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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How dare you Criticise my elder brothers....”

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

The crowd gasped.

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

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

“I do not know.” Helfdan said. “But you did.”

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

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

“I can.” Said a voice.

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

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

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

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

“Be silent,” Ingimund growled fiercely.

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

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

“I Said Be SILENT.” Ingimund screeched.

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

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

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

“I order you to be silent.” Ingimund howled.

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

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

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

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

“You are sworn to me.” Ingimund thundered. “You obey me.”

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

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

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

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

Dreng's crew moaned at that.

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

But the words had kindled Dreng's anger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How will you answer this?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No I am not. But I am the aggrieved party.”

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

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

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

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

“My Queen.” Ingimund began. “My Queen I...”

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

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

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

The crowd hissed.

Ingimund gaped to find his will so stymied.

“Then.... Then I....”

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

“From your own clan yes.”

“Then my champion is Skallagrim Vesteinsson. Of my guard.”

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

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

Helfdan waved us into silence.

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

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

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

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

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

“Correct.”

Helfdan nodded again. “Witcher? Will you serve?”

Kerrass grinned nastily in answer.

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

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

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

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

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

“You have barely known the Witcher for a matter of....”

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

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

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

“Skald?” Hjallmar asked. “Where is my Ska..?”

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

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

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

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

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

“mmmm.” The Skald mused. “A pity.”

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

Ingimund spluttered a bit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait. He is a Witcher. He has advantages that....” Ingimund tried.

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

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

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

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

Helfdan turned. “Freddie, will you serve?”

“Ermmm. What?”

“Will you be my herald?”

“I have no idea what...”

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

“Helfdan,” someone called.

“I have to go.” Helfdan told us. “Freddie?”

I nodded. “Where do I go?”

“Go to the Skalds.”

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

“So?” The Skald of Kaer Trolde stepped forward.

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

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

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

“Demands?” One of the Skalds smiled nastily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what is the maximum?”

“Ten by ten.” The Skald answered, anticipating my question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was beginning to enjoy myself.

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

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

“Six spears by six spears.” I told him. Svein shrugged.

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

Svein snorted. “Both sides weapons?”

“Of course.”

Svein laughed. “I would have liked to see that happen.”

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

Svein clapped me on the shoulder.

I went and “inspected” as the guards measured out the six spear by six spear square in the yard. A spear is a little longer than most men are tall. A single spear is about Kerrass' height. Lord Ingimund and Helfdan stood near the Queen. Helfdan looked relaxed and at ease while Ingimund looked sour and almost as though he was on the edge of vomiting. My guess was that he was regretting drinking quite so much, quite so quickly.Kerrass just strapped himself into his leather coat, adding the vambracess and bracers himself before doing a few more limbering up exercises. Again, I rather thought it was for the show of the matter. When he's actually warming up, Kerrass does a series of movements that are much less flashy than this.

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

I grimaced at that.

“That's a bit macabre isn't it?”

“What?” Svein wondered.

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

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

“Then it won't make much difference.”

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

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

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

“Does anyone have anything to say?” The Skald asked.

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

Helfdan took a moment.

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

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

“Very well then.” The Skald's began.

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

There was another pause.

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

Kerrass nodded.

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

Kerrass was moved I think.

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

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

“I swear father.”

“Then go and stand with your mother.”

The lad ran off.

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

“Only if you promise the same.”

Skallagrim nodded and we parted.

“What was that about.” I wondered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be wondering why I'm here.”

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

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

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

I smiled and nodded. “Then you are forgiven.”

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

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

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

“It is at that.”

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

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

“No, I left it behind in the rooms.”

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

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

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Was?” Prompted Dreng with a smile.

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

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

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

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

“Use it?” I wondered. “I can barely lift it.”

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

“Scribbler,” Svein called me.

“Good luck.” Dreng clapped me on the shoulder.

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

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

“Why does Dreng hate him?”

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

I considered this. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does that mean?” I wondered.

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

“Lovely.”

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

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

And Skallagrim had a shield as well.

I took a deep breath.

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

They both nodded and then it began.

I have never seen a duel like it.

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

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

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

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

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

Kerrass advanced with his sword held low.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The pattern shifted to meet him,

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

The pattern shifted again,

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

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

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

Skallagrim reset the pattern and continued to advance.

Kerrass grinned. Horribly.

“He's got it.” I whispered savagely.

“What?” Svein growled, his voice thick with despair.

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

I was right.

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

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

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

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

The pattern shifted again, batting Kerrass' sword away,

Kerrass pirouetted away.

The pattern shifted.

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

And finally, the pattern faltered.

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

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

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

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

The crash was deafening.

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

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

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

Kerrass looked up at the Skald.

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

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

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

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

As I say, it was uproar.

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

Hjalmar nodded. “GUARDS,” He bellowed.

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

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

I no longer knew.

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

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

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

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

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

Ingimund had an answer ready.

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

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

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

He spat at Ingimund's feet.

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

Ingimund tried to find refuge in outrage.

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

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

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

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

The man swallowed. “I am not of the blood.”

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

“Yes Majesty.”

“Good.” She turned. “Jarl An Craite?”

“Majesty?” Hjalmar shouted.

“Take this wretch.” She gestured at Ingimund. “From my sight.”

“With pleasure.”

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

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

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

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

“You alright?” I asked.

“A few bruises but I'm alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Skallagrim smiled in realisation.

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

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

Kerrass grinned. “I'm not sure I should tell you.”

Skallagrim laughed.

“You have, what, nine patterns?” Kerrass asked.

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

“Which I never did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He did not offer his hand though.

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

Helfdan frowned in puzzlement. “Why would you want to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My oath binds me.” Skallagrim told him.

“As it should.”

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

He left.

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

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

He sighed.

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

Kerrass nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But this matter is not yet done and I beg your indulgence while I take some time to see the matter finished.”There was some rumbling of understanding and agreement around the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Svein snorted at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. I do.” The voice echoed in the hall.

Helfdan stepped forward to the groaning astonishment of the crowd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That no-one protested this punishment was telling.

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

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

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

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

The crowd roared.

I didn't stay to hear much more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or something similar.” I admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like she's licking your dick while she says your name?”

I blushed and he laughed at me.

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

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

“I know.”

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

“What's getting to you Scribbler.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Honesty?”

“Yes.”

Hjalmar offered me his flask and I took a swallow.

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

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

He sighed and took the flask back.

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

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

“I think so but this is your story.”

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

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

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

“Which is?” I knew he wanted the prompt.

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

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

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

“But the other danger is that men like Ingimund.”

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

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

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

“So you destroyed him.”

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

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

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

He laughed.

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

I laughed with him.

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

“Including you.”

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

“I hate this.” I told him. “Skellige should be better than this.”

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

I grimaced before nodding.

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

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

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

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

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

“You want the job?”

“Flame yes.”

“Well you can't have it. Outsider scum like you.”

“So who's it going to be?”

Hjalmar grinned.