never shame her. But you come here. Before the six Jarls of the clans and you foment civil war amongst the clan. You challenge a fellow Lord and Captain before the Queen. You challenge and you disgrace us all for that. And even worse, you do so at a time when Skellige is unified under the threat of the Skeleton Ship.”

He took another step forward.

“You will pick up your weapons.” He said. “You will apologise to the Queen for your outburst of temper. You will do so now.”

Helfdan remained frozen in place.

Abruptly, Hjalmar stalked over until he was inches from Helfdan's face. “Pick up your weapons.” He told him, speaking to all of us but he was staring Helfdan in the face as he did so. “Pick them up now, or I shall pick them up for you.”

As the note, the thrown blade is the form of a challenge. No Skelligan can fight their lord in challenge, so if Hjallmar had picked up any of the blades then they would have been forced to fight him for it.

Helfdan slowly shifted his gaze from Finnvald over to Hjalmar. Then he sighed and nodded.

The entire courtroom seemed to sigh and deflate a little bit. As though a sail had lost the wind.

Helfdan gestured to the rest of us as Hjalmar stepped aside. Finnvald's face flushed in triumph and I tried not to look at him.

I took up my spear and turned to find a Large warrior of clan An Craite holding out his hand in order to receive the weapon. I smiled at him and twisted the spear until it came apart and handed him the two parts. He nodded at me as he took them away. As I turned, other guards were taking the weapons of my fellows and carrying them away.

Helfdan stepped forward and took a knee before the Queen. “My Queen, I humbly beg your forgiveness as well as the forgiveness of your court. My rage overwhelmed me at a most crucial time and I was unable to restrain myself. I ask only that any punishment levelled should be levelled at my feet alone as my people merely followed my example.”

“Do you have anything to say in your defence?” She said quietly although I noticed that her voice carried.

“Plenty.” Helfdan told her. “But they are explanations, not excuses. My lord Jarl is correct. He has ordered that no challenges be issued between the Lords and Captains of Clan An Craite as such feuds cannot be sustained given our position and past losses. I broke that command.”

“And the penalty for breaking the Jarl's commands is most dire.” Finnvald crowed in triumph. “You are to be....”

“We shall come to your explanations in a moment, as they may excuse certain matters.” Hjalmar told Helfdan, overriding Finnvald's voice. “I look forward to those explanations as I have questions.” He allowed his voice to become informal and joking for a moment. “So.... many.... questions.”

The courtroom laughed and I realised a bit more about what was going on. Hjalmar was enjoying himself.“But first I must ask if The Queen, my sister, accepts Lord Helfdan's apology for disrupting her entertainment.” Hjalmar went on.

Then I realised that Hjalmar hadn't stopped calling Helfdan “Lord”.

Queen Cerys appeared to consider the matter for a moment. “I leave the matter in your hands Lord Jarl. I am not insulted and the interlude is quite interesting.”

Finnvald paled and took a step backwards.

“Thank you, Majesty. So, Lord Helfdan. Your explanations regarding your rage please? I would ask you to be detailed in what has happened since you fought with Captain Rymer of Clan Tuirseach as your actions up until that point are documented. Please be specific.”

Then he turned back to Finnvald. “Don't go anywhere Lord Finnvald.” Two more guards, including Gudavsson, came out of the crowd and stood next to Finnvald. Gudavsson was grinning in enjoyment beneath the helmet.

“I would be glad to, My Lord. But...” I began to feel a sinking feeling in my stomach as Helfdan spoke. “...I fear that I am a little too angry at what the tale contains. And My Lord, and the rest of the court, are aware of how I can sometimes get if I get too angry.” He said it with humour. And the court laughed with him. Finnvald paled even further.

“And we wouldn't want any more emotional outbursts would we Lord Helfdan?” Someone heckled from the back. I didn't see who it was but the tone was friendly if a little teasing.

“As you say Lord Dreng.” Helfdan said. “Instead, I have a chronicler who has been part of my crew during this journey and I would ask him to recount the tale.” He gestured to me.

Oh Flame. Now I would have to perform for the audience. I managed to swallow my groan but only just.

“No.” Finnvald objected. “No, that is unacceptable.” He gestured at me angrily. “This man is no Skald. He is no witness or truth speaker. He has no capability to tell a story or recount history. How can we know that he tells the truth? I will not stand by while this man besmirches me and my reputation.” He almost spat the words. “He is no Skald.” He folded his arms across his chest as though he had delivered a final blow that would send us all back into our holes with his final point.

“No he is not.” Helfdan agreed. “But then again, neither are you. And when I walked into the hall earlier, it was to hear you recounting events as though they were facts.”

The hall, literally, went “Ooohhhh” at the point. I've said it many times before but it bears repeating. Few people enjoy a good drama as much as the Skelligan people. I thought it might be something to do with the fact that they are an aural tradition and do not value the written word. But that would be an analysis for wiser people than me.

“Skald?” Hjalmar said the word as a summons and a man pushed his way to the front. Fairly heavily muscled, he had a long beard that was interwoven with wooden beads and iron rings. He had a harp on his back while he ate something from a bowl. I recognised him as one of the Skalds that I had first met when I came to Skellige. Not the man who had first told the story of the Skeleton Ship but one of his fellows. It was my understanding that he was one of the law-keepers of Kaer Trolde and as such, very rarely employed the storytelling craft.

“Speaking personally,” he said between mouthfuls of whatever it was that he was eating. “I don't think it's that important. Lord Helfdan's point is well made. Obviously, if there was a Skald present then that would be a different matter. But so far we have heard a version of events from Lord Finnvald and it seems only fair that we hear a version of events from Lord Helfdan's camp.”

There was some rumbled agreement from the onlookers. I saw that, now that the immediate threat of violence had abated, Thralls were bringing out food and drink again and the crowd was getting jovial. They were beginning to look forward to a show.

“As to Frederick the Scribbler.” The Skald went on to my embarrassment. “For obvious reasons, I have not read any of his work. But I have had some choice passages read to me. I have also heard him speak and I judge him to be as close to being a Skald as an outsider can be. He speaks well, he is entertaining when he does so and he seeks to educate with his stories as much to inform. He is known to omit certain details for the safety of people involved or due to ongoing situations but I think that is responsible rather than negligent. Obviously he could never be a Skald as his ability to read and write precludes that but still, he is as close as we will come from Lord Helfdan's camp. I am only speaking for myself of course and what I say should not be reflected onto the council of Skalds.”

There was some nodding.

“I have a Skald.” Lord Finnvald said. Small points of colour had formed in his paling cheeks. He was sweating and beginning to look feverish.

“Then he should have been the one to tell the story, not you.” The hall's Skald snapped. “I, for one, wish to hear what Frederick the Scribbler has to say.” There was some more rumbling of agreement from the crowd.

“Time to seize the moment Freddie,” Kerrass whispered to me. “Nothing about the plan for the Skeleton Ship though. That is for the Queen to hear first.”

“Or about who the Nilfgaardian ship's belonged to.” Ciri added. “Other than that they were Nilfgaardian.”

I nodded acceptance of both points and stood forward. The saying of “We are architects of our own destruction,” was never truer than it was when talking about Finnvald. His dismissal of me while questioning my bias and honesty had stirred up some of my anger that washed away my fatigue and pushed it into the back of my mind. I still longed for a hot bath and a soft bed but that became a more background thing. Finnvald's insults meant that I was no longer afraid.

So it came to be my turn to tell a story. I had not told one during the camp fires on the beaches during the journey while we took shelter from the wind, the rain and the cold. Nor had I told any stories while trying to pass the time during the various voyages that we had taken part in. But now it was my turn.

I have no idea how it went although Kerrass claims it went fairly well.

I told of the cold, I remarked on the surprise arrival of Finnvald in Helfdan's village and I particularly took the time to remark on Finnvald's invoking the name of the Queen in order to get Helfdan to trust him, thus forcing Helfdan's hand in the matter. I remember that bit because the audience hissed.

They literally hissed and booed.

I told of the planning sessions, taking the time to emphasise the original plan and about how Finnvald had raised no objections to the plan. I spoke of the battle on the beach. I spoke of my own terror and the tactics used by the men of the Wave-Serpent. I told about the heroism and the sacrifices that were made and I told about my desire to not have men die in my name.

Then I told them about that moment where we looked back and realised that Finnvald's crews were not reinforcing us as planned and that they were, instead, retreating. The hall fell silent as I recounted the moment where Helfdan and Svein had exchanged council with each other before deciding that the best thing to do was to charge the enemy.

The crowd cheered at that.

I described the final moments of the battle, the defeat of the King of the Ice Giants, the last charge of Sigurd the fury, the defence of the rock by Kunnr and the deaths of Ivar and Haakon. Then I talked about the coming of the Yukki-Onna, speaking about the debates and the formation of the tentative truce. About the political marriage between the injured Sigurd and the Ice-Giant's daughter and about how the Yukki-Onna enforced that truce.

Helfdan interrupted the story briefly to carry the Yukki-Onna's greeting to the Queen and commented on her desire for peace. Queen Cerys nodded her gratitude at the message and told the court that she would discuss the matter in private council at a future date before telling me that I should continue with the story.

So I did, moving onto our continuing journey in order to consult the Vodyanoi which is where I was a little political. I called them Vodyanoi, not Fomori. Finnvald did start to protest at that, that we had consulted the ancient enemy, thus proving that we were in league with evil forces aligned against the islands. The Skald came to my rescue again as he pointed out that the continent was broken up into nations and that Skellige itself was broken up into clans. Was it any less reasonable to assume that the Vodyanoi (he did use that word as well, rather pointedly I thought) did any different?

I continued my story.

Then we came to the ambush by the Nilfgaardian ships. As Ciri asked, I did not mention the trading company that those ships belonged to. Nor did I mention that, even as I spoke, the head of Nilfgaardian confidential agencies was in the process of interrogating a captive that we had taken. I told them, when describing the boarding action, that we killed the mage. It seemed the most political of statements at the time.

I was good enough that the crowd wept as I told them of the death of the Wave-Serpent. I so desperately wanted to turn and see what kind of effect the story had on Hjalmar and Queen Cerys. But I was talking to the crowd and I did not dare turn away.

I was able to recount Helfdan's speech on the shore with relative accuracy and I all but skipped over the return journey, save to praise the farmer who had given us the horses and the innkeeper who had taken us in when we were in danger of freezing to death.

I finished by saying. “I wish that my story had a happy ending. I know that that is not always the way with Sagas but there it is. But if I there is one truth that I would have you remember it is that Thirty three crewmembers of the Wave-Serpent fought against the Ice Giants and won. Then fifteen of us fought the Nilfgaardian pirates. I cannot say that we won, but I will say that we survived. Some would say that survival is a victory against such overwhelming odds but to me, here, I will not say that I feel as though we won.

“Nor is this an ending. For myself, I still have a sister to avenge. For the Empress, she has traitors to root out and destroy. For Lord Helfdan and the rest of the crew of the Wave-Serpent. Those men have already done me too great an honour for counting me amongst their number. In shedding blood and dying for a foreign cause, against enemies that would have sent Continental knees to shaking. Now they have a task ahead of them that I cannot easily comprehend. Now they must rebuild and recover. They must mourn that which they have lost and they must carry on in the face of all of those people that wish to see them destroyed. I can only promise them that if I can help them, then I will, just as they have helped me.

“I will never forget the experiences that I have shared with you all and when I depart to continue my.... my Quest. I will carry the memories of those men and that, most mighty of ships with me wherever I go. And I will always, particularly, cherish the memory of the Wave-Serpent.”

Then I stepped back.

Then the crowd raored and I felt tears running down my face from the sheer emotion of it. It was draining, that tale telling. Absolutely exhausting. But it needed doing.

Hjalmar waited for a long time before taking things up again. He stepped forward and held his hands up for silence.

“That was a fascinating story.” He said into the quiet. “Fascinating and, may I say, well told. The fact that your story accounts for how one of my Lords and Captains stands before me now, alive and well, along with the sister of my heart. And the other does not. Lends it a ring of truth that is lacking in Lord Finnvald's account of things.”

He was pacing as he said this. Moving backwards and forwards in front of the assembly, head bowed as if in thought.

“Tell us, Lord Finnvald.” He stopped in front of the stricken man, “How would you reconcile the two accounts?”

Finnvald was ready. “Lord Jarl. Allow me to produce my Skald and he will....”

“Ah,” Hjalmar sighed. “Legal manoeuvring. I should have recognised the stench. Very well, produce your Skald.”

Another explanatory note. There is a hierarchy of truths. Where some men have precedence over the other. Where some people get believed over all others no matter the evidence that might exist to the contrary. A Skald's truth trumps my truth as it is part of what and who Skalds are due to them swearing oaths to that effect.

A younger man was pushed to the front of the hall. He was a young man and I didn't recognise him.

“Go on,” Finnvald prompted. “Tell the hall what really happened.”

The young man cowered before the hall.

“Remember who you work for Lad.” The older Skald called out. “Remember your oaths.”

“Tell them what we saw.” Finnvald snarled.

“Lord Finnvald's account is accurate.” The younger Skald said carefully.

“See, Lord Jarl.” Finnvald grinned in triumph. “These men are either imposters, or my men and I were bewitched.”

“I have a question, if I may interrupt Lord Jarl.” The Queen leant forward on her throne.

“Of course, my Queen.” Hjalmar said, bowing and stepping aside.

“Were you there, young Skald?” She asked gently.

Finnvald paled again.

“No, I wasn't.” The young man admitted.

“So how did you know what happened?” Hjalmar roared, spittle flailing from his lips.

“I listened to Lord Finnvald's account and the account of the other sailors and warriors.” The boy admitted.

“So you saw nothing.” Hjalmar's voice was quiet again.

“No.”

Finnvald turned to flee before one of the guards at his elbow caught him.

“Well, Lord Finnvald?” Hjalmar's words dripped with venom. “Time to explain yourself.”

“I....I....”

“NOW, LORD FINNVALD.” Hjalmar screamed in his face. Some more spittle spraying from his lips. I suddenly had an image of what he would be like in battle, raging against his enemies and begging them to come to him and die. Then his voice went quiet. “Why did you betray one of your own? Why did you turn on a clansman, a fellow lord? Why did you turn on a man who has done nothing to you save to show up your own weaknesses on a nationwide scale?”

“But....” Finnvald looked into the crowd. I didn't have time to track who it was that he was looking for as whoever, or whatever it was that he was seeking, he didn't find it. His face folded in on itself. “I thought that it was what you would want.”

The crowd groaned.

“You thought that it was what I would want.” Hjalmar repeated before letting his own head fall a little. “Leaving aside the fact that I know you Finnvald. Leaving aside the fact that you would not do a thing like this unless there was a way that it would benefit yourself directly apart from just making me happy. Because the lies would mean that I couldn't reward you directly. Leaving all that aside...”

He looked back into Finnvald's face. “Why would you think that it would be something I would want? Why would you think that I would want you to flee before the enemies that aligned themselves against you. The entire nation of Skellige has looked down on Clan Brokvar for centuries for that reason when they retreated from a hopeless fight. Our sagas are replete with tales of men fighting hopeless battles.”

He shook his head before speaking again.

“Why would you think that I would want that? Why would I want this man's death and the death of his men?”

In comparison to his earlier rage, Hjalmar's voice was almost gentle.

“Because you hate him.” Finnvald commented to another groan of the crowd. A few voices shouted in protest. A few more shouted in agreement. Most were outraged at the attempt by Finnvald to pass the blame onto his Jarl.

“You are always complaining about his attitude and his arrogance.” Finnvald went on, his voice increasing in volume now that he had found his subject and his confidence started to increase. You are always telling us about how Helfdan did this or did that in a way that you are not pleased with. You have told the story where Helfdan helped sack the harbour that others said couldn't be done but he did it without honour.”

Other voices were being raised now.

“But most of all I did it because of how he treats your sister. I know you know about it my lord. I know you know how he feels. How he levels his perverted lusts against your sister the Queen. You know it, I know it, we all know that that is how he likes to behave. We've all heard the stories, about how he spends his time following her around. How he fawns over her. How he tries to gain glimpses of her as she's bathing.”

I stole a glimpse over at Helfdan. The Queen was behind me and so I had no way of turning round to gauge her thinking on the matter. But Helfdan's face was a mask. Svein was outraged, disgusted and appalled. I got the feeling that Ciri was a little bit amused but couldn't put it any clearer than that.

I found that my own thinking went towards Ciri's thinking. Finnvald was hanging himself the more he spoke.

“We all know his plans. That part of the story is true. We all know how he plans to seduce the Queen and he intends to vent his perverted...”

“Enough.” Hjalmar snarled before appearing suddenly tired. “Just.... Enough.” I was astonished. Hjalmar was shaking, visibly trembling. I have no idea what he was thinking but he was trembling with the emotion of it.

“My Lord....” Finnvald tried again, not wanting to lose the inertia. “How many times have we sat at table while Helfdan is off doing whatever? How many times have you muttered in dislike as Helfdan presents the Queen with some gift that you.... You wanted him dead. You wanted him disgraced and killed. You wanted someone to...”

Hjalmar hit him. His fury driving the blow into the side of Finnvald's face sending the other man flying backwards.

The crowd roared.

One of the taboos of Skelligan society is that you can't shed blood in a feasting hall. It is said that this curses both the hall and the people involved according to the will of the Gods. It's the breaking of hospitality, which is one of the most important parts of Skelligan tradition. It would later turn out to be one of the reasons that people were so outraged at Ciri's holding a sword to Lord Voorhis' throat. And that the lord of that hall had just committed violence and... by splitting Finnvald's lips.... literally spilling blood...

Guards boiled out of nowhere. This was no longer entertainment, this was real and deadly. The Queen had come to her feet, shouting her brother's name. I saw Rymer vault the table that he had been sitting at and dive towards Hjalmar. Others fell back.

But Helfdan got to Hjalmar first. Hjalmar who was standing over Finnvald had murder in his eyes and Helfdan, much smaller than Hjalmar, didn't try to restrain his Lord's body. Instead, he wrapped himself round Hjalmar's arm.

Then Rymer got there, forcing his body between Hjalmar and Finnvald. Svein got hold of Hjalmar from the back. Gudavsson was dragging Finnvald away from the enraged Jarl and other guards were trying to restrain the Jarl from doing something unspeakable and unthinkable to the Skelligan people.

Back when the last monarch of Skellige was elected, Hjalmar was one of the contenders for the throne. I was seeing the kind of King that he would have been. He would have been one of the battle kings of old. Standing on the field on a mountain of his enemies with sword and axe flashing in the firelight as he laughed with the joy of battle. Five men were restraining him now. Helfdan, Svein, Rymer and two men in the full formal armour of the Clan An Craite household guard. Five, hardened warriors and Hjalmar barely moved. Indeed, I can honestly say that if Gudavsson hadn't pulled Finnvald out of the way, there would have been nothing that anyone could have done to prevent Hjalmar from killing him in his rage.

All this, and Hjalmar is not a berserker.

I froze in that moment. I had no idea what to do. Ciri grabbed Kerrass and I by the arm and stepped backwards, pulling us out of the way. She was absolutely right to do so. Helfdan might have accepted us as part of his crew, but we were still far from being Skelligan so our survival was far from being assured if some well meaning guard decided that we were attacking the Jarl.

Not that it occurred to me to do that. I was almost frozen in place with shock at the sudden outbreak of violence. I had been enjoying the destruction of Finnvald and now we were watching the outrage of Skellige mad manifest.

Five men to hold Hjalmar back. Five men and in the end, he threw them off as though they were nothing.

“ENOUGH.” He roared and kind of shrugged until he stood there in the middle of them, sweating and shaking. The hall was still again. Still and quiet, making Hjalmar's raspy breathing the only sound.

“Get him to his feet.” Hjalmar gestured at the fallen Finnvald before stalking over to his table, Rymer in tow, where he poured himself a flagon of whatever it was he was drinking before finishing the flagon, hurling it aside in disgust and instead draining the jug. Then he beckoned a thrall over, handed them the jug and grated the words, “Fill it up.”

Then he stood there, leaning on the table while he worked to regain mastery of himself.

Queen Cerys joined him at the table and put her hand on his shoulder. The brother and sister stood there for a while as he calmed. Then he placed his own hand on hers before nodding to her. She returned the gesture before walking back to her throne and sitting down.

The thrall had returned with Hjalmar's jug of drink and Hjalmar gestured for the thrall to wait before he walked into the middle of the hall.

“Lord Helfdan.” Hjalmar began, his voice only shaking slightly. “Would you take your men back to your places please. Remain close as I suspect that the Queen will have questions regarding your mission, when this internal matter of Clan An Craite is resolved.”

Helfdan bowed, his face still a mask and gestured for the rest of us to follow him.

Halmar stood in the middle of the hall, head bowed, hands on his hips as he thought.

“My lords.” He began. “I apologise. What you have just seen and heard does not reflect well on Clan An Craite. I apologise.”

There was a few mutters as people began to get over their shock.

“I also need to apologise to the Queen, who should be served better by one of her Jarls and the clan of her birth. We have disgraced ourselves before her and the majority of that blame needs to be laid at my feet. I will discuss how I can make amends to her in private.”

There was a bit more nodding and you could feel the tension start to leave the room.

Then Hjalmar took a deep breath and looked around the room at everyone present. “I am grateful that so many people are here. I am grateful that there are so many witnesses to what I must say next. This will mean that there can be no doubt. No doubt at all as to my meaning when I say these words.”

He took another breath.

“I do not like Lord Helfdan.” He told us all. “I never have. I very much doubt that I ever will. I did not like him as a child and I do not like him as a man.”

There was a bit of muttering and Hjalmar waited for it to subside.

“Helfdan and I are nothing alike. I do not know him and I do not understand him. Again, I do not think that this is something that will ever change. Do I hate him?”

He shrugged.

“Sometimes I do. I will admit that. I hate him for his faults and for all the ways that he does not fall into the way I think that the world works. I hate him for all of his faults. I hate the fact that he does not enjoy any of the things that I enjoy. He does not enjoy violence. He does not laugh at my jests. He does not enjoy drinking or carousing. He takes little joy in the company of bawdy men and bawdier women.

“He does not enjoy games. He does not boast or put himself forward. All of the things that we, as Skelligans value. He does not laugh. He does not cheer. And he is always watching. Always. And I hate that. I really do. I always feel as though he's judging me and finding me wanting. As though he thinks that he could do a better job than me.”

He sighed a little. He paced around as he talked.

“The problem is that he probably could. I also hate him for all the ways that he is better than me. He is calm when I am angry. Cautious when I am reckless. He is a terrifying killer and as cold a fish as I've ever met.”

There was a bit of laughter then as Helfdan visibly tilted his head to one side as if to consider this assessment of his strengths and weaknesses. Then he shrugged and nodded his agreement.

“I'm pointedly not going to comment on his love of reading and writing.” Hjalmar joked to more laughter.

“I also hate him for his competence. He will admit himself that although he is a cold and calculating killer, his command of tactics, strategy and combat is weak. But on the oceans? At the tiller of a ship? There is none to beat him. None at all.”

I could sense that the crowd was turning back towards approval from their earlier horrified condemnation of Hjalmar.

“That he surrounds himself with men, and women, who make up for this weakness, meaning that he is aware of his own faults is something else that infuriates me. I hate him for the blind loyalty and love that his people show him. I hate the fact that they seem so devoted to him and it gnaws at my confidence that they seem to respect him more for his weaknesses and his knowledge of them, than they do for his strengths. That he has made a virtue of not depending on a line of ancestors to give him precedence is only one of these factors.

“I hate that his is so generous to his men as well. I mean just look at him in compared to any other lord in this hall. The only thing that shows that he has any kind of personal wealth is the fact that he carries a sword rather than an axe. His clothes are relatively cheap and lack all the ornaments that the rest of us wear. He wears no rings, no torques, no jewellery. I know why, it's because any wealth that he receives, he gives back to his men and spends on his lands. He regards himself as worthless without his men and his people. So he rewards them for it. I bet it seems so logical to him as well and I hate him for that. I hate that, in being logical and ordered in his thinking, he shows me up for the vain and selfish lord that I am.”

A few people cried in protest at this, Helfdan looked appalled at this and was also voicing his protest,

“No, no, I am. I can admit to my own faults but I hate Helfdan for forcing me to confront them when I would rather not think about them at all.

“But most of all, I hate him because he is different from me. Which means that he is different from most of my friends. He is... strange to me. I do not understand how his mind works. As children, he would become enraged at the slightest teasing insult which, to us, was the sign of our trying to be friends. He acts when he should think and thinks when he should act and I don't understand it. I just can't.... I can't talk to him. I can't get drunk with him and tell stories and make jokes and boast about our conquests on the battlefield and in the bedchamber. He makes me feel uncomfortable and I hate that. I hate being made to feel that way. He's like my reflection on the water, except that this reflection only shows my faults and not my virtues.”

He turned and stood before Helfdan. “So Helfdan, let me tell you this as a man, standing before you and looking you in the eye. I do not like you. I never have. I doubt that we will ever be friends.”

Helfdan just nodded. I thought that it was the nod of a man who was accepting the truth of something that he already knew.

“But.” Hjalmar continued. “As a Lord. As Jarl of Clan An Craite. I have nothing but praise for Lord Helfdan of the Black Boar. Helfdan the fatherless.

“I'm sure that my sister, the Queen, will agree with me. That if I order Helfdan to do anything. He will do it. It will not even occur to him to fail. I might not like the way that he sets about it. I will admit that I have had cause to think carefully about the way that I issue my orders to him...”

There was some more laughter.

“... but the results are always the same. Helfdan succeeds where others thought it was impossible. He does so with cold, calm methods and does not demand precedence for his successes....

“Another fault of mine. I should reward the actions, not the boasts of my Lords but that is just part of the thinking that I need to do.

“.... but he just does what we order as his Jarl and his monarch. He doesn't complain. He doesn't moan or bitch or talk about it over mead in the mead-hall where other people might listen. He listens, nods and then leaves to set about his tasks. He does not procrastinate, he does not wait, or put the task off. He sets about things and then, when he is done with what either I, or the Queen, have asked him to do. He will come back and ask if there is any other way that he might serve his clan or Skellige as a whole. Speaking as his Jarl, I wish that I had more lords and Captains who would behave in such a way.

“His lands are as free as any from banditry and his tribute to the Queen and his clan are always on time and often far more generous than is required for his people's holdings which is, again, more than I can say for some Lords under my rule. His men, and he, are always fit and ready for duty. And should we need a muster elsewhere then I know, some place deep in my soul, to the point where I don't even have to think about it, not really, that Helfdan will arrive with somewhere to the tune of a hundred good fighters, fully armed, equipped and provisioned. That, if required, the Wave-Serpent will be available at similar notice and that his lands will be adequately protected against any kind of counter raid.

“Likewise, I know that he will not take advantage of any weakness in any of his fellow lords should they send troops to a clan muster. Indeed, in the past, he has sent warriors to help protect his comrade's lands when they have been taken advantage of in such away.

“As his Jarl, I depend on him utterly. He is not the centre of my line, nor is he the man that I hang the rest of my plans off in the event of a clan action. He does not have the manpower or the equipment for that. But it is reassuring to me that he, at least, will not try and bargain with me as to how many men he sends or keeps behind. He will not try and demand more honour for sending more men. He will not try for concessions in return for sending the men that are his duty after all. He will just do what I require of him as his Lord and then will be happy with what I give him. I never have to bargain with him, or persuade him or make promises in order to get him to do the duty that I require.

“As his Jarl, I know that he is a man of honour and that I can rely upon him. Utterly. As I have said before in my long and rambling speech. If all my Lords were like him. If all the Lords of Skellige, including me, were like him. Then the world would shake at the news of our coming and if we had Imperial ambitions, it would be the Skelligan empire, not the Nilfgaardian, that ruled the world.

I don't think the crowd entirely knew what to make of that. There was not a small amount of consternation as some people thought that they were being criticised, which they were. Some other people thought that they were being praised, which was also true, but still more people were looking at Helfdan and saying to themselves “I have to be like that? I don't want to be like that.” The way that Hjalmar said it was as though it was some kind of rousing call to arms but the sentiment was more complicated than that.

He wasn't looking at me, so I couldn't tell whether or not he was laughing, playing a prank, or what his intentions were when he made those statements. Another one of the casualties on the continent that comes with an increase in book learning and the ability to read and write, is that Oratory is a dying skill. The ability to stand in front of a group of people and being able to talk for any length of time is becoming rarer and rarer, to the point where it is in sincere danger of dying out altogether. Not for many years yet I hope.

But the fact that Skellige is an aural society means that that skill is still alive and well in the islands. And although Hjalmar is, rather unfairly, thought of as a man that thinks with his muscles rather than his head, he practises and uses this skill well.

What I can say with certainty, is that he was not displeased with the reaction that he got. He didn't sigh, shake his head, or otherwise look concerned. If anything he looked a little smug and I found myself wondering if he hadn't learned a bit of cunning in the years since his sister ascended the throne. I went on to wonder if he said the things that he said in order to force his people, and the people of Skellige in general, to examine themselves a bit.

Self-examination is never a comfortable way to spend the day. It is necessary sometimes, Flame knows that it can be necessary, but it is never comfortable.

“But I still need to say something.” Hjalmar said. “I have heard these rumours about Helfdan's feelings towards my sister before. I have heard every story and I have listened to every rumour. My feelings on the matter of my sister are well known. In the absence of our father, the much missed Crach an Craite, it is my big brotherly duty to inspect, weigh and intimidate any man that might show any kind of interest in my sister. As well as destroy any man that might harm or hurt her in any way.”

There was some generalised, good natured laughter. The Queen herself merely raised an interested eyebrow in amusement.

“I will admit that this is made more complicated by the fact that my sister is also my Queen and should she ask for my death then I would give it to her gladly. But there are still some things that I feel I should remind her that I have... opinions on.”

There was more laughter. Cerys herself hid a smile behind her hand.

“So I have heard every story about Lord Helfdan's feelings about my sister. I hope that her majesty will forgive me for talking about her in a more familiar tone here.”

He bowed towards the throne with a mocking over abundance of flowery gestures. It should be mentioned that although the duties and authority of the monarch is carefully separated from the Jarls, it is also true that the Skelligans have a more... rough and ready approach to how they treat their monarch than we do on the continent. Cerys laughed and nodded to her brother.

“But I have heard every story. Just as I have heard every story regarding many of the other men in this room and their lust for my sister and her power, if not her person.”

Something hard and violent glinted in his eyes. Then he stuck his little finger in his ear and twisted it before pulling it out and examining the end before wiping it on his shirt. The movement was comic and defused the tension.

“But, I can't help but notice, that the worst stories told about Helfdan's lustful actions regarding my sister are always said where someone's brother's aunt's nephew saw it. Or some bloke in the tavern. When I first heard these things, before my sister was Queen and before I was Jarl. When I still looked for excuses to show Helfdan how much I disliked him, I would try and hunt down these stories so that I could catch him and properly punish him. But funnily enough I could never find an original witness. Or when I did, they would turn out to be proven liars like Finnvald here.

“When I became Jarl, I had more power to look into it and I found out something interesting. Lord Helfdan has never spoken about his feelings towards my sister. Ever. Not once. To anyone. Nor has he acted on those feelings in any way. He has not tried to pay court to my sister, he has not thrown gifts under her feet or written flowery poems or sent flowers or any of the other things that her many, many suitors attempt, much to her annoyance.”

The crowd laughed as Cerys pulled a comical face of annoyance to support her brother's words.

“In truth, The only reason we know about his feelings towards her is because it's so painfully obvious. Not due to his words or actions. But in the way that he perks up when she enters the room. Or when he reddens whenever she speaks to him as a man rather than as Helfdan the Lord and Captain.

“Furthermore, looking into it a bit deeper into Helfdan's behaviour, I discovered that Lord Helfdan has never, even faintly, had even the hint of a rumour about him mistreating a woman. Not once. Not even when he goes a-raiding where the non-people of the continent can be used as a raider sees fit.”

His gaze turned humorous again. “Another one of his annoyingly sickening virtues,” there was some laughter at this. “But it's again, more than can be said regarding some of my fellows.”

“Helfdan's behaviour towards my sister is as flawless as a big brother could desire. I have never felt the need to reprimand him. He has never behaved in any way other than honourably towards her and his behaviour in this matter is something to be aspired to.

“So again, let me state this before Lord Helfdan and the Queen's court. I don't like Helfdan. I cannot call him my friend, nor would I want to. But, if he was of an appropriate rank to court a Queen, and if my sister decided that he was someone that she wanted, I would be glad.... I would be proud to call him my brother.”

The crowd audibly gasped. Ciri looked thoughtful, while Svein was grinning from ear to ear. Cerys.... I couldn't read her face. Caught between pride in her brother as well as a general sense of embarrassment and consideration I thought. But, as I say, I do not know her well enough to guess.

Helfdan's face was stone.

“And people should know,” Hjalmar spoke over the groan. “That if any man tells me stories like this again. I shall call him the liar that he is and treat the honour-less wretch like the piece of dog shit that they are.”

He tilted his head to one side as though he was thinking. “No, I think that's all I have to say on the matter.”

He spun and walked back to the centre of the hall.

“As for the rest of it. Finnvald, I have questions and I suspect that the Queen will have questions. Those questions and your answers are the only thing that are keeping you alive at present and keeping me from casting the rest of your men out of the clan for the disgrace that you heap on them. I will decide what to do with them, and you, later. If you are lucky, I may let you die with a weapon in your hand.”

He turned to Gudavsson who stood at Finnvald's shoulder. “Take him from my sight.”

“Now my Queen.” Hjallmar turned back to Cerys who was watching. “I would hand matters back to you. What would you have us do next?”

He stood aside, coming over and standing next to Helfdan. He made it look so natural and I was left wondering how he managed that without making it look as though he was making a point. Or maybe that was the point itself. Sometimes, being trained as a politician can make a person's head hurt.

Cerys rose to her feet.

“I share my brother's joy at the return of Lord Helfdan and the crew of the Wave-Serpent while I also grieve at the loss of so storied a vessel.” She spoke in a more formal, almost sing-song voice. Although I noticed that she didn't use the royal “we”.

“I am particularly grateful that Lord Helfdan was able to return my sister to me when I thought her dead and if the court will forgive me a moment of feminine joy.”

She abruptly ran over to Ciri and threw her arms round her as the pair of them gave voice to a joy that brought laughter and more than one “awww” to the atmosphere. The tension of Hjalmar's speech faded in the wake of the laughter.

After several minutes, Cerys walked back to the throne, straightening her hair and clothes.

“Now that that, most unqueenly behaviour is out of the way,” Cerys straightened the small circlet that she had been using as a crown. Her voice was much more normal now. “I must check with the Empress that the matter of the pirates that attacked one of my longship will be pursued?”

“It will.”

“I will await the word of the painful deaths of those responsible.” Cerys' eyes flashed and she was suddenly as hard as steel. “We will discuss recompense in private.”

Svein had been correct. The two children of the Jarl Crach An Craite were terrifying.

“We shall.” Ciri agreed calmly.

Cerys nodded and returned to standing in front of the throne. “In the meantime, Lord Helfdan step forward.”Helfdan moved to where she gestured.

“Lord Helfdan, you should know that I am grateful for the actions of you and your crew and I weep for the losses that your people have suffered in Skellige's name.”

“Thank you Majesty.”

“But now I must ask about the success of your venture.”

“Then I shall hand over to Witcher Kerrass who can speak better to that effect.”

Helfdan bowed and swapped places with Kerrass.

“Well Witcher Kerrass?” Cerys lifted an eyebrow. “You left on a mission that many have attempted before and none have succeeded at. A Quest to rid the islands of a menace that has caused untold damage, death and destruction. I cannot be the only person in this hall that is anxious to hear your opinion on the matter. Lord Helfdan is not known to return with a mission undone. But, given all that has happened....” She paused. I am certain she did so for dramatic effect. It worked too. The entire hall seemed to lean forward.

“Can the Skeleton Ship be removed?” She asked.

“It can.” Kerrass said clearly.

The hall erupted into shouts, complaints, cheers and all kinds of shouts. Not all of which were happy and acclaiming. The Queen held up her arms and waited for silence.

“Do you know how to do this thing?” she asked.

“I do.”

The Queen smiled nastily.

“Will you tell us?”