“Every man...” The Skald began “Every man that has a carving in front of them due to their own efforts. Whether you came first, second or third, or if you were given one by someone who felt that you deserved it more than the next person....”

Attendants, men and women that I took to be junior Skalds of some kind were walking around the hall counting the number of totems that were on the tables. I had to chuckle as more than one person had hidden their own little carved warrior in order to upset the process and were forced to hurridly place their own carvings in front of them.

“.... or even if you have made some kind of political deal in order that you have received a carving in return for some past or future favour.”

I saw him look to one side and acknowledge a signal from an aide. I guessed, correctly it would turn out, that this was a signal to tell him that the total number of carvings on the tables had been counted.

“Each of these tables holds a ship's Captain or a Lord in their own right. So now, we formally state that those people that have won a carving are themost powerful, strong, skilled, fast, clever and special people in the islands as a whole. So who do you trust to hold the southern part of Ard Skellig? You may place your carvings on the tables of those men who you think most deserve it.

“The...” A few people had already leapt to their feet and retreated back to their chairs in embarrassment. “The choice to place your carving on the table of your clan Jarl is a valid one. At the close of things, the Jarls will then be able to use your votes as well as any other statues that they have gathered and place them on the tables of their choice. But that is for the future. First is the choice of the people. You may now rise and....”

The rest of his phrase was drowned out by men and women climbing to their feet and moving round. People laughed, joked and shouted. There were exclamations of surprise at some of the carvings being placed and where they were chosen to go.

I had my eye on a couple of people.

Helfdan calmly rose and carried his own carving to be placed on the table belonging to Jarl Hjalmar An Craite. One of the older warriors sat at Hjalmar's table noticed the gesture and clapped an obviously uncomfortable Helfdan on the shoulder before going and whispering something in Hjalmar's ear.

Neither Svein or Yngvild moved their carvings from where they stood on Helfdan's table.

Kerrass picked his own carving up and examined it in the firelight for a long moment, his expression unreadable before he moved it over to stand next to Svein's own carving.

A couple of other people came over and placed their own carvings on Helfdan's table that I didn't recognise. I understand that one of those men was a ship-builder. There were a few other folk that were obviously not warriors that placed their own carvings on our table as well, including a few people from the harbour small-ship sailors.

One of the more controversial choices was when Skallagrim rose from his bench and walked across the hall to stand before us all. He towered above us in our seated position and looked at Helfdan for a long time until Helfdan finally raised his eyes to greet the champion of Clan Tuirseach. Deliberately, Skallagrim leaned forward and placed his carving from winning the contest of Champions on the table.

I hid my smile of smugness behind a cup of mead, although both Ariadne and Kerrass noticed it.

A couple more people came and put their own carvings down, thus casting their votes for Helfdan. The Captain of the guard at Kaer Trolde placed his own Statue on Helfdan's table. He didn't stay or make any kind of gesture, but instead he seemed to be on the edge of tears for some reason.

A similar situation happened when a family approached our table led by a man who had apparently come second in the fishing competition. The husband and wife were in tears as they placed their own statue on Helfdan's table and I was pleased to see it when Helfdan rose, shook the man's hand and embraced the woman.

Svein would later tell me that the family had lost their elder son to a storm a few weeks ago. They had been one of the families that had mourned when the Skeleton Ship came through.

One by one the statues were placed onto the tables and the Skald held his hands up for silence.

“What none of you know is that we have counted the number of statues in order to ensure that there will not be a tie. Therefore we will now count again to make sure that no-one has tried to pre-empt the challenge of cunning by adding some extra carvings here and there.”

Sure enough, a young white robed Skald came to our table and counted the carvings on Helfdan's table, lifting each up and examining the base of the carving before nodding in satisfaction. He waved a signal to someone and moved off.

“Now comes the interesting part.” The Skald cackled. “Everyone has placed their statues and those statues are not allowed to move after this point.”

He really was having far too much fun with this entire situation.

“So,” The Skald went on. “Some of you may remember that a day or so ago, I spent some time hiding various of these statues in secret places around the port and the keep. The challenge was that these statues could be used to win favours from people or given as gifts or could otherwise be used to help further a cause in one way or another.”

There was a pause for just a moment. One of the junior skalds had found a forged carving on one of the tables away from us. I couldn't see who it was, but there was a short skuffle as the various people had to be called in to sort the problem out. The Skald on the dais waited for the ruckus to die down before speaking again.

“So here is the time of the test of cunning. I would ask that those people that have access to the statues of cunning to make themselves known and to place their carvings on the tables of their choice.”

There was a pause while almost the entire hall seemed to spend a bit of time looking around to see who would emerge.

Almost sheepishly, a small boy was pushed forward by his parents to place a statue on Jarl Donar's table. The old Jarl was clearly astonished but rewarded the child with a small trinket that I didn't see and shook the father's hand. “My son found the carving.” The man said, refusing to allow the boy, who was no more than four, to hide behind his leg. “Apparently it was on top of our roof.”

“A man should always notice the things that are not where they should be.” Jarl Donar spoke clearly so that the hall could hear. “When your time comes, young man, and if you have not found a different calling. Come and see me as I could use men who know how to watch for those things that are out of place.”

“Thank you My Lord,” The man told him before retreating into the crowd.

A short while later, one of the guards of the castle came forward with a grin. He placed one statue on Hjalmar's table before placing another statue in the hands of a bemused older man. “One for my Lord.” He told the room “and another for the father of the woman I hope to marry.” The crowd cheered the guard's courage in declaration. The older man did his best to grimace but he was just as swept up in the moment as everyone else there. To no-one's surprise, the soon to be father of the bride place the statue on Hjalmar's table.

“You need to work on your stealth.” The guard teased the Skald. “I saw you coming a mile away.”

The Skald nodded ruefully at the laughter. “I am no longer as clever or as quick as I used to be.” He declared. “But I had to be seen by someone otherwise none of the statues would be found.”

There was much laughter in the hall as people seemed to decide that the old man had scored a point of some kind.

“Anyone else?” The Skald asked as the laughter died down. “Come on, you can't convince me that no other carvings were found. If no others are brought forth then we must be concerned for the state of your watch Jarl Hjalmar. I was not so stealthy as all of that.”

There was much laughter as Hjalmar shrugged and glared about himself with mock disapproval.

There was a long pause as men looked at each other and waited for the axe to fall.

Then a chair scraped.

“Kar.” Svein said loudly. “Make yourself known.”

There were gasps as one of the Thralls at the side of the room carefully passed his jug over to the person next to him and pulled a large sack into view.

I felt my shoulders begin to shake as I recognised Svein's younger, much more criminal brother, Kar, pulled the sack over to Helfdan's table and reached inside his sack to produce a carving that he placed on Helfdan's table for all to see. At first there were gasps of amazement as carving followed carving followed carving. After the first few one of the Skald's assistants arrived to check each carving as it came to view, looking at the bottom before shrugging and nodding.

Then the laughter started.

When the eighth carving was on the table, people started to cheer.

Helfdan didn't react while Svein stood next to him, his eyes looking round the hall. Ciri hid her own laughter behind her hands, her eyes shining. Lord Voorhis was frowning with thought. Kerrass relaxed imperceptibly as he watched the display.

After he was done, Kar removed the white robes of a Thrall to reveal that he was wearing standard woolen tunic of a warrior and sat down at the place that had been reserved for him.

I had wondered why Svein had insisted on keeping one of the chairs free.

“My Lord Helfdan, the Black Boar, The Bastard of Clan An Craite is an honourable man.” Svein called out into the hall as the noise began to die down. Not for the first time I was left wondering how much training Svein had received in certain matters. Svein's voice was harsh and raspy. It was not the trained, sonorous voice of the Skald or the courtier. It was the voice of a man who had to shout orders on a battlefied, or in order to be heard over the crash of the waves against the side of the hull.

The contrast was startling and as a result, it made the point that Svein was making all the clearer.

“Although my Lord is aware of the cunning that can and must be used at the helm of a ship, in the halls of enemies or on the battlefield against foes. He sees the men in this hall as friends and allies. Because barring all other things, we are Skelligan.”

He put some volume behind that last shout and the hall roared in approval.

“My Lord Helfdan is an honourable man.” Svein said. “He sees the best in people until there comes a time when he is forced to see the worst. But sometimes, that means that we, his sworn warriors and ship-mates, must be cunning for him.

“He is our Lord and we love him for his honour so it is no great sacrifice to be cunning in his name. We love him for the fact that we grow rich through gifts that are given from his hand. We grow fat from the food that we cut from his table. And we gain Love from those others that he draws to himself. For that last, at least, I remain eternally grateful.”

There was a small chorus of “Awww” As Svein reached for Yngvild's hand and squeezed it a moment.

“But we grow rich while he remains poor. We grow fat while he remains thin and we know Love while he remains alone. For these sacrifices on his behalf, I will be cunning for him. I will say the things that he cannot and will not say. I will do the things that he cannot and will not do.

“One of my other ship-mates, a recent one in fact, told me a story and a truth. I appreciate that time moves on so I will skip the story as he tells it better than I can. But he told me that we ignore our Thralls. We look past them, we do not think about the way that we treat them and we always, always, ignore them unless we want something for them.”

There was some uncomfortable shifting in the hall.

“So here, on behalf of my Lord, I will give you this lesson in honour and cunning. My Lord knows the name of every Thrall that he has working for him. He knows their faces, what their skills are and when their term of thralldom comes to a close. He even rewards them for their faithfull service should they deserve it after their Thralldom is finished. The tactic that we used today would never work in my Lord's lands.

“This was a game. A challenge. A trial to test which of the potential Jarls had the most cunning, or who had the most cunning minds serving them. All my brother had to do was to tell everyone, including his companions, that he was travelling back to the village and staying there. But he didn't. He came back, put on a white robe and followed the Chief Skald around as the carvings were hidden. He tells me that he even served the honourable Skald food and ale while the Skald walked and climbed around the harbour.”

There was some hissed intakes of breath as a couple of people saw the implications of this.

“We would never use this tactic in war, it is base cunning at best. But we are Skelligan and men of honour. This was a contest. But in war, if Cidaris and Vergen do decide to invade. All they would have to do is to wear a white robe and then every single one of us would ignore them. Fuck, I've just seen a Thrall refill the Queen's wine Goblet while I have been speaking and not one person looked at the Thrall's face to check who it was.”

The entire hall turned and looked at the young girl who was no more than fourteen and plainly terrified to have been put on the spot in such a way.

The Queen made a joke of it, examining the cup closely before shrugging and drinking the goblet dry. Then she beckoned for a refill from the young woman.

“That is my point,” Svein finished. “That is my service to My Lord. That is my Lesson and my gift to the hall. We might not do this to each other, take advantage of this blind spot with each other. But as my new ship-mate would say. “You are never more than five spears away from a Thrall.” Remember that.”

His last words fell into empty silence as he sat down. Then he turned and winked at me.

“I never said that.” I told him.

“Yes you did.” He whispered back although the sounds of conversation were beginning to pick up again.

“Sleeping Beauty.” Ariadne whispered. “It was the basis of your research and you wrote it down in your attempts to lift the curse.”

“That's right I did, didn't I.” Something slotted into place. “But that means that Svein can....”

“You tell anyone and you're dead Scribbler.” Svein growled at me.

I would have persued Svein's new found ability to read but the Skald interrupted.

Also. Fuck you Svein.

That feels better. I feel better. Vengeance for all the times that he mocked me for being a man of letters. They say that vengeance is a dish best served cold and they are right. It is delicious.

“The point is well made.” The Skald said as he stood before the hall. He looked a little shaken. “Well made, well taught and although I would say that there are better ways to make that point, I acknowledge that that is my trying to defend my ignorance and the fact that I was so completely played.”

Kar later admitted that he had let the kid get at the carving because he was being picked on by some of the other town kids who were teasing him because he was small. The guard had got the two carvings by being that little bit faster than he, Kar was. But as Kar was already lugging a sack of ten carvings around, he didn't really mind about dropping a pair for a love-sick guard.

“So now that Lord Helfdan's table has conclusively and convincingly won the trial of Cunning, it is time to count the carvings to choose the five Lords who are in possession of the most carvings. Then will come the challenge of boasting.”

There was more counting as the assistants to the chief Skald spent some time checking and re-checking the final tally. It was honestly an effort of will to keep myself in the seat and to not be looking around to see which way the wind was blowing. There was a lot of whispered conversation during this period that grew into more overt conversation when it became clear that neither the chief Skald nor the Queen were going to curtail the noise.

The point that Svein had made about people overlooking the Thralls was well made and a topic for much discussion. At first, there were some arguments made, that because Kar had disguised himself as a Thrall that his efforts should be discounted. This opinion was discounted almost immediately as disguising oneself was a matter of cunning and therefore a perfectly valid tactic.

There was also some suggestion that he was really a Thrall and as such, his efforts should go to support the Lord to whom he owed his Thralldom. I'm told that this particular line of theories got far enough to cause Jarl Hjalmar himself to get involved in the argument. He informed the self-important folk in question that not three days before that, Kar had been acclaimed as one of the heroes who had sailed against the Skeleton Ship. Before that he had been doing literally that. So if he had been a Thrall to anyone then he would have had to have escaped in order to serve and that would be a matter of record in some hall somewhere. That if he had been in this hall as a Thrall then he, Hjalmar, had not been aware of it, thus proving Helfdan's point about the overlooking of Skalds.

I noticed how quickly it had become “Helfdan's point” rather than Svein's point. Helfdan never commented on that and Svein's only contribution to the whole thing was that it was a ruse that had been discussed once upon a time when discussing how to rescue someone, but had not been followed through on until the thought occurred in this particular instance. Where Kar had been kept back against the Skalds changing the game in some small and significant way.

There was even another suggestion that Helfdan was being a hypocrite. That he himself didn't know who his Thralls were. This was clearly laughable as precedent of men like Sigurd the Fury were used to point out that any Thrall to Helfdan was given work according to their skills and station. That they were treated well, if warriors, they were allowed to keep their weapons and encouraged to train with them. If Merchants then they would advise on commerce, fishermen fished, hunters hunted. And if anyone betrayed Helfdan's trust, then the punishments were extreme and the Thralldom continued apace and much less leniently.

As Svein had pointed out. Helfdan was even known to reward the service of particularly helpful Skalds.So that was eventually discounted.

The poor Thralls didn't know what to make of it. On the one hand there was a large influx of people that took the lesson to heart immediately, demanding to know Thrall's names and history. This was problematic because some of the Thralls in the hall had been ordered to give up their names and as a result, their names had been changed to “Thrall” until the time of their Thralldom was over.

The other effect was slightly more sinister. There was more than one change where there were people eyeing up the thrall that brought them their meat and mead and the poor Thrall wilted before the suddenly suspicious and untrusting Skelligans.

After Kar and Svein's display, it was quick and easy to see that Helfdan was one of the frontrunners. I don't know if he was the frontrunner but he was certainly in the front of the pack. It was still clear that the Jarls would have the deciding votes as it had been a fairly standard manoeuvre for people to put their carvings on the tables of their own Jarls rather than risking offending other people by making votes. It was easy to see why, gaining favour with your Lord is always a valid thing so it was obvious to those, like me, who were cynical trained courtiers that the decision had already been made somewhere. But like all things, the illusion of choice was a powerful one.

The Skald held his hand up for silence again.

“There are five captains that have shown themselves with the capabilities to lead. Five Lords who are followed by men....”

“and women....” someone interrupted.

“Yes, I was just coming to that.” The Skald glowered at the interruption. “Followed by men and women of talent, skill, strength and cunning enough that they have shown their abilities to lead. Five there are and each of them should know that they are already great men. Great men who Skellige is proud to have in her service. Five men who are credits to their clans, credits to the crown and credits to the nation. Their names are, in no particular order...”

He paused for effect.

“Lord Hragnelf Folkmarsson of Clan Brokvar whom men call the Shield and Protector.”

There was a roar from clan Brokvar that one of their own should be named as a leader.

“Lord Dreng Ulaffsson of Clan Tuirseach.”

The crowd's reactions to this were mixed. On the one hand there were men that were cheering due to his honour at standing before his proven corrupt Lord. Certainly Clan Tuirseach cheered even though there were some who thought that he should have stayed loyal to Jarl Ingimund to the end. So there were boos as well.

“Lord Roary Fergusson of Clan Dimun whom men call “The red”.”

I had heard of him. Roary is a feared Skelligan pirate on the seas. His flag is red with the white outline of an axe painted against it. The stories told of him are rather intense and say things like, “He leaves no prisoners” while also leaving the question about “How do people know that, if he takes no prisoners.” He stood up as his name was called and held his arms wide before roaring his feelings up to the ceiling and his crew joined him. He looked savage, wild and untamed. I met him later and a lot of that berzerker spirit seemed to hide a quiet intelligence and sharp sense of humour, that he took care to keep hidden.

There is a common thing that happens in the fields of the continent. You will find many people like Lord Roary that teach men like me an important lesson. Being uneducated does not necessarily mean that you are stupid. It is a lesson that many people in my profession could do well to remember.

The Skald waited for the noise to die down before speaking again.

“Lord Helfdan the Bastard of Clan An Craite. Called the Black Boar”

The cheer of approval was not as complete and total as I might have liked but it was still substantial. Not everyone likes to be confounded by something and the earlier thing about the Thralls seemed to have hit home a little unpleasantly for some people to tolerate.

“Lord Isgaut Runnolfsson of clan Heymaey who men call the Pious”

The hall were surprised by that entry. I have no idea why. He seemed like a fairly well respected Lord. He was no-one flashy but it seemed that he had been quietly attracting talent to himself over his time. He was an older man, certainly the oldest of the five that had been suggested with the grey just beginning to creep into his hair and beard. He bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment and beamed at everyone. My only impression of him, as I didn't have the chance to properly make his acquintence, was that he would not look out of place in a churchman's cassok. That the tunic and the armour of a warrior seemed to sit uneasily on him.

“Now it is well known that Skelligans all over the island like and admire the sound of their own voice.” The Skald went on. “And that is why we have chosen to limit that test of boasting in this way. Otherwise we would still be listening to the boasts when the natural snows fall.”

There was some general laughter of agreement and acknowledgment here.

So here is what is going to happen. All of the five selected Lords will come forward and take a stone from the bag. The stones are numbered according to the runes of the Fatherhood of Hemdall. This will decide the order in which the boasts will be made. After the boasts are complete. The Jarls will be able to decide where to put their own statues and place their votes.”

“What about clan Tuirseach?” Someone shouted from those tables. “We have no Jarl to decide.”

“But you have a steward.” The Skald responded with a touch of asperity. “Perhaps Clan Tuirseach should think about how they were betrayed by their Lord when they consider who they should be choosing for the next Jarl to be elevated.”

The crowd hissed. The rebuke was a little harsh and a little... I want to say that it was too much for the festival like atmosphere that was being tried for in the hall. But the old Skald was having none of it and I saw the terrible old man that he must been when he isn't doing his best to be a genial and friendly older man.

The moment passed though.

“So here it is.” The Skald began. “Each of these five men must now stand and tell us about their deeds so that the Jarls may decide how to properly assign their votes. Lords? Come forth and select your stone.”

He was handed a small sack which he shook. The High Priest of the God came forward and as all five of the chosen Lords stepped forward, they plunged their hands into the bag, showed the stone to the Priest who then told the Skald the number and the order that the decision would be made.

Helfdan walked stiffly and reluctantly. I could not tell whether or not he was reluctant or whether he was.... I don't know what was going on there. I now know him much better than I had when I first met him but watching him as he walked up the steps to the dais, I could not ascertain as to what he was thinking. I thought that there was even a possibility that he didn't know what was going to happen and that he didn't think that he deserved to be a Jarl.

Or that he didn't want it. I felt something in my gut twist then and I shifted in my seat that was suddenly uncomfortable. Kerrass glanced at me and Ariadne frowned in concern leaning over and whispering to ask if I was ok. I nodded.

“Lord Isgaut.” The Skald declared. “You shall speak first.”

Isgaut stood, pushing himself to his feet, head bowed in thought or in prayer, I could not tell which. Then his head came up and he looked around the room before he straightened.

“Skellige needs certainty.” He said after a long time. “The world is changing every day now and it is changing in ways that we could not have forseen even ten years ago. The Skeleton Ship is gone, never to return. There is the suggestion of peace between us and the Ice Giants, even between us and the ancient enemy. The only thing that is constant is the strength and courage of our men and women as we stand in the way of those enemies that might come at us.”

He laughed and suddenly seemed much younger.

“That and the enmity of Cidaris and Vergen I suppose.” The crowd laughed with him. “The new Jarl must tame a lawless land full of monsters and bandits, all the while protecting the southern islands that will be his territory from raiders sent against us by those men and women of the continent that still hate us for everything that we have done.

“The Queen tells us that we can no longer rely on raiding to survive. I agree with her. I am not a young man, but what I am is calm, and steady. I will not react with my heart when the use of the head is required. I'm supposed to be using this time in order to recount my deeds over the years. Well here it is. I have stood guard over the temple of Freya for many moons. In doing so I caught the bandit Ivar the fair-skinned who hunted and killed many priestesses. I fought him and killed him in a fair duel that he did not deserve.

“When the Troll, Volker came to smash the villages, I led the shield-wall that stood in his way. When raiders came to plunder our shores and the temple of Freya, taking advantage of our weakness when our Jarl Donar was away. It was myself that he trusted with the defence of those lands and under my command we did not lose a life or any of our goods. The most that the raiders managed to do was to set fire to a few roofs before we forced them to flee.

“I will admit that I am not the most flashy of men. I cannot show everyone the many deeds or trophies that I have lain at the feet of my Lord. I cannot boast of the missions that Lord Helfdan has been sent on, nor can I claim to have sunk as many ships as Lord Roary has. But what I have done is to do my duty and serve my Jarl and his people with every breath that I serve and my Jarl has never had cause to complain. I am a calm and thoughtful man and that is what is needed in the south.”

The speech was not met with the riotous reception that I think the speaker had been hoping for and I think he was disappointed. He sat down quietly amongst the polite applause and cheers and stamping of feet, but to my reading of the matter, there was no passion in that cheering. It was a kind of sanitised acclaim and I do not think that that was what folk were looking for.

I looked at Jarl Donar in an effort to gauge what the man's Jarl had thought of the speech. Donar, himself is a careful man and I was left wondering whether he would approve of his Hersir's approach to the entire situation. I couldn't read his expression though, he looked thoughtful and calm. So my guess was that Donar was pleased that one of his Hersir had, at least, made it this far in the reckoning of things. But was content for them to go no further.

“What do you think Scribbler?” Svein asked me under the cover of the applause. He was not the only one who took a moment to assess things under the cover of that and there was a certain amount of conversation springing up as it went.

I shook my head for an answer. “Nah.” I told him. “Calm and thoughtfulness is a good thing in an advisor but not in a Lord. Lords need to consider but then they need to act. Especially Skelligan Lords.”

Svein grunted in agreement.

“I notice that he's also left behind when the rest of the clan go to war.” I went on. “That says something. If this was the continent it would suggest that he's either a liability on the field, a Jobsworth....”

“What's a Jobsworth? Svein wondered.

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“It's a man who takes great delight in smaller details and obsesses over them to the smallest degree to the detriment of the larger, more overall picture.” Kerrass spoke up. “The kind of man who would argue about the proper placement of the stores for convenience of use, because that's his job, while the rest of the Lords and men are preparing for battle.”

“I see.” Svein nodded.

“Also, they're the kind of men that have a puffed up sense of their own importance.” I added. “Jobsworths tend to make good heralds and master's of ceremonies. But they occasionally need reminding that their job is not the most important task in the castle.”

Svein was still nodding. “ So what else. A liability, a Jobsworth or...what?”

“He's a defensive man. Good at thinking defensively only when occasionally, you need to be able to attack. I don't know though, I'm just guessing.”

Our conversation died down as the Skald stepped forward again.

“Lord Hragnelf Folkmarsson of Clan Brokvar, you shall speak next.”

The man that had been called “The Shield” rose to his feet. A few of the men on his table and from his surrounding clan-mates chanted the word over and over again. “Shield, shield, shield, shield.” He enjoyed his moment for a while before raising his hands for silence.

He was an impressive man. Huge and solidly built. He reminded me a lot of Ursa in that he seemed to be a solid mass of a man. The kind of man that when he moved forward then other men fought to get out of his way. He also had a long beard with pronounced drooping moustaches that he was clearly very proud of. He spent a good amount of his time stroking his beard in long sweeping strokes as he spoke.

His words were slower than Lord Isgaut. He seemed to take care in his pronouncing of the words. I found myself dismissing him out of hand and another one of those quiet suspicions came to my mind. I wondered if the order of selection was far from random. After all, the only person who actually knew which rune had come out in which order was the High Priest of Hemdall and so it could have meant anything. The Skalds took pride in not being able to read and if anyone else had been able to read and challenged the priest then they would have been betraying their own abilities in that regard.

I was being unfair though as Hragnelf began to change my mind almost immediately. I still didn't think that he would get anywhere with the vote but he was certainly better than I thought he was.

“I was under the distinct impression that this was a period where I was supposed to boast about my accomplishments. But my immediate predecessor seems to have taken this opportunity to behave like a merchant and do his best to sell himself as to why he would make a good Jarl.”

There was some laughter at this although I noticed that many glared at the standing Shield of Clan Brokvar.

“Very well then. I can play that game as well as anyone can. Although I fear that there isn't much to choose between the two of us, Lord Isgaut and I. I too am a cautious man, a protective man. I am also a man who likes to follow the traditions of the islands.

“That's not to say that the Queen and her progressives are wrong. But I do worry that we sometimes move too quickly and that too much change in so short a period of time could be catastrophic. I think that I would provide another voice to counter the enthusiasm of the more progressive Lords on the Jarl's council. And that way, a better, more middle way can be found.”

He sighed.

“Right, I'm done telling people why I should be Jarl. Instead, here is me boasting about what I have done like a proper Skelligan should.”

There was a roar of approval to that and Hragnelf became more animated the more he spoke.

“I, am the Shield of Clan Brokvar.”

The hall roared in their approval at this simple declaration.

“When our Lord was sick, it was I who led our forces into battle. When the Cidaris raiders came round the islands to strike at us while we were weakened due to my Jarl's illness, I led the fleet of ships that sank our enemies at sea. Critics might say that in doing so, I disobeyed my Jarl's orders but if I had not, then we might have been defeated before we started and my Jarl, whom I love, admits now that he was wrong.

“During that action I led a force to board the Cidaris vessel, the Royal Hind, and personally fought it's Captain, Sir Ciseul of the harbour in one to one combat. That was a bloody day and it was only at the last where I was able to run the man through and hurl him from his own deck that the day was ours. We were outnumbered and our chances were slim but we were victorious.

“During the storms of the black Winter, I led the rescue efforts that saved the fisherman's fleet of Clan Brokvar who had been washed into the rocky, uninhabitable islands of North-Western Skellige. Those too were dark days. Both literally and figuratively as the storm-clouds still boiled overhead, the rain lashing down upon us as our men fought to bring those fisher-folk to safety.”

“In better days I stood on the right hand side of the Jarl where my shield could cover Lord Udalryk and he could fight and direct the battle. Time and time again this was the case where I would lift my shielf in order to protect my Lord from a stray arrow or a hurled spear. I am called “The Shield” for this reason and many others. Where I have fought and protected and killed in order to make sure that people are safe in the face of overwhelming foes.

“I will protect my people and my lands in the same way as I ever have. For I am Hragnelf the Shield.”

The hall cheered his statement as he sat down. The chant started again briefly and it took much longer for the cheering to subside.

Svein turned to me again with a raised eyebrow.

“Of the two that we've heard of so far, he is more likely to get it.” I told him. “People respect Isgaut, but they Love Hragnelf. But if I was Udalryk, I wouldn't let so trustworthy a man leave my side for fear that he would take half my people with him. I would ensure that he would stay in my service.”

Svein grunted.

There was a great deal of more honest and... I want to say enthusiastic cheering. It was more heart-felt than what had happened with Isgault. The Skald let it go on for a little while, it seemed roughly even in the amount of time that it took between what the other Lord had enjoyed and what Hragnelf had had come to him. But I could be mistaken.

“Lord Roary Fergusson of Clan Dimun.”

Roary rose to the odd, discordant howls of his men. It seemed as though it might have been some kind of battlecry for them, something that they howled to signal to their enemies that death was coming across the water or out of the fog shrouded hills in the early hours of the morning. In the hall of Kaer Trolde, it felt a little silly but I could well and easily imagine just how terrifying it would be to hear that noise coming out of the mist in the pre-dawn light.

Roary rose and he was a terrifying man to behold. Bright red hair framed a heavily bearded face. He seemed to have done little to groom either his hair or his beard and as a result, his hair fell as a set of long matted tails. Rumour had it that he tied blades into them for when the battles started. There seemed to be things in his beard. Charitably, these things were charms, rings, jewellery and knots. Less charitable people said that they were long lost morsels of food that had been enveloped by the hair.

According to legend, the beard itself was a monster that had latched onto Lord Roary's chin that would detach itself in the middle of the night and strangle Roary's enemies.

He wore a suit of skins that were badly stitched together and seemed mostly held together by straps. His clothes and his bare chest were covered in stains of various kinds. He carried two mismatched axes into battle. Both of them ugly and utterly terrifying to look at.

He laughed as he rose to his feet.

“Well.” He began. “Fuck me sideways with a branding iron. If you had told me this fucking morning that I would be boasting before the fucking Queen as to why I would make a good Jarl, I would have knocked your fucking teeth in and ripped off your fucking dick at the same time.”

He had an odd accent. Higher pitched than I was expecting and it was almost sing-song in nature. He pronounced “Fucking” as “fookin'” which leant his entire speech and almost comical tone to it so that the entire hall was laughing as he spoke. The charisma of the man was awesome.

“You all know me,” He went on. “Roary the red, Roary the Bloody.” He grinned. “Roary the fucking mad.” The crowd laughed at what I guessed was a running joke. “My lads and I have sunk ships un-fucking-counted and raided shores that no fucking others have dreamed of. I was with my Father when he raided the fucking Capital of Nilfgaard, her Imperial fucking Majesty's pardon of course.”

He made an elaborate bow in the direction of Ciri who acknowledged the gesture with a smile and a wave.

“ My crew fucking sailed right past the Novigrad harbour to raid Oxenfurt and then sailed out again without letting any fucker know that we had passed.”

There was more cheering and more laughter.

“I am told that the fucking Kings of Cidaris and Vergen had to club together to raise enough money for fucking bounty hunters to even consider coming after me and that, even then, no-one will even fucking consider it.”

I felt myself assessing the field. Dreng and Helfdan still to come. But this man, in my judgement, had more charisma than both Dreng and Helfdan put together. Men followed Helfdan and Dreng but this man here could lead nations.

“There is not a fucking town on the Cidaris coast that has not been raided and sacked, by me and mine, twice.” The roar of approval began to grow and Roary's voice grew to drown it out. “And all of that went to fatten Jarl Holger's purse and paid his taxes for him.”

There was more laughter as Holger nodded his acknowledgement of this point.

“No-one dares raid my fucking lands because they know what I'll do to them. My people stand tall and fucking proud as well and not a one of them goes fucking hungry. Ever.” His tone had turned serious. He sighed and hung his head as the hall hushed around him. Then he shook his huge shaggy head.

“I would make a fucking great Jarl.” He said, a little sadly I thought. “I would fill the treasury of Skellige and my people would grow fat and if I was in the South of Ard Skellig, foreign sailors would sail for days to stay out of my territory. But you shouldn't make me Jarl my Lords, my Queen.”

He bowed to the dais as he said “Queen.”

“You should make Lord Helfdan Jarl.” He said pointing at Helfdan. “The only man in this hall that has ever out-sailed me. He once raided a port that I said was impregnable and he brought all his men back as well. I couldn't have done that. Fucking make him Jarl. I would follow him in a heart-beat.”

He sat down abruptly as the crowd roared in approval and shock. I saw the Jarls exchanging glances.

I turned to Svein, mystified.

“It's actually the height of honour to acknowledge a better opponent. Never back down from a fight, but acknowledge your betters. That's the way of things.” He shrugged at the strangeness of Skelligan customs.

“What an extraordinary man.” I commented, even as I winced at the shrill calls of Roary's warriors.

I did get to talk to Lord Roary afterwards and he laughed at my comments on his men's behaviour. “All of warfare is about what goes on in the mind.” He told me. “Something that your Svein Hard-hand knows well. If an enemy is afraid, confused, tired or despairing then he might as well lay down in his grave already. So if there's anything that needs doing anyway, that you can turn into a way to put the fear of the Gods into an enemy. Then I do it. You hear howling, but my men call out signals of where they are. Each howl has it's reason and it's message. The time to get ready for my coming is when we all howl together.”

The crowd roared for a long time after Roary's declaration. Almost to the point where even the Skald's presence could not get people to calm down enough to pay attention. As it was, he was stood there on the dais with his arms raised for a long time. Far longer than he had previously.

“My Friends.” He called out. “My friends, we have a lot to think about and it is true that we have a lot to discuss on the matters of these various things. But I must ask for silence so that the next man should speak. Otherwise we will still be here come morning and I am an old man.” He made his voice comically weak and feeble. “Have pity on on an old man. I need my bed and a warm cup of milk and.... and....”

One of the other Skalds removed their own cloak and draped it round the shoulders of the old Skald to much laughter as the pair carried out a brief pantomime of the younger taking the older off to sit down while the crowd chanted. Then the Skald, taking the strength from the roars of the crowd heroically regained his strength, threw off the cloak and returned to the front of the hall again.

I laughed along with everyone else. It was a well done display and I was enjoying myself.

“Lord Helfdan The Bastard of Clan An Craite.” The Skald spoke up.

The hall all turned to Helfdan who looked as though he would have been much happier sailing into the maw of some giant sea monster or worse. He rose with the air of a man doing what he had to do.

“I have nothing to boast about.” He said, so quietly that people had to strain to hear him. “Everything I have done, I did with the aid of others. I am no Lord without the people around me. I cannot Captain a Longship by myself. I cannot fight an army on my own. I cannot defend a town without warriors to stand on it's walls and I cannot bring in the harvest without those men, and women, who know more about crops and herds than I have ever dreamed about.”

He was warming to his subject now and gaining in his confidence.

“So all I have to boast about is those men that follow me. Just from my most recent of voyages. I would not have known about Lord Rymer's ambush without two skilled scouts. One of which has already stood before you today named Kar. The other was a man who died at the end of a Nilfgaardian blade named Perrin. More men would have died that day, including Lord Rymer himself, or even myself if it hadn't been for the prowess of my champion. Himself killed at the end of a Nilfgaardian arrow. Ursa the bear fought for me and in doing so, he ensured that I, my fellows and Captain Rymer and his crew, survived to serve the crown in the future.

“I can boast of Svein Hard-hand. The man who led a group of men across a beach to fight the Frost-giants. He protected me against the treachery of Captain Finnvald and it was his training that ensured that we were able to fight quite as hard as we did. Although there is no way of telling who leads the strongest war-band on the islands, I would proudly place my men in such a contest and that is solely due to the skill of Svein Hard-Hand.

“And his wife. My lands are safe. No bandit dares enter my lands or if they do, they move with as much stealth as they can manage and only do so to get from one place to another. This because otherwise the precautions that Yngvild has put into place means that our farmers are defended, our roads are safe and because those self-same bandits know that if they break the Queen's Law, or the King's law before her, then Yngvild's retribution would be swift and unspeakably violent. It is for the same reason that my village has not been raided in years. The last time anyone tried, their ships were already burning before they made it to harbour and their people had to be pulled from the sea, by us, to save them from drowning.

“I can go on and on and on. Each and every man and woman under my rule is better than me and it baffles me as to why they choose to follow such as I.

“Even new friends here. Kerrass, Master Witcher of the Feline school. Another who helped us with the Ice Giants. Without his help, advice and protection, how many of my men would have been carried from the beach by harpies when we were forced to take shelter from the weather. How many more of my people would have fallen to the clubs of Frost-trolls and Ice-giants without his skills and experience.

“And the Scribbler. Frederick von Coulthard as is. Without his aid, we would not have known where to look, or how to achieve the Queen's will. He will downplay his own involvement and do his best to pretend that his contribution is less than it actually is. But I saw his hand fell a troll and drag my wounded warriors from a battlefield where they would have been trampled under foot otherwise.

“And old enemies turned welcome friends. Like Cirilla who I hated in my youth but who I would now die for. Her wit, charm and understanding has chased away a lot of the ghosts of my childhood and she stands now a wiser person than I, by far. I would gladly sail with her to the ends of the world and back again.

“Those three. Just three of them, boarded an enemy ship and drove it onto the rocks to save my people. There are many who contributed to my survival and the survival of my men that day but you can see three of them sat right there.

“And it is on the backs of their effort that I boarded the Skeleton Ship. Make no mistake, that without them, I would not have got there.”

He paused as his throat seemed thick with something. He took a small drink from his cup in an effort to clear the blockage

The crowd was utterly silent.

“I have nothing to boast about. Nothing that I have done. There are plenty of things that we have done. The people sat at this, my table, as well as those men who lie in unmarked graves, at the bottom of the sea or in some monster's belly. Still more men that float on the wind in amongst the ash of their funeral pyres.”

It took him another moment to master himself. I have no idea what was happening or why. Whether it was the pressure of speaking before so many people or the emotion of the moment that was making it tricky, but the entire hall stood and waited for him to master himself

“The only thing that I can boast about. The only thing that I have that is worth boasting about, is the people that come with me and who, for reasons passing my understanding, insist on following my orders and binding themselves to me with oaths of fealty. I do not comprehend why they keep doing that.”

Helfdan took a deep breath and lifted his eyes to stare at the Queen.

“I am here on the backs of brave men and women, of strong men and women. I am literally carried here into this hall by men and women who insist on dying for me and in my service while steadfastly refusing to allow me to die in theirs.”

He sat down in deathly silence.

There was such confusion in his voice during the last part of his speech that it made more than one person in the hall a little emotional. I carefully looked around, not wanting to break the spell and I could see people nodding in agreement. Still others had hung their heads and were looking at their feet. Jarl Donar turned away while Jarl Udalryk didn't even bother to hide the fact that he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

There was a scraping noise.

“And that,” Svein said, before pausing to allow Yngvild to rise and stand next to him, is precisely why we follow you. You let me be the best I've ever been. That's why I, that's why we follow you.”

Thorvald stood, as did Kar, Kerrass and I were not far behind. Even Ciri stood.

Still the hall was silent. We closed in a little bit as Helfdan was dealing with some, rather complex issues before he looked up at us all and nodded his gratitude and we all sat down into deathly silence.

The silence stretched.

“By the fucking Gods.” Lord Roary bellowed abruptly. Tear tracks stood out on his filthy face. “Are we not going to fucking cheer that?

Roary's men exploded out of their seats, hollering and stamping their feet. Jarl Holger was not far behind him and the cheer began to spread around the hall. It was beautiful.

Poor old Dreng never stood a chance.

He did his best but it was clear to everyone involved that his heart wasn't in it. He gave a rote account of his deeds, enemies that he had defeated, battles that he had fought at and with the crowning acheivement that he had spoke truth to the crown regarding the treachery of his Jarl which proved his honour. But there was no passion in his delivery, no strength in his voice. He was going through the motions and even though, objectively, he had done more and in more impressive ways than men like Isgault or Hragnelf. The cheering and applause that met his recounting of deeds was less than either of those two men.

And all that that left, was the decision. Personally speaking, I was pretty sure who would get chosen but there was a tension in the air nonetheless.

The Skald stepped to the front of the hall.

“Now the other Jarls get to make their choice. Each of them have had placed on their table, the carvings and totems that their people have seen fit to place there. So now they must decide where to place those statues and carvings. To place them on the tables of the men that may join them in the council of Jarls. Who will guard all their southern borders. They have much to decide. Much to weigh and think about if they are going to make their choices at their best. For make no mistake, there will be another Jarl chosen in this hall tonight. We are about to witness history being made. So Lords Jarl? I retire the hall to you.”

He bowed and gestured with a flourish.

The other Jarls spent a large amount of time looking at each other. During which time silence turned into whispering in the halls. The sound of wagers being laid and speculation running rampant. Opinions were made about the declarations of the five men and what might happen. I listened a bit. I was shocked to discover that Dreng was so much of a dark horse. It would seem that absolutely no-one thought that he would get voted to the position although, looking back, I can see it more clearly now.

Skelligans vote with their hearts and their souls rather than with their heads.

The tension stretched.

“Fuck this.” Holger said, rising to his feet. He picked up his arm-load of carvings. He placed a pair of trophies on Roary's table but the rest of them were placed on Helfdan's table.

The betting increased.

“Remember who was first at naming you Helfdan.” Holger said. “Remember who your friends are.”

Udalryk stood then looking tall and grim with his lone remaining eye reflecting fire-light. He divided his statues into three equal parts. One third went to Isgaut, another went to Hragnelf and the third went, much to the crowd's astonishment, to Helfdan. He stopped and spoke to each of the Lords briefly. I don't know what he said to Isgaut or Hragnelf but Kerrass heard him tell Helfdan “I like that you're a Queen's man.”

Donar and Throst rose almost together. Throst, almost carelessly dumped his few statues on Helfdan's table. His people were too few in the harbour to have won many trophies so he only had three to show for it. Donar divided his between Isgaut and Dreng before placing two lone statues on Helfdan's table.

“I would have put more down,” he told the table. “If the issue was in more doubt. Well spoken Helfdan, well spoken indeed. A fact that too many of us, all of us forget. Two lessons for Skellige from your table tonight. Well spoken indeed.”

The last to come was Hjalmar. He had been whispering to his warriors while the other Jarls were handing out their statues. Each of the An Craite statues were picked up by one of Hjalmar's sailors with the leftovers being picked up by some of the guards. Then as one, the statues were placed on Helfdan's table.

“I didn't want to make it too....” Hjalmar began. “I didn't want it to be said that I was showing favouritism or playing politics.” He said. “You were always my man and I will look forward to working with you as my southern neighbour.”

Helfdan rose and moved to take Hjalmar's hand. “Thank you my Jarl.”

Hjalmar grinned. “Not for much longer.”

“You and your father took me and mine in when you didn't have to.” Helfdan told him. “You will always be my Jarl.”

Hjalmar was moved by that and pulled a startled Helfdan into an embrace where he whispered something fiercely which instantly stilled Helfdan's struggling. When they pulled apart, Helfdan was frowning in thought.

The winner was obvious to everyone. We had had to move our drinks to make room for the statues that were piled high on Helfdan's table.

I looked around a bit. Svein was elated and holding in his joy with some difficulty. Yngvild, his wife was also beyond pleased but she was already thinking. Knowing the woman a little bit, I suspect that she was already coming up with plans and schemes as to how to protect Helfdan's new holdings. Kerrass was also moved as well. Ciri looked thoughtful, undeniably pleased for Helfdan, but I could tell that she was scheming something. There was a glint in her eye that I almost felt that I recognised for a moment until I realised that it reminded me of Francesca.

I had not wanted that reminder in that moment and I found myself hanging my head.

I didn't have too much time for moping though.

“Then it is plainly obvious who the new Jarl is to be.” The Skald said with a smile before making his face formal and turning back towards the Queen. “Majesty. It is my duty, honour and joy to present to you your new Jarl. He has been chosen according to tradition and law with the witness of the Gods and the nature of the islands themselves. I present Lord Helfdan as the new Jarl.

“Impossible, he is a bastard.” Someone protested from the direction of clan Heymaey. It might have been Isgaut or one of his other followers but I didn't turn in time to see. I did see Jarl Donar turning to look and there was more than one rumble of agreement by the others that were there. “He is not of the blood.” Someone shouted.

“Correct.” The Skald stood forward and yelled, suddenly the stern task master. “He is not of the blood. He is not descended from the original stock. But despite that, he still managed to gather more plaudits and victories. He inspired more confidence than every other candidate for the table. What does that say about tradition? What does that say about the blood?

“I'll tell you what I think it says. I think it tells us that those of us that do have the blood in our veins have become too complacent with it. That we have grown used to our inherited privilidge. Helfdan and men like him need to prove things and as a result, they are beginning to surpass us.”

I hid a smile. That the response was so quick to come meant that people had already thought of any problems that others might have with the choice in advance. This was planned and rehearsed. People had thought up what kind of objections might be made and had answers ready.

“Bastard he is...” The Skald went on. “...and despite that, he and his men have taught the hall three things today. The first is to treat our Thralls with more respect less they turn on us, the second is to understand that we are nothing without the men that follow us. The third is that blood and heritage is no longer a guarentee of quality, the one of us over the other. How many of the rest of us even acknowledge those truths before his coming? How many more things will he teach us before he is done teaching us things?”

“ENOUGH.” The Queen thundered and the hall quietened instantly. I decided to call that the Queen's “I'm fucking done,” voice.

“The decision is made.” The Queen went on. “Lord Helfdan? Do you accept this charge?”

Helfdan was looking at the table and needed to be prodded into awareness by the grinning Svein.

“Hmmm? Wha'? I mean, I do. Of course I do.”

“Then...”

“I would only ask...”

Cerys laughed. “Newly made Jarl and he's already asking for things from the Queen.”

The crowd laughed with her while Helfdan's expression didn't change.

“I'm sorry Lord Jarl,” The crowd gasped as the Queen asked the question. “What would you ask?”

“I would only ask....” He blinked and stuttered for a moment. My guess is that his ears caught up with the rest of him as he realised what he had just been called. “I would only ask that my original village be included in my territory. The place is dear to me.”

The Queen laughed. “I think that that can be arranged. What say's Jarl An Craite?”

Hjalmar was laughing. “Consider it a gift. Jarl Helfdan.”

Helfdan nodded. Then he grinned suddenly and he seemed as though he was a child of eleven. “Jarl Helfdan.” He said before he staggered, needing to be caught by a laughing Svein as a spell of dizziness affected him. The crowd took it in good humour as Helfdan staggered towards the dais and the throne. One of the guards had produced Helfdan's sword from the back and had handed it to Hjalmar who, in turn, held it out for Helfdan who took it before offering it hilt first to Cerys, his Queen.

“I am your man Majesty.” He said, loudly, carefully and clearly.

Popular opinion has it that the crowd was unanimous in it's adulation of the gesture. That Helfdan was cheered into his position by the five-hundred men and women that were in attendance that night. I would dearly like to say that was so but I'm afraid it wasn't. Helfdan was not a universally popular choice. There were a not insignificant number of traditionalists that bemoaned the fact that Helfdan, a bastard and the chief architect of the downfall of another traditionalist, would be elevated to the position of Jarl over lands that had previously been held by one of the arch-traditionalists in the ficure of the Madman Lugos.

Donar and Udalryk moved to quell this almost immediately but that sentiment was still there. There were also a number of the other foreigners that were unhappy with Helfdan's appointment as it was their shores that Helfdan had been raiding since he had first begun to captain his own crew. Neither the Redanian, Temerian or the Nilfgaardian factions were pleased despite Ciri, the Empress being among the first to throw her arms round the newest Jarl of the islands in joy.

It will also become a matter of popular belief that the banner of the Black Boar was unfurled that evening in the hall for all to see and that men lined up to swear their alleigence to the new Jarl in their droves. So much so that many of them needed to be turned away but I'm afraid that this is not the case.

The banner was actually unfurled two days later. Simply because it took that long for the Seamstresses to sew and get the banner right. The new clan was not named that night of selection as Helfdan, to all intents and purposes appeared to have had no idea that he was going to win. So he hadn't decided on what it was going to be called.

What happened was that he spent the rest of that night in something of a daze before he retired for the night.

The evening had already gone on for far longer than anyone had thought it was going to go on for and people were done with the drama of things and wanted it to stop. I did understand that, originally, there would have been some people swearing oaths to the now Jarl Helfdan. Indeed, I understand that there was more than one person that was upset that they weren't able to do precisely that.

But Helfdan was clearly exhausted. I instantly appointed myself his court chancellor, chamberlain and herald and spent most of the rest of the night heading off well-wishers, merchants and others who wanted to take advantage of the fact that he was clearly falling down tired. I wanted to make sure that he was alright and relaxed and things. I was not the only person that was concerned about his well-being as I soon noticed that his people were arranged in such a way that for any dignitary to get to Helfdan, they had to go through me first.

And I was flanked by a belligerent Witcher on one side and a sweetly smiling Vampire on the other.

I did see a few things though. I noticed that all of the remaining Jarls came to offer their congratulations and I was pleased to notice that none of them were stingy with their praise. They seemed genuinely pleased by the way that things had turned out and had no problem at all letting people know what they thought of the matter.

Ciri could be seen spending a bit of time talking closely with the Queen who was watching what was going on around Helfdan closely and carefully. As well she might but I wondered if I was imagining a predatory light in the Queen's eyes.

Helfdan soon made his apologies though, and retired before vanishing from view the next day. I wasn't too concerned though as both Svein and Yngvild had gone with him, leaving messages that no-one should worry and that Helfdan would return that evening to make some announcements and so that things regarding the new clan should be discussed.

The Queen also dissappeared from view. Apparently she was in talks with a number of people so those people that want to link Helfdan's disappearance with the Queens in order to make it something salacious need to have their heads examined. The Queen was tied up with matters of state. She had a nation to run after all. A nation that was on it's way out of a period of deprivation, change and other, less savoury factors. My understanding was that she was talking with Lord Ermion about what help the Druids could provide regarding the recovery of crops in the face of the extra cold, how much food and things could be traded for, or otherwise procured, from the continent.

She also spent a bit of time with the Skalds and things, working out exactly how much land the new Jarl would be able to call his own as well as how many people and what other things that they could administer and gift to the new clan in order to make the land their own.

Whereas Helfdan had gone riding in order to think. He was seen in town talking to a few people but otherwise, I'm told that he took to horse and rode out the main gate with Svein and Yngvild alongside him. I spent the day trying to get back to normal. It would not be unfair to say that the last few weeks had been times of high adventure, high stress and high emotion. I felt the need to ground myself. I spent some time training with Kerrass who, for my money, was feeling a little bit the same. I also walked with Ariadne a while and I spent some time writing letters and putting some of my notes from the early parts of my Skelligan adventures into shape.

I was beginning to dread the prospect of departing these shores and I wanted to be able to cushion the blow. To put off what was coming next in all the small ways that I could. I was not entirely successful

Helfdan returned in the early evening. I don't know what he had done to ground himself a little but he seemed calmer and relaxed for the benefit of his small time away. Svein and Yngvild also seemed as though they had reaffirmed their love for each other as well as their devotion to Helfdan. I had no idea what had happened during the day and I never asked.

The feast was given. It was the eighth day of festivities and even though there was only supposed to be seven days of partying for the thaw, it was felt that an extra day to celebrate the new clan was warrented. No-one complained as the food came freely and an extra day away from the pressures and the work that would come with the ending of all these feasts and partying.

Helfdan was the guest of honour this time, but now he seemed much more prepared for it. He shook hands and spoke with all of those that came to see him. I didn't allow myself to drift too far from his side. Ready to leap in and protect him from overly hungry merchants and courtiers at any moment. An effort that he seemed grateful for. Some hours into it, the Queen called for order and raised her hands.

“It has been decided.” She said. “The new clan will be called Clan Baedd Du with Jarl Helfdan as it's Jarl. Their demesne will be based in what was the lands of Clan Drummond with their Capital at Holmstein and Kaer Muire. With the addition of the Hidden village as well, granted by Clan An Craite generosity.

There was a short period where men pounded their feet on the floor and fists on the table in acclimation. It was a display that stirred the blood and got men nodding.

“Jarl Baedd Du will leave here in the morning to travel south and survey his lands. Who will go with him as his lords and Hersir. Who will stand guard in his halls and guard his family while they sleep? Who will swear themselves to the banner of the Black Boar? The crown invokes the law of free oath-swearing.”

I should explain this really as I had to check how this works myself. The way it happens on the foundation of a new clan is that men are allowed to ask for release from any existing Jarls or oaths before offering their service to the new Lord. That way, existing Jarls can maintain any power that they want or need to keep hold of. They can be joined by any Thralls that might suit or be released to new service after the oaths are sworn. I am told that this is rarer but it does bear relevence.

But also so that the new Jarl has the right and ability to turn away any that he disagrees with. I understand that the tradition has been used before for existing Jarls to foist their least competent and powerful Lords and Captains on the new Jarl. A similar thing had happened when Clan Tordarroch had moved back to retake Undvik and Jarl Throst was not strong enough to reject the help. He really did have his hands tied about taking what he could get when he went back there.

The other Jarls in the room did not appear surpised or outraged by this and my guess was the there had been some discussion about it already. Therefore meaning that people had already, or should have already spoken about who wanted to go, who would be allowed to go and so on and so forth.

“In the absence of his own hall and given the sudden and unexpected nature of his elevation, I invite Jarl Baedd Du to stand beside me in order to accept all of those who would swear to his banner.”

Helfdan rose. He still looked a little pale to my eyes but he was bearing up well. He walked to stand on the dais, I noticed that he needed a little coaxing to stand quite as tall. He wanted to stand just below the throne itself rather than on the same level, but Cerys seemed to tease him onto the stage gently until he stood beside her.

“So,” The Queen asked once Helfdan was properly positioned. “Who will swear their oaths to the Jarl of Baedd Du and forge a new legacy?”

She stepped back.

“I will.” Svein said, to the cheering of our entire table. I remained seated, as did Kerrass and Ciri, but all the rest of them rose to their feet and cheered.

“Svein.” Helfdan nodded and Svein walked forward with Yngvild beside him. They went to kneel first but Helfdan stopped them.

“No.” He told them. “No-one kneels to me. I would have my people stand.”

They nodded.

“You have my sword.” Svein told him simply. “You have my heart, my head and anything you wish. I would not be parted from your side unless my presence is a trial. I am your most devoted servant and for as long as your line endures, then so to my line will stand next to yours.”

Yngvild's eyes shone with pride.

“My husband speaks for me also.” She said. “No others would have given me what you have given me. I am a warrior and a good one. Other men accept shield-maidens in battle but few would elevate one as high as you have elevated me. And never after they have been pregnant and given birth. We serve you Lord, if you will have us.”

Helfdan nodded and embraced them both.

“Nor would I want any thing less.” He smirked. “Besides, without the pair of you, who will tell me what to do? I didn't want to speak for you though, if you wanted to go I would have....”

“Pssshhhh.” Svein waved him off and the audience laughed.

Helfdan nodded. “So I see no reason why your roles will not remain the same. Svein I name you Hersir and Warlord of my people. It will keep you on land more than you were before which just goes to prove that everything works out in the end. We will have more folk to train and forge into a force that the Queen may use as she sees fit.”

“I am honoured and I will so serve.” Svein said formally. “Although I would rather sail with you.”

Helfdan shrugged. “I am beached until a new ship is built anyway. I would also grant you the lands that were once mine. The Hidden village. I ask only that you maintain me a room for when I have a yearning for that valley and honour existing promises that I made regarding the crew of the Wave-Serpent.”

“I would be proud.” Svein was clearly moved by the gesture. “I will have the others oaths as soon as I may. Otherwise we will be here forever.”

Helfdan nodded. “Yngvild?”

“Lord Jarl?”

“I name you formally, the Master of my guard although you will have much more to defend than before. I charge you with the defense of my lands when I am away and give you the rights to do so as you see fit. I hope that this is suitable.”

“It is.”

“I also hope that this solves other potential...” Helfdan was genuinely worried about something.

“Lord.” Yngvild hugged him again. “I meant what I said. We are yours.”

Helfdan nodded. Reassured.

The husband and wife sat back down.