After someone had shouted, men and women lost all formation of order as we all rushed to the rails and to the walls in an effort to see what had been seen. It took a long while but then someone else saw it.
“There, coming over the ice.”
Someone else groaned, more than one person recoiled from the railing in horror at the sight.
“Laying it on a little thick aren’t you?” I muttered into the link that I shared with Ariadne. She didn’t answer but I did get a small feeling of smugness.
I didn’t push my way through to the front of the crowd. So I waited until there was enough room to make my way to the rail easily and I looked out over the harbour.
Out in the town, men and women had come out of their homes. More than a few were making their way up to the castle. You could see torches running this way and that way as men prepared for battle and for the attack that was surely going to be coming at any moment. But that was not what was drawing everyone’s eye. What people had seen was a shadow out in the harbour. Just a little shadow, coming over the rapidly melting ice. It spread as well as it approached out of the west.
Because the shadow was moving. Creeping towards the harbour and the keep.
At first, it was just a smudge. A red-tinged smudge but then it seemed to grow and grow until it became more. It became a stain that was spreading over the ice slowly, very very slowly. Then it seemed, to my eyes at least, to be like smoke, rippling and moving.
“What is it?” More and more people were asking that question. More and more people were beginning to call out in fear and dismay.
It seemed to come on in fits and starts. As though it was just staying still for a while before it would explode forwards with a burst of movement. We watched as it crept across the ice, getting closer and closer to the harbour.
“What do we do Lord?” Someone called. “Do we call for archers?”
“No, do not be foolish.” Shouted someone else. “In these winds, we would just as likely kill someone in the village, let alone if we were to use fire arrows.”
“What about magic?” A woman moaned. “Surely Lord Ermion and the other Sorceresses can do something about this.”
Slowly, it became clear that the stain was not some kind of smoke. Nor was it something moving underneath the ice as someone else would have it. We couldn’t yet see what it was. Not really. But it was made up of things. Many things of many various sizes. A little too small to properly make out what those things were. But you could see them. Small, black and chitinous things that climbed over each other. It no longer looked like smoke, or a stain. It looked like a pool of water. Or oil, that was more like it. The kind of black goo that can come to the surface in certain parts of Kaedwen and the empire as it slides across the surface.
But it wasn’t a liquid, a jelly or anything else really. It was made up of things. Small things. Tiny little things that we could not quite make out.
It had also become clear that we could see the back edge of these things and that they were not infinite. That there was an ending to them and at the same time, it was obvious that they were not moving towards the town or the harbour at all. They were moving towards the massive tower of rock that the castle was standing on.
It reached the foot of the outcropping of rock and at first, it seemed to pool at the bottom.
“It cannot climb.” Someone shouted. “We are saved. It cannot reach us up here.”
“LOOK.” A voice came. And you could see the first parts of it, beginning to scale the walls. Small jittering movements as the things started to climb.
It was then that someone realised what it was.
I know I keep saying “someone” but that was what it was like. No-one could see who was shouting and when I asked around later, no-one admitted being the one that called out. No-one knew anyone that called out and I found myself wondering if these panicky voices were part of the entire illusion themselves.
“They’re spiders.” someone breathed in horror. “Lots of them, hundreds, thousands even. So many spiders.”
Then we heard the voice. A voice that seemed to whisper in everyone’s ears. It was just a quiet noise but one of infinite menace and promised terror.
“I am coming.” It whispered. “Prepare for my arrival.”
Back,” Hjalmar shouted. “Back into the hall.”
No-one needed to be ordered twice.
“Lord Ermion.” Hjalmar strode up to the druid who looked as though he hadn’t moved. “What is the meaning of this? Who is coming? What is coming?”
“I do not know.” Ermion moaned. “I have been trying to pierce the veil that protects the being that scales our walls as it is.”
I am told that Ermion was actually born somewhere in Redania and that he came to the circle as a young adult. But he is as much a Skelligan as any of them. His love of drama was obvious and he had clearly decided to play along.
“Whoever it is that is coming, she is a being a of great power.” He whispered it so that all could hear the dread in his voice. “Do not anger her for her wrath would be terrible.”
I might have been imagining it when he directed those words at me.
“Her?” Someone wondered. I don’t know who but it seemed to come from the side of the room that housed the foreigners.
“Oh yes.” Ermion grinned horribly. It was not just Witchers that have a weaponised arsenal of smiles. “Can you not feel it?”
Then Ermion bent down and whispered something in the Queen’s ear. I might have imagined that her face went carefully still before an expression of grim, resolute determination settled over her features like a mask. Hjalmar stepped up and demanded something. Probably an answer as to what the hell was going on. I didn’t hear it, nor did I hear the response that was given. What I did see was that after the response, Hjalmar turned around and gazed at me for a long moment, before he realised what he was doing and turned away.
As he did so, his shoulders started shaking.
Sounds came from outside the hall. There were shouts from the guards outside. It was easy for them to be interpreted as shouts of fear but I rather thought that they were closer to shouts and calls of dismay. There were a lot of “Stand your ground” and “Hold the line,” from authoritative sounding voices.
Then there was a pause which seemed to stretch out over a long period of time. A really long period of time.
Then there were sounds of combat. Not very much combat but combat nonetheless. Metal on metal. Metal on stone, metal on wood. There was something wrong with it though, something not quite right. Someone screamed suddenly with a blood-curdling shriek, leaving me wincing.
There was another long pause.
A solid boom echoed through the hall as someone struck the entrance door. Another boom. And another.Men groaned with the sound and more than one person recoiled from the hall doorway as though it had suddenly grown hot.
I was really struggling to keep my face straight by now. I will admit that the sounds of combat from outside were a little worrying and that shriek of pain and terror might have caused a little bit of concern. But I was more than convinced that I knew what was coming. Although that wasn’t what made me laugh what made me laugh was this particular piece of people watching.
As I watched, when the first knock sounded. Men and women, both, jumped as though shocked. When the second knock sounded, they fell backwards.
After the third knock, things started to get a bit interesting. Some people, not being combatants, continued to fall back. But others, realised that they were being watched by the other people in the hall. So rather than wanting to appear weak or foolish in front of their peers, they kind of squared themselves up. Puffed out their chest and marched purposefully forward to meet whatever threat might be coming through those doors.
To be clear, both men and women are capable of puffing up their chest to make themselves feel big and imposing. It’s exactly the kind of instinct that cat’s display in the presence of a threat. You watch. Next time a cat detects an interloper. Then watch people in the tavern when they’re trying to look big and scary in order to protect or impress a person that they want to sleep with. It’s exactly the same thing.
As a result, there was a loose line of warriors from a variety of different clans in a variety of different states of drunkenness who were frantically trying to get themselves into some kind of semblance of order.
Silence fell.
I gestured for some mead. Something was telling me that I wouldn’t have a chance to have much to drink for a while and I wanted to make sure that I was properly fortified. The thrall was stuck dead though. Not moving, he gazed at the doorway with a slack mouth of terror. I waved in front of his face and he suddenly started out of his terror enough to pour me some mead. Even if the stream of liquid shook visibly as it fell.
“Don’t worry.” I whispered to him, suddenly struck by a feeling of pity for the hapless man. “She doesn’t bite."
He looked at me as though I was mad. Not an entirely unfair thing to wonder if we’re being honest with each other.
The silence dragged on and on. Just a few whispers of wondering came from the hall before the knocking started again.
Queen Cerys stood up after the last echoes of the knocking had died away. “Open the doors.” She declared. “They might be enemy or they might be friend. But whether friend or enemy, they are bound by hospitality just as we are.”
“What about the sounds of combat?” I think it was Jarl Jost that called out.
“We will deal with that as it occurs.” The Queen decided. “Now open the doors.”
The guards who were in charge of moving the huge, heavy and iron-bound doors sprang forward and pulled the doors open. It might have been my imagination but the doors seemed to groan in protest at being moved against their will but finally the doors opened and a figure stood in the outline of the door. Put into silhouette by the torchlight behind her.
Of course it was Ariadne and she looked.... amazing.
She was in her full “evil-queen” get-up. A high collared, dark crimson dress. The shade of which matched the colour of the clouds and the lightening from earlier, held together at the waist with a thin golden belt. She wore a large black cloak as well which served to disguise her size and shape while in her hand was the long, golden spider staff. Her face was almost, but not quite, the mask that she had worn when we first freed her from the tower. Almost I say because this was no illusion. This was the clever use of cosmetics at play. Her eyebrows clearly defined and her eyes seeming shadowed in a way that, I understand, is described as smokey. Her lips were painted to match her dress and her long, dark hair, that she had been growing at my request, was held back from her face with a small golden circlet with a red ruby in the middle of it that seemed to glitter with some kind of internal flame.
The entire look was somewhat incongruous with the holy symbol of the Eternal Fire that hung around her neck and I could see her engagement ring on her finger.
Kerrass later accused me of preening.
And why wouldn’t I. Don’t I have the excuse to feel just a little smug at the sight of this impossibly beautiful woman coming into the room, causing all eyes to watch her, and to know that soon, very soon now, she would be my wife.
I think I’m a little entitled to feel a bit smug.
Ariadne took a moment to have everyone stop and register her presence and the sight of her. Her eyes scanned the room coldly. I rather thought that she was enjoying the attention and was more than a little amused at the reaction that she got.
Then, slowly, she took a step forward, using the staff more for an effect than for the walking support. It made an echoing clack as it struck the ground.
She was briefly impeded by a couple of warriors that moved to block her way. She didn’t do anything, she just stopped and smiled at them. One of those smiles. I couldn’t see whether she showed any fang but whatever it was that she did, the two warriors, who were only really there for some mutual... trying to show each other how strong and brave they were, stepped aside and stopped barring the way. She nodded graciously and imperiously to the pair of them and continued towards the throne.
After those first two hold-outs, the other members of the court of Kaer Trolde simply moved out of the way. It was like the parting of some kind of channel or, as I have been in the islands for quite a long time now. It was like a ship cutting through the sea. Leaving a wake of parted warriors behind her.
I finished my mead as I rather thought that I was about to have to take my cue, gave the tankard back to the waiting thrall who looked, even more, as though I was mad before I moved towards the dais.
Ariadne moved until she was standing in front of the throne.
It was another one of those moments that was torn out of story books and deserves to be immortalised in oils and canvass.
The vampire stood before the throne, looking up at the seated Queen of Skellige with her brother the Jarl on her right-hand side and the Druid Ermion on her left. Ermion stood easily, his own staff of office held proudly, every inch the wise court wizard. Hjalmar stood, his shield held easily in his hand and poised ready to be interposed between the Queen and harm.
I judged my moment.
“Majesty.” I pitched my voice to carry. “It is my honour to present, Madame le Comtesse de Angral, Countess of Angraal, Kaedwen and the greater Nilfgaardian Empire. Member of the Lodge of Sorceresses and called the Spider-Queen.”
There was some murmuring at the list of titles.
“Madame Comtesse,” I went on, using all the muscles in my belly to overwhelm the whispers and the mutters, “it is my honour and sincerest pleasure to present, Her Majesty. Jarl of Jarls, Guardian of the isles, the Sparrowhawk, Queen of Ard Skellig, An Skellig, Spikeroog, Hindersfjall, Undvik and Faroe. High Queen of Skellige, Cerys An Craite.
There was a moment. Just a moment when the two women locked eyes together before slowly, Ariadne dipped into a curtsy. By some considerable margin, the lowest curtsy I have ever seen.
“I greet you Your Majesty.” She said, her voice carrying over the plainly astonished crowd. “I was hoping that I might prevail upon your hospitality as my fiancee is a guest of your halls. And I do believe that my fellows may require my services over the next few days.”
Cerys stood up, every inch the Queen.
“Rise.” She said sternly and Ariadne unfolded gracefully to stand before the monarch of Skellige.
“There is the matter of my guards.” Cerys began
“Your guards are unharmed.” She said. “On or two raised their hands to me when I made no threatening gesture and I incapacitated them without long term damage. They are fine.”
“We heard a scream.” Hjalmar spoke loudly.
Ariadne smiled. “One or two people might have been a bit caught up in the moment,”
(Freddie’s note: Apparently, after Ariadne made her presence felt, she had had a brief chat with some of the warriors of Skellige guarding the hall and had persuaded them to take part in her little display. Much to the amusement of the guards in question. I understand that a couple of them were punished in a few small but important ways for their more questionable senses of humour)
“The red clouds?” Ermion asked. “The Spiders?”
“I thought it best to make an entrance.” Ariadne said. Allowing a few glimmers of humor to creep into her voice. “It is my understanding that a number of people have done their best to conquer that to which I have laid claim. I did not want there to be any doubt as to any consequences that might occur as a result of these actions.”
“I see.”
Cerys was visibly, NOT grinning or laughing.
“Is the....” She cleared her throat. “Territory aware and happy with your intentions?”
“He seems to be.” Finally, Ariadne turned to me and smiled radiantly. It took all of my willpower to not grab the woman that I love and kiss her soundly and thoroughly. That sense of northerner propriety was still strong in me although I feel sure that the Skelligans would approve. Instead, I carefully walked forwards and bowed low, kissing her offered hand as ardently as I dared. I thought I could hear the voices of the Wave-Serpent lifting to cheer the loudest.
“I’ve missed you.” I told her.
“And I’ve missed you.” She whispered back.
Helfdan’s people did me proud that night. Not that there was any doubt that they would do anything other than making Ariadne feel utterly welcome but I was grateful to them all nonetheless. Ariadne is getting better in large gatherings of people, but she still has a bit of a tendency to stand on the outskirts of things and look in. That element of her that is still the outsider, that wants to understand and measure everything according to her beloved scientific method.
Every so often, she needs to be startled out of that reflex of hers and it was happening here. There were a lot of jokes at my expense of course. Lots of “What are you doing marrying that reprobate?” kind of teasing remarks. I will admit to thinking that it took her a little while to get used to the more brutal and blunt sense of humour that the Skelligans tend to prefer.
But after a while she started experimenting with her own humour. Using her outsider’s sense of comedy as a dagger, or a short blade in order to cut people down to size. It was clear that she had managed to make friends with Lady Yennefer, or as much as Lady Yennefer makes friends with anyone.
I couldn’t really get a read on her relationship, if any, with Lady Eilhart as it had been a while since I had seen them both together. They laughed at each other’s jests and things but I just thought that I could detect a certain edge to the mirth. A certain... how to put this.... The laughter never reached Lady Eilhart’s eyes. That distance is part of Ariadne’s character. She is always watching from behind those eyes and it is a rare person that can make her honestly engage past that.
I flatter myself as being one of the few that can manage it. But she still guards herself closely so that she doesn’t, as an example, laugh aloud and frighten people away with the obvious fact that she has fangs in her mouth.
To be clear, I can absolutely understand her reasons for wanting to conceal parts of her nature in order to better keep herself protected, but it still saddens me. It saddens me a lot. That night though, I was too busy enjoying being with the woman. Being able to look at her and hold her hand. When we were apart due to the press of people or because someone wanted to talk to either one of us in private. I loved the shared, silent glances and the slight, wicked and knowing smile that we shared.
In return for the jokes at my expense, I was told that I was a lucky man more than once until Ariadne overheard one of these jokes and killed that topic dead with a comment of, “I prefer to think of myself as a lucky woman,” and that seemed to be the end of that.
She got on really well with Helfdan. I had not expected that but they seemed to understand each other on a level that I had not anticipated. Maybe it’s that whole “outsider” thing again but she asked to see his diagrams and they talked about it for a while to everyone’s enjoyment.
The people of Skellige accepted Ariadne’s entrance in the way that it was intended for the most part. Their love of sagas and tales meant that they enjoyed being scared as much as they enjoy being happy or laughing or any of the other things that they do to entertain themselves. So they mostly saw it as the jest that it was intended to be. Also, it did indeed see off any interested parties from among the shieldmaidens that might still have been plotting to conquer my bed chamber.
The foreign dignitaries were less understanding. More than one person came to demand what she had been intending and “How dare she?” and various other things. More than one person asked what had happened if someone had been hurt. She did not stand for any of it though. She told people that she would not have hurt anyone and when someone else asked what would have happened if someone had attacked and hurt her she told them, in a rather flat tone “I was never in any danger.”
Much to Yennefer and the men of the Wave-Serpent's amusement. The dignitary in question realised that he was not going to get out of this particular conversation with his dignity intact and he fled.
There was another burst of hilarity when Ariadne asked for separate quarters from my own. The Skelligans, in the way of their people, wanted to know why. We were clearly besotted with each other, had given our promise to each other if not before the Gods so why would we deprive ourselves of the company of the person that we loved?
I was not entirely immune to that argument, but this time it was Ariadne who had the strength to resist. She pointed out that, while such matters were acceptable on the islands, they would not be acceptable on the continent and for the sake of propriety and appearances, we had to remain apart.
Many, including Queen Cerys, found this arrangement ridiculous. In the end, it was solved by Ciri who insisted that Ariadne could spend the night with her as they had “much gossip to discuss”.
I groaned on cue. Having lived with Ciri in close quarters on the Wave-Serpent for some time I was quite certain as to what kind of gossip the pair of them had in mind.
In the morning, the challenges began.
I won’t go through all of them as if I did, we would still be here, you reading my accounts, this time next year when, by now, the results of the challenge are well-known on the continent. And mostly, Ariadne and I were taking the opportunity to be close together and do that sickening newly together couple thing. You know the thing, staring into each other's eyes, holding hands and ignoring conversations and events around us in order to just look at the other person. That kind of thing. It used to really frustrate me when friends used to get like this in Oxenfurt but now that I was in the thick of the thing, I have to say that it really is marvellous.
We talked about the coming winter that we would be spending together. Plans for Angral and plans for the future that we were both beginning to look forward to. We talked about the coming wedding with her doing a lot of telling me as to what was going to happen while, very occasionally, asking me what I wanted out of the ceremony and the party afterwards.
We also talked of things between a man and a woman that I don’t really want to discuss in public.
We watched those heats of the contest of champions that Kerrass took part in. It seemed to be one of those things where everyone had submitted their names into the pot and most of those early bouts were over in heartbeats as clear winners were quickly lade apparent.
We also attended the archery competitions and at Ariadne’s request, we attended the test of knowledge where men came in and were asked questions about the history and culture of the Islands. Skalds were meant to be neutral and as such were forbidden to enter the competition otherwise any Skald would be the clear winner. The questions were asked, judged and an overall winner would be announced at the closing ceremonies where the final Jarl would be announced.
The evenings were spent with story-telling, contests of insults, arm-wrestling, Dice and Gwent. The story-telling was judged by the imperfect method of having the story-telling judged by the crowd who would cheer the loudest for the best stories. When it was argued that some people would have smaller crowds, the judges responded by pointing out that the better story-teller would attract greater crowds. The drawing the crowd was part of the skill of the story teller.
The contest of insults was a similar kind of knock out affair to the contest of champions in that the insults would be traded until one opponent had no come back or dissolved into their own fits of laughter. Apparently, the official win or lose to these kinds of contests was that it went on until one side or the other lost their temper and demanded satisfaction. There was much complaining among the older audience members that these things were simply not as good as they used to be. But those complainers were soon quietened down by other onlookers until the contest was left rather good-natured with the insults drawing roars of laughter from the crowd. Points were lost by being repetitive or irrelevant but I could not detect what made something one or the other.
Ariadne was fascinated by the entire thing.
One of the benefits of these contests were that they took place indoors. Something that soon came to prevalence when the promised Storms started to arrive and make their fury known. We still made an effort to go and see Kerrass fight but there were many other contests that we missed. Either through the weather or because Ariadne and I were being “all lovey-dovey with each other” according to Svein.
As a result, we didn’t see the rock-climbing competition, the horse racing (which Ciri won on her black horse that she calls Kelpie. Apparently it is not the first horse that she has owned named Kelpie but she loves that horse.) The foot race or the hunting contests.
After the ice had begun to thaw we did go out to see Helfdan compete in the small boat competition as he dodged the giant blocks of ice through the harbour. He placed third out of the field behind two people that worked as small boat handlers in the harbour itself. The winner, a woman named Aud, handed her trophy to Helfdan arguing that she sailed in that harbour with that kind of ship every day and therefore, of course she won. The second place pilot agreed and as a result, Helfdan walked away with the winner's totem to some cheers and some jeering.
We did not stay to watch the drinking competition although we understand that Yngvild and Svein placed quite highly in that particular contest. Nor did we watch the eating competition which, frankly, looked disgusting.
The foot race was out in the cold as well and I found that I was done with the cold for now. I wanted to stay warm.
There were all kinds of contests. There was a carving contest as judged by the council of Jarls. There was a spear throwing contest, a stone throwing contest (More impressive than it sounds. The stones were approximately the size and shape of a dwarven torso.) and a log throwing contest which the Skelligans called “Caber tossing”, I have no idea why. I watched a few of these when the weather started to improve and Ariadne was consumed with other business to do with the Lodge of Sorceresses.
I did take part in the Gwent competition but I was eliminated almost immediately. I was knocked out of the contest of insults by, apparently, being too subtle for the crowd.
As I say, Ciri won the Horse-racing competition while Svein won the contest of Warlords.
I did attend that as part of Svein's cheering section and I found it quite fascinating.
The idea was to asses a man’s abilities to order a small group of warriors around and lead them to victory. The warlord was not allowed to carry any weapon and was made vulnerable by having their hands tied behind their back. They were then, randomly, allocated twelve warriors who wielded a different array of weapons. Each warrior was allowed to accept twelve hits each before they were eliminated meaning that they had to throw their weapons down and leave the field. The object of the exercise was to eliminate the other team’s own warlords. Each warlord could only be struck once before they, and the rest of their team, were eliminated.
Svein won. I don’t want to say that he won handily but he certainly won convincingly before standing a round for his team in the tavern that night.
His wife also won the contest of guarding. Her “subject” was also bound by the hand and blindfolded. Yngvild was armed and armoured. She was allowed to be struck five times where her subject was only allowed to be struck once. The object of that exercise was to get the subject from one end of the gauntlet to the other without the subject being struck. I didn’t see it, but I understand that she won it quite easily by taking an approach that no-one had thought of. Something to do with taking your time and being careful rather than doing it quickly. There were some ugly accusations that she had cheated but the Skalds monitoring the contest declared these accusations to be false.
Then came the final day. The final day of boasting, fighting and the promised test of cunning although no-one could tell me what the test of cunning was yet.
We were finally told about the test of cunning on the morning of the final day. There were several finals of various contests scheduled for that day including the wrestling, bare-knuckle fighting, archery and, of course, the test of champions. First thing in the morning, the Skalds stood up before everyone and the lead Skald informed us that he had concealed a number of the figurines around the islands in secret places that only he knew about.
How many carvings? He wouldn’t say. Where had he hidden them? He definitely wouldn’t say. How long did they have to find all the token? Until the close of the competition that evening. When did the challenge start?
It had already started.
There was this elongated pause as men looked around at each other as the Skald’s smile broadened further and further and further before there was a sudden and almost simultaneous explosion of movement towards the various entrances and exits of the hall.
Helfdan didn’t move. He had competed in the sailing contest and had gone to support various people that were officially competing in his name. When one of us won a figurine it was given to Svein and he hid the figurine somewhere secret and safe. I understand that there was some negotiation going on in the background as to who would receive the various wooden statues that we were winning. Who would trade them with us for different favours and who would be deserving of those figures that we would be able to hand out accordingly. I was astonished to find that there was no bitterness about the entire thing. I could not help but imagine this taking place on the continent where the possibility of an Barony or a Dukedom would be offered as a result of a series of contests. Wars have been fought over less and I was astonished that there hadn’t been even a hint of any bloodshed.
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But after people went running this way and that way to try and find the hidden carvings we had a simple breakfast between us before we went down to watch the finals of the test of champions.
I should also point out a couple of things. Not everyone had chosen to compete. The personal champions of the various Jarls had chosen not to compete in any of the champions, nor had any of the major warlords of the clans. These men were often being used as adjudicators in order to be able to watch the contests and declare those clear winners when that came up.
So in the test of champions, they were being administered by the Champions of the clans under the overall oversight of the council of Skalds.
I had been at all of Kerrass’ major clashes. There had been very many contests between him and other men that no-one thought that Kerrass would lose. These were often old men that were past their prime but still believed that they had what it took. Or young men that had a name to make for themselves, a girl or a father to impress or otherwise make some kind of point. This kind of thing, I’m told, is absolutely expected. The two face off and it is soon clear as to who the victor is.
But as any experienced swordsman would tell you. The best swordsman in the world is not afraid of the second best swordsman in the world, he is afraid of the worst swordsman in the world as the worst swordsman will perform some feat or take some action that the more skilled and experienced man would not have considered. It is, apparently, part of the duties of a champion to fight even the smallest of foes with honour but also to spare those people who do not deserve the outright destruction that would normally be deserving. Champions are expected to build up young folk and give them something to aspire to while also letting the older warriors down easily so that there is no loss of face.
I am told that Kerrass struggled a little bit with this requirement. His philosophy was more geared towards, “They should know their own capabilities,” and “They humiliated themselves rather than letting me do it. Those people were humiliated long before I even got into the square.”
But I missed some of those contests, purely on the basis of being with the woman that I love and also being overwhelmed with all of the other things that I could see and do.
Towards the end of the week of the thaw, the air had become thick and muggy. The melting ice along with the returned heat of summer had conspired to form an almost permanent mist that caused most men to sweat and shift around in discomfort.
Kerrass was lucky there as he was used to fighting in these kinds of conditions, what with all of the marshes and things that he had had to wade through in order to get to his quarry.
He had climbed up through the ranks steadily, dismissing many of his earlier opponents with an ease that was almost worrying. I am told that more than one of his opponents outright yielded to the better opponent rather than having to face the intricate and chaotic movements of the Witcher from the Cat school.
But I had also wanted to support the other man that I had come to watch. Skallagrim, the champion of Clan Tuirseach had chosen to enter the contest. He had taken to the entire thing with a vehemence that had almost seemed to match Kerrass’ own. His reputation of invulnerability had been punctured and now he was having to fight men that, previously, would have been beneath him or who would have knelt and yielded to his superiority when they found that they had to fight him in this kind of contest.
So Skallagrim was hungry. He wanted to beat people and remind them all of exactly who he was. That he wasn’t some minor warrior that they could all just ignore and walk all over. I watched more than one over-confident fighter get into the fighting square with Skallagrim looking all confident before trying to attack in a mirror to how Kerrass had defeated the giant warrior before realising that their bodies simply didn’t move in the same way that the Witcher’s body had moved. Or that the gap that they thought that they had seen was no longer there and they got clattered about for their troubles.
Skallagrim himself, despite being hungry to prove himself again, was enjoying himself, reminding people why he was considered one of the finest fighters, if not the finest fighters in Skellige.
I took some time to introduce Ariadne to the warrior and he greeted us warmly. I subjected myself to another round of the jokes about “What are you doing with him,” and “You’re a lucky man,” although the fact that he still appended the “Lord Frederick” part of the sentence was gratifying.
Ariadne blushed on cue and paid the man many compliments. I also took the opportunity to meet Skallagrim’s wife. A deceptively slight and delicate woman who was surprisingly demure and almost shy, given her huge and dominating man. I had heard stories about the iron woman to whom Skallagrim was married and the tales and the eventual sight of the woman did not entirely add up in my head.
But there was no doubt that she ruled her man. No doubt in that at all. Attended, though she was by a number of children, she was able to summon the mighty warrior with a look and that he waited on her every need. It was easy to see why after all. They loved each other. It was impossible to guess as to how the two had met, let alone how the two had fallen in love but at the same time, here they were.
We exchanged brief words. Nothing that is really worth recording in detail. The lady asked me to pass on her thanks to Kerrass for not killing Skallagrim when he had the chance, as well as thanks to Helfdan for not demanding the death as would have been his privilege. I told her that neither Kerrass nor Helfdan were in the habit of wasting talents when there was a possibility to the contrary and that both had expressed an admiration for her husband. A compliment that caused the lady to blush and turn away. I will admit that, just for a second, I saw what the giant warrior saw in the diminutive woman.
For himself Skallagrim was relishing the moment to moment existence of a warrior who knew what he was doing and knew that he was the best at it. The only person that he thought he would have difficulty with was Kerrass and he expressed gratitude that the Witcher was in the other bracket when it came to the draw of the contest.
“Would it make you feel a little better if I told you that Kerrass expressed similar sentiments Lord Skallagrim?” I told him.
“It would.” The big man admitted, “although not too much. And please don’t call me Lord, it is a title that I have not yet been granted.”
“An oversight that I expect to soon be corrected.” I told him “and I also suspect that I will need to get into the habit of calling you Lord so if it is all the same to you, I will call you by a title that I think you deserve rather than a title by which you have not been labelled.”
“Then I thank you for that.” He said. “I will admit to wondering if some SKald has arranged matters so that there will be a rematch between the two of us for the final.”
“If such a Skald did so then I have no knowledge of such an act.” I told him. “Although I look forward to that final should it transpire. Have you thought of a counter to the move that he used?” I wondered.He laughed at that. “And would I tell you if I had?”
But that was the final that we got after all.
There has been a lot of speculation about whether or not anyone had a hand in arranging matters so that Kerrass and Skallagrim would face each other again in the circle of champions. Honesty time? I have no idea. I was not watching closely enough. I will admit that for my own personal designs, I could not have got a better result, but that was by the by. I like to think that it wasn’t entirely deliberate. I like to think that it was the kind of manufactured showmanship that the Skelligans do so well. There was no guarantee that the two would end up facing each other but I do wonder if some well meaning Skald arranged matters so that the two were in separate halves of the draw so that such a combat would not be wasted in the opening conflicts. I don’t know the truth. But I do know that no man came close to challenging either man on the field.
A large crowd had gathered to see the event. It had already been decided that this would be a best out of three contest. That the conflict would be fought until someone would get a killing touch, as judged by the Clan champions of Clan Heymaey and Clan Brokvar as the most senior champions of clans that were not represented in the conflict.
It was the last day of the festival and tomorrow would begin the various departures so there was a sense of revelry in the air. Stands had been erected so that all could see the coming combat in the arena that was set up outside Kaer Trolde itself in an effort to ensure that as many people could watch the two “titans of combat coming together.”
I stress that those weren’t my words.
Helfdan and his people were given pride of place given our association with Kerrass and opposite us was a number of men under Clan Tuirseach.
The two men were already there doing some warming up exercises and working each other through some forms. There was a sense of no hard-feelings and neither of them were giving anything away.
The Skald in charge of the contest walked to the centre of the square that had been roped off for the contest and held his hands up until the crowd had quieted. Then he re-explained the rules for all to hear before informing both combatants that he expected a clear and honourable fight without cheating. He reminded them both that this was a contest of skill at arms, not one of cunning, conniving and base treachery. All of which are acceptable on the battlefield. Then he asked them both whether they understood, with Kerrass raising his hand to say that he did and Skallagrim nodded.
Kerrass dressed as he ever did whereas Skallagrim had chosen to where considerably less armour. This was about being touched by your opponent’s weapon after all so the extra weight was potentially damaging to his chances.
They fought with wooden weapons which contained steel cores. Not as heavy as proper practice weapons that are used in training yards all over the continent, but I guessed that they would be as heavy as axes or swords would be. I guessed that this would give Skallagrim something more of an advantage as he had fought with an axe rather than the Witcher’s sword.
The two combatants were stood in opposite corners of the square with the two judges from the other clans on either side of them.
It started much slower than the previous bout between the two of them had. They edged towards each other for a moment or two, Skallagrim keeping his shield much higher than he had previously, his sword resting on his shoulder. Kerrass advanced with equal caution. They stood, a couple of sword lengths apart before Skallagrim grinned and held his sword out for the two of them to touch in salute. Kerrass’ own smile was somewhat more ironic but he answered the gesture before backing off quickly.
Which was when SKallagrim started his patterns. As I say, he started things much slower than he had done previously where he seemed to just leap into things from a standing start. He reminded me of that moment when a tree just begins to fall after the woodsmen have started striking it with their axes. Just that slow tilt that begins the eventual fall. He was watching Kerrass carefully over the rim of his shield. Watching how he reacted to the movements.
Kerrass changed his stance slightly before shifting to one side.
Skallagrim was playing it cautious. He advanced on Kerrass slowly. Where before, he had been the inexorable tide that swept all before him. Now he was advancing cautiously. A cat edging towards something that it knew might have been painful. He was frowning with concentration.
Kerrass made an attack and SKallagrim’s pattern shifted instantly. Skallagrim was quicker this time and I wondered if, before, he had been more slapdash about his movements. Or if he had underestimated Kerrass before. Or if the purpose of the court of spears was true. That he had not had his heart in the conflict, but now that he was hungry for a victory, hungry to re-earn his crown, that he was being that much more careful.
The tension in the crowd was thick. There had been outbursts of emotion at the various things that each combatant had tried and succeeded in the previous time that these two men had fought. But now there were no rules as to who was allowed to cheer for whom and under what circumstances. But the crowd was silent. There was a pressure in the air as we waited for the first proper exchange, all the while Skallagrim edged towards Kerrass closer and closer and closer while Kerrass waited patiently.
Ariadne was next to me, just as rapt. She was watching the crowd as much as she was watching the two men at the centre of things, enjoying the raw emotion in the place, the small rituals that people were taking part in. I knew that the betting pool on both men was immense and that more than one watcher would have their lives changed on the result.
But I couldn’t think about that now. I could only watch and wait for something to happen.
Skallagrim edged closer. His feet sliding over the floor, barely adjusting his stance.
Closer still.
Closer.
Then there was movement as Kerrass exploded into action. The sound of the two wooden swords meeting each other was loud in the arena and Kerrass came tumbling away from the bigger man to the roar of the crowd. Skallagrim came after him quickly and Kerrass was forced to roll again coming to his feet in another movement but he was at the edge of the arena now and Skallagrim was on top of him.
There was another clash and I swear that anyone who claims that they saw what either combatant did is lying to you. But one of the judges held their hands up and called out.
Kerrass and Skallagrim pulled apart with both of them breathing heavily. There hadn’t been that much exertion in it all so I guessed that it must have been something to do with the tension of it all. The two champions that were being used as judges had a small conversation, presumably where they worked out what had happened before they turned to the Skald and nodded.
“Point to Skallagrim.”
The crowd roared with enough volume to cause my ears to ache with it. SKallagrim beat his chest in his own triumph and, I guessed, some kind of catharsis. A man beating a fear, or defeating a bogeyman of some kind.Kerrass shook his wrist out a little and flexed his hand, smiling a little ruefully before spinning his weapon in a few arcs to settle his shoulders and returned to his own corner.
Skallagrim enjoyed the moment a little longer before returning to his own original position with a renewed look of concentration and just a glimmer of confidence in his eyes. I could easily imagine what he was telling himself. He was telling himself that it could be done. That it would be done and that if he had managed to do it once then he could do it again.
The Skald stepped forward into the middle of the square again and held his hands up until the uproar died down again.
“One point to Skallagrim of Clan Tuirseach.” He declared. “Witcher Kerrass must win the next point to stay in the contest. A reminder that as this contest is for first and second places in the overall contest, then both of these combatants will receive one of the three idols.”
There was much cheering at this. This meant that this contest was just for the honour of the thing. It was only here so that one man or the other could declare themselves the Champion of the Skeleton Ship’s passing.
They might even be able to call themselves the Champion of the ship’s final passing.
This time Kerrass came forward quickly. At first it looked as though he was being cautious but then he accelerated, getting faster and faster until he was inches away from Skallagrim who was only just in the process of beginning his movements. Kerrass rained blows down onto the man, quickly, brutally. SKallagrim did not even get the chance to get his patterns moving, so fierce was the onslaught.
Thinking about it since, I suspect that this wouldn’t have worked in a battle, or a duel to the death. Skallagrim’s weapons and shields are too heavy to be knocked aside and kept away like this but here, with the wooden swords that were provided, this wasn’t a fight to the death. The crowd was roaring now. Roaring long and loud. Some of the crowd were cheering for Skallagrim and still others of the crowd were cheering for Kerrass. But a good portion of the crowd were just cheering because of the contest that they were witnessing.
No man could have held up under Kerrass’ onslaught. In truth, Skallagrim managed it for longer than he had any right to. Longer than most would have managed but even as it was, his shield showed the signs of wear and tear and the solid impacts of the wood encased Iron bar that Kerrass was slamming into it.
Eventually, I think it was this that won the point for Kerrass. Skallagrim had assumed that something like their previous fight was going to take place. That the patterns would begin and that Kerrass would spend his time trying to find ways through the whirling blades. So he was taken aback by the sheer ferocity of the movements and the assault.
There were five blows. The first knocked SKallagrim’s sword aside, the second struck the shield into position. The third was a parry that knocked Skallagrim’s sword away again as he had had time to recover. The fourth knocked the shield aside and exposed Skallagrim’s chest.
The fifth finished it.
To the outsider, Kerrass was just striking at Skallagrim with little or no finesse about the entire thing. But I saw more than one person looking at each other and nodding their approval of Kerrass’ technique.
This time there was no argument, no debate about what the judges had seen. Kerrass was the clear victor and the Skald didn’t even bother checking with the judges before awarding the point to Kerrass.
The crowd roared again with the excitement of the thing.
There was a longer pause before the beginning of the deciding point as both men walked to their respective corners and drank some liquid. Probably some heavily watered wine or whatever passes for that kind of thing in Skellige.
It was Kerrass that was hungry this time. He looked for all the world like some kind of caged animal. After drinking his water he was pacing backwards and forwards quickly before bouncing up and down on his feet with a rictus half snarl, half smile on his face.
Skallagrim was frowning in thought. The concentration visible.
There is an argument that suggests that Kerrass’ victory there was a little unreasonable that in a proper fight, both combatants would have died as Skallagrim’s blade was on it’s way back towards Kerrass and would surely have killed him.
But this was a contest. Not some kind of battle to the death. Although looking at Kerrass’ face, it could have gone either way.
The Skald gave everyone a few minutes to calm down and regain their composure. It took a long time for the crowd to die down as well but I think it was more about prolonging the moment. The inherent nature of the Skald to provide some kind of showmanship to proceedings was in full display.
Then he nodded and Skallagrim and Kerrass came together.
Skallagrim did not fall for the same trick this time and closed the distance between he and the Witcher with as much speed as he could, his blade already swinging into the first of his many patterns. He was moving quicker and quicker as Kerrass leapt to meet him.
Kerrass feinted one way before leaping the other. I’ve seen him use that move before and it nearly always results in Kerrass’ opponent being skewered. I would have thought that Skallagrim would have been immune to that kind of thing though, given that his movements worked differently. So the only reason why that would work is if Kerrass had seen a gap that no-one else had.
But it was a feint, instead Skallagrim seemed to have set up the opening that Kerrass had tried for and had stepped into meet the Witcher with his shield. Thus bringing in the bigger man’s strength and weight to the play. Kerrass flew backwards trying to roll to his feet.
Skallagrim went after him. Trying to duplicate the conditions of his previous victory but Kerrass was up, on his feet and his blade was a blur to fend off the approaching warrior and so the fight was still going. Skallagrim had reset to his original pattern and was advancing on the Witcher again. Sword moving on the pattern. He was faster than the last time he had used this tactic but still slower than he had been in that initial flurry of activity that had cost Kerrass the first point..
Kerrass was backing away now. Going slowly and carefully, he looked winded as though one of the impacts had taken it out of him a little. I don't know though. He was also, occasionally, taking his left hand away from his sword hilt and pressing it into his side, as though he had been bruised or something. Skallagrim was relentless though. Advancing forward step by step. No pause given, his face a mask of concentration and hunger.
The thought finally occurred to the crowd that Kerrass was going to lose. He looked pale and confused. He was still concentrating himself, but now that concentration had an edge. As though he was reaching for something that he couldn't quite find in himself.
As I was trying to decipher that expression on his face, he attacked. A blistering series of movements that were unleashed from relatively close range. There was no rhythm to the strikes, nothing that you could base any kind of defence on. But those blows met Skallagrim's shield, or his sword as it whirled away in the patterns that were still active.
Then Kerrass was backing away again. The slight look of confusion back on his face. The crowd roared. Even Skallagrim paused for a moment as he glanced at the two judges to see if he had missed anything. It was obscene to think that neither he, nor the Witcher had been struck during that flurry of blows. But there it was, the two judges were still watching carefully with nothing in their expression to suggest that they were trying to decide anything. No blow had been struck.
Skallagrim took a deep breath and started to walk forward again, his blade swinging and moving.
Kerrass was tiring now, you could see it. He would dance backwards before leaning on his wooden training sword and taking a few breaths before Skallagrim's advance would force him back into a retreating position. Even worse than his fatigue, Kerrass was beginning to get visibly frustrated.
In every way that Kerrass had been able to circumvent Skallagrim's tactics the first time that he fought, it looked as though he wasn't going to succeed here. There had been an exchange of points and Kerrass was beginning to run out of ideas as to how to defeat the huge Skelligan.
Kerrass sprinted towards his opponent, in a mirror of the same movement that he had during the court of spears. He attacked, leapt and rolled in the same way, but this time, Skallagrim had a counter, he followed through on one of the blows that had, previously, only been an off-hand manoeuvre now became a full on strike and Kerrass was battered away.
“This is it,” I heard myself mutter as I leaned forward.
The blow had pushed Kerrass onto the rope which he bounced off and straight back into Skallagrim's waiting arms, or rather should I say, Skallagrim's waiting blade.
Frantically, Kerrass tried to fend off the heavy strikes that rained down upon him before it became clear that he would not make it. He was trapped, no where to go and no way to get into a crouch or begin a roll or a pirouette or any of the other avoidance tricks that he would use otherwise. Out of reflex he shaped his hand into a sign.
But then he seemed to realise where he was and his hand relaxed. But that moment of hesitation cost him.
Skallagrim's sword struck, knocking Kerrass' blade aside before it then struck again, capturing Kerrass' blade and forcing it downwards before the pattern reversed and Skallagrim's sword came to rest at the bottom of Kerrass's sternum.
In a real fight, both men would be dead. All Kerrass would have to do would be to lift his sword a little and Skallagrim's arteries in his groin would be severed. But this wasn't a real fight and Skallagrim had won.
The crowd went nuts. The home crowd champion had defeated the interloping outsider. It's one of those stories that will be told around camp-fires and tavern hearths for decades, if not centuries to come. In a way, it even re-emphasised the truth of the previous court of spears. I could almost hear them.
“Well it proves it,” they would say. “It proves that the court of spears is accurate. In a contest, the Witcher could not have possibly defeated Skallagrim the strong. Skallagrim the clever, Skallagrim the inexorable. But in the court of spears, when the right of the matter was on the Witcher's side. Then Skallagrim was defeated. The good man fighting for the wrong cause, an evil cause, a cause that he didn't believe in.”
The story was already being written I was sure of it.
I made a play of the matter of course. I had gambled on Kerrass quite heavily, and lost all of it but for reasons known only to Skelligan minds, they accepted me all the more for it. I was clapped on the back as I went down to see the defeated champion to commiserate with him in his loss.
But the show wasn't over. Kerrass was walking Skallagrim into the middle of the square of ropes and held the bigger man's hand aloft to the roar of the crowd. I cheered alongside them. It was a heroic sight after all and the rest of it couldn't have happened better if the poet had written the script for the actors to play the lines himself.
Skallagrim held his hands in the air, accepting the roars of the crowd and bellowing his own defiance back into their teeth. Everyone that had judged him in the wake of his defeat at the hands of the Witcher in the court of Spears would now see him for the victorious warrior that he was and none would, again, dare to challenge his might.
Kerrass applauded from the sidelines before he made to walk away. Holding onto the strangely injured side while still wearing the shocked, puzzled and faintly bewildered expression that he had before he had lost.
Seeing this though, Skallagrim pounced on the defeated Witcher, seizing the hand that wasn't being used to press into whatever injury was affecting the losing man, he raised Kerrass' hand aloft and the crowd roared again. Men love victory, but they love a gracious victor all the more. Especially when combined with a gracious loser.
Kerrass accepted his own round of cheers with a faintly bemused expression before Skallagrim pounced on him again, enveloping him in a huge embrace. Much to the approval of the crowd. I think the two men said something as they pulled apart. Skallagrim was frowning about something, almost seeming angry, as he spoke but when Kerrass answered, Skallagrim smiled ruefully before nodding. Kerrass gestured to the crowd before gesturing back to Skallagrim as if beckoning the crowd to adore their new champion as Skallagrim held his hands aloft and accepted the adulation.
The competition for third and fourth place had already taken part and so the third place in the contest came out to some cheers and applause where he greeted Kerrass and Skallagrim warmly, exchanging some small words with both men before the Skald came and handed out the three prizes. I was pleased and gratified at just how much noise was generated by that crowd for my Witcher companion. I knew for a fact that he was genuinely moved by it. So much so that he was genuinely shaken and I had to cover for him as he retreated.
We went out towards the end of the harbour where Kerrass spent a good amount of time looking out to sea.
“I have never come here before.” He told Ariadne and I as we stood there with him. “Why have I never come here before?”
“You never had reason to Kerrass.” I told him. “You never had reason to and it never occurred to you that you would receive that which you have been given That which you deserve.”
Kerrass nodded at that.
“You know, I would have sworn that I didn't need that. I would have killed any man who told me that I needed to hear men cheer my name and accept me in unlooked for friendship.”
He shook his head.
“Why did I never come here before?”
I sensed that he didn't really want, need or expect an answer to his questions, so I just stood there for a while and let him be.
It was Ariadne that saw Skallagrim arrive.
“Lord Champion,” she said loudly to attract Kerrass' and my attention. “I would have thought that you would be off enjoying the adulation you have earned so well.”
Skallagrim laughed. In many ways it seemed as though a great weight had been lifted from him and he seemed ten years younger than he had been when I had met him outside the trial of spears.
“I thank you Lady and I would ask as to whether you would join me in order to take part in that self-same adulation save for the fact that I am married and I see that I would be competing with the Scribbler for your affections.”
“Are you worried that you would lose?” I asked him.
“Not even slightly. But I would not wish to break your fool northern heart.” He grinned.
Ariadne did not make me feel any better as she laughed uproariously.
“But the truth is that it is tradition that the champion buys the runner up a drink.” Skallagrim told us, “And I looked around to find out where my opponent had gone off to and found him out here.”
“I am here.” Kerrass had shaken himself and turned round to see his opponent.
“Are you well my friend?” Skallagrim enquired, guessing as to some of Kerrass' mood.
“I am.... This is all very different for me.” Kerrass told him. “It has been a long time since a stranger has called me a friend and even longer than that before I admitted that friendship in return.”
“Well,” Skallagrim grinned slyly. “It's not every day a man allows another to win a great competition like this one.”
Kerrass sighed. “Sorry Freddie, he actually figured it out really easily.”
“ I don't know about that first point.” Skallagrim admitted, “But there's no way that you didn't know exactly where those ropes were that I trapped you against, on the last point. No way that you didn't know exactly which way that you should have gone to escape me. I mean, don't get me wrong. As cunning traps go, you played a blinding one.”
He grinned again. “I'll get you next time though Witcher. I'll take it though. My wife has that look in her eye that she hasn't had for ages, meaning that I can look forward to her chasing me round the bedroom tonight.” He sighed happily. “Isn't love wonderful.”
“It really is.” Ariadne agreed, grinning at me.
Kerrass allowed himself to be persuaded off towards the tavern, accepting my admonishment that he should ensure that he was still sober enough to attend the evening's festivities.
Ariadne and I wandered around Kaer Trolde for the rest of the day until the evening sun began to set in the west. There was plenty to do and see, plenty of people to talk to and things to admire. At one stage I saw Helfdan in close conversation with an older, bearded man around the ship building area. I was fascinated by the place with the troughs and rolling logs that were used to put longships in the water, but I had also been informed, not unkindly but also rather firmly, that there wasn't really anything to see and that I would be better off finding my entertainment somewhere else.
Which was not hard. A few disgruntled people tried to pick a fight with Ariadne, I guess that they had been made to feel like less of a man in some kind of way, but she laughed, smiled and steered us round them. At her request, I humiliated myself in a number of the stalls as part of the carnival atmosphere where she extorted me onto great efforts of throwing the balls at a set of stacked wooden cups in order to win her a wooden carving of a bear.
Obviously I failed but the look of amused commiseration on her face was worth the couple of copper pieces that my valiant attempts at crushing the wooden cup menace cost me. I had my revenge late while watching Ariadne attempting to eat a toffee apple. Something that she declared should not be quite as delicious as it was. While also complaining that it couldn't be sanitary while she picked a few bits of sawdust, hair and other bits of harbour detritus out of the sticky outer coating.
We had a great time. It was strange and a little bit amusing. We had not seen each other since she had come to visit me outside of castle Kalayn even though we had spoken often, but I had missed her fiercely. I hadn't even realised how much I missed her, but now I could feel myself perking up when she was nearby and I was looking for her whenever she was called away on business of the lodge or to maintain the magical detection field that she was part of.
I tried not to ask questions in that regard and just let her get on with it.
But it began to seem increasingly absurd to me that we had spent so long apart and I found myself wondering how I had survived without her. And I dreaded the coming morning of our separation even though I knew that that day could not be put off indefinitely.
But the sun began to fall and everyone tramped up to the castle to see who was going to be chosen as the new Jarl.
It was a hell of an evening and I considered myself fortunate to have a place at the table near the front. Men and women were crammed into the great hall standing shoulder to shoulder. The hall still had it's tables for the Jarls and the top captains and Lords of the Islands as that was the tradition of the piece as well as adding numerous other tables. I don't know who it was that had been forced to do the balancing act between getting enough tables into the hall while also leaving enough room for all other onlookers to attend at the same time.
I don't know which master of ceremonies, chancellor, herald or whatever was forced to do that job but whoever it was, that person was a genius. Some continental folks were moaning about the fact that guests should be given precedence over existing people, but these complaints were mostly ignored by the Skelligans. Their attitude seemed to be that this was a Skelligan moment in history for Skelligan people and that if the northerners or the southerners wanted to complain about any of that then they could fucking well go and wait outside.
But I had my seat. Helfdan's table was taken up as he sat in his customary seat. At his insistence, Ciri sat at the head of the table in the place of precedence where the Captain of the ship should sit, but Helfdan obviously wanted to have his back to something solid. That two hand-picked members of his personal guard were standing behind him in their full armour, despite the heat and pressure of bodies, did not seem to dismiss his worries. Nor did Svein's careful allocation of the seating.
Ciri obviously made a big, and loud fuss of refusing to sit in a seat of such high honour, making the point, loudly and for all who could listen, that that seat belonged to Helfdan but she did eventually allow herself to be persuaded and sat in the chair, twisting so that she could see what was going on on the dais. I was sat next to Kerrass who carried his winning carving like it was something precious and with Ariadne on my other side.
In the few days since she had arrived, Ariadne had been firmly accepted by the rest of the crew and I was grateful for that. A few more people tried to pick fights with Helfdan regarding his allowing some foreign dignitaries to sit at his table and not allow others, but he ignored them. Literally ignored them. He didn't even acknowledge their presence. Forcing them to either escalate the confrontation or move it elsewhere. Most of them chose the latter of the two options.
The Queen was already on the dais, chatting easily with the other Jarls, the Skalds and Lord Ermion. Lady Eilhart and Lady Yennefer were also on the dais, Yennefer looking a little bored but politely attentive to the whole proceedings while Lady Eilhart looked on with interest. I couldn't see Lady Merigold but I would later find that she considered this entire proceeding to be a work affair and was off talking to dignitaries around the hall.
There was a constant stream of food and drink although I rather thought that the ale was somewhat weaker than the stuff that is more regularly served in Kaer Trolde and I wondered if this had been deliberate or if it was just that I was becoming more inured to the constant stream of ale and mead that had been passed around for me to consume. I have no way of knowing of course so instead I simply enjoyed the food and drink as we all speculated over who the new Jarl was going to be and, almost as importantly, how the choice would be made.
There were musicians playing to be sure. Contests of dice, Gwent and axe throwing. A fight started in one corner but it almost seemed a little half-hearted. As though people were going through the motions. No one wanted to miss the moment where history would be made in this hall this night and we were all fascinated to see what was going to happen.
The Queen waited for a long time before she stepped to the front and gestured. The Jarls returned to their own tables and sat down.
“This is our ancient charge.” The Queen began. “Later, I will bid the Skalds tell the stories of the founding of the clans to remind each and every one of us why we are here and what our tasks are. They will tell those tales of those ancient sons and daughters of the Ard Ri (High King) Hemdall who formed the clans in order to guard and protect these islands and the people that live on them. We will hear about them long into the night so that the new Jarl, whoever it may be, might know what kind of person they are following.
“But in short, our charge, our duty, is to protect these islands. Protect them, our people and our way of life against enemies without and within. They protect us from threats that we can only dream of now and other threats that are still used to terrify young folk to sleep despite them long having been destroyed.
“So that is why we choose a new Jarl today. This is not a popularity contest despite some people thinking that that might be the case. This is our choosing who will stand at our side in battle. Who will protect our rear. Who will protect our homes for us while the rest of us are away. The most popular man might be the best spoken or the strongest man here. But that does not make a Jarl. A Jarl is the best person for the job. A Jarl should be a man, or a woman, who we could leave in charge of the islands while the rest of us go to war and we can trust that, when we return, that the islands will still be here.”
She took a moment to let her gaze move around the room.
“So here I hand over to the learned Skalds themselves in order to ensure that this process is carried out fairly and according to the law.”
She gestured and the old man from before moved forward. He still had that look of a man who was enjoying himself a little too much for someone that was in charge of such prestigious and important proceedings, but I suppose that this kind of things happens when you are a story-teller or a bard who has spent years without a proper audience.
“So it begins like this.” He said to the mostly silent room. “Inside this hall there are many participants of the various contests that have taken place over the course of this last week. First let me wish my own congratulations to each and every man who was worked so hard and won so much to achieve these things. I would ask everyone, barring those people that might have new carvings as a result of finding them as part of the trial of cunning, to place their statues of victory on the table before them.”
There was a general rustling and a series of thumps as people reached inside their cloaks and produced the small carved warriors and placed them before themselves.
“It has to be said that this situation is almost unique in Skelligan history.” The Skald declared. “Normally, when a Jarl dies without successor then a new Jarl is chosen from the Captains and other Hersir that made up that Jarl's retinue. When a clan has died or been wiped out, then the line has been tracked, into other clans if necessary before another is found in order to be able to take up the banner. But this is not what happened here. Here, we are replacing a clan and a Jarl that betrayed Skellige and betrayed the throne and the crown in our hour of darkest need.”
Masterfully, his tone became dire and dreadful as he spoke over the various thumps and scuffles that were still carrying on around the hall.
“A clan who's history was tracked back into the founding of the Nation, turned on everyone because the Jarl was grieving and refused to obey the lawful decision of the council of Jarls. Not only did he betray, but he betrayed when the armies of Nilfgaard, when they were still our enemy, were on our doorstep and the islands needed to be united before a common foe.
“But even more awful than that. The Wraiths of Morhogg chose that moment to attack. An attack so foul that even Nilfgaard chose to join the battle on our side. Even Nilfgaard stood with us against a common enemy and clan Drummond did not.”
It was skilful filling of the silence as men finished up placing their figurines. Judging that all of the carvings that were going to be place on the tables were now on the tables themselves, the Skald nodded.
“That is what we are replacing. And that is what we need. We need a good, strong and honest Lord to police the southern reaches of Ard Skellig and watch to the south. Against Ice Giants, and pirates from Cidaris and Vergen. Who will we trust to perform this duty?”
He grinned. “Lets find out.”