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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“WHERE IS HE?”

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

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

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

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

“QUIETLY LORD JARL?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am.” I admitted.

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

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

I winced in anticipation of the slap that would be delivered to the side of Svein's face. I had almost been looking forward to that slap but then there was a different noise and I cautiously opened my eyes.Instead of slapping him, Yngvild had thrown herself into Svein and wrapped her arms round him, burying her face in his chest.

I heard sobbing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They talked about tactics.

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

“Lord.” Yngvild asked him. “We would like to speak to you.”

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

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

Helfdan nodded.

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

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

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

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

Svein was stroking his wife's back.

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

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

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

Yngvild nodded at this.

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

Svein nodded at this.

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

Helfdan poured them both, and himself, another drink.

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

Both of them were appalled. “Lord....” Svein was aghast.

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

Svein was equally fervent in his agreement.

The husband and wife looked at each other.

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

Helfdan nodded at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

We all nodded.

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

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

“Whereabouts?” Thorvald asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the three women arrived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Personally I'm hoping that they go the distance.

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

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

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

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

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

Lady Merigold outright laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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“Thank you.” Yennefer said to me.

“What?” I wondered.

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

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

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

Then she threw her arms round me and hugged me.

I nearly fell over in shock.

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

Then she broke the hug.

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

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

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

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

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

I got the laugh that I was hoping for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She laughed again. “It is, believe me it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A pleasure Lady Eilhart.” He said formally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Likewise Lord Helfdan.”

“And this is....”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Metaphorically speaking of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You calmed me and sent me to sleep.” Helfdan told her.

“I did. A momentary weakness, but I never liked bullies.”

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

Yennefer laughed. “Flatterer. It was a clear day that day.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But anyway...

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

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

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

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

I have one more anecdote before I move on.

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

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

Svein was sat on one side of Helfdan....

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

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

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

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

There was some general laughter.

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

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

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

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

“Really?” The man said weakly.

“Yeah, it's her sister.” Svein answered.

The poor man fled to much applause and laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was laughter.

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

More laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was some scattered laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had questions....

So many questions.

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

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

Ok.

Do you follow the jousting?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Other than magic.” Ermion stepped forward.

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

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

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

Lady Merigold didn’t seem to notice.

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

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

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

“The first test will start in the morning to choose a champion. The top three fighters will win a figurine. All combats will need to be finished by the close of the festival. Could champions make themselves known to the Skalds by midday tomorrow. Order of combats will be announced following the draw.”

There were some rumbles as people, already, started taking bets on who the final champion was going to be.I leant over to Kerrass. “Are you going to compete?”

He grinned his Witcher murder grin. “You’d better fucking believe I’m going to compete.”

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

“Yeah so?”

“So this is one of those times.” I told him.

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

I leant forward and whispered in his ear.

His grin didn’t falter.

“He’s gonna be angry.” He warned me.

“He will.” I admitted.

“And what should I say when he loses his temper?”

“Say.... Say “Test of cunning”.”

Kerrass nodded, obviously already thinking furiously.

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

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

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

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

“Lord Frederick.” She greeted me.

“Lady Eilhart.” She glanced at me.

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

“I do.” I said.

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

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

“Is she though?”

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

I looked over and watched for a while.

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

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

We watched for a while.

“She doesn’t care.” We both decided.

“What’s your question?” She asked after a while.

“Sorry?”

“You came over because you had a question.”

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

“Which thing?”

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

She nodded her acceptance of the question.

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

“But isn’t that similar?”

“Yes and no.”

“What’s the second thing? You said that there were two things.”

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

“And you do now?”

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

“What’s happening here Lady Eilhart?”

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

I swallowed.

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

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

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

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

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

I had been looking forward to this.

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

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

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

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

Yennefer ginned at him before shrugging.

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

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

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

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

And then she did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t look worried.” Svein commented to Helfdan quietly.

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

“This is no natural storm.” Someone shouted.

I had to work at it to keep from laughing.

I mean really.

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

“There are fell voices on the air.” Someone shouted. “Listen.”

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

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

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

“The God’s are punishing us for dismissing the Skeleton Ship.” Someone shouted.

“Doom,” someone else called. “Doom upon us all.”

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

“LOOK.” Someone shouted.

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