I had a plan.

To be fair to me, and the way that things turned out, it did actually work. Not entirely in the way that I had intended but, overall, the objective was met and realised. Success was had and I could sail away from the Skelligan islands with a smile on my face and satisfaction in my heart.

There is a small problem which is that, should I ever go back to the islands, I will need to go back accompanied by guards to ensure my safety.

But again, I stress that the original plan has nothing to do with why that actually happened. The plan was sound. The plan worked... in the long run and I maintain, despite Kerrass' protests, that the eventual results of what happened could not have been avoided.

The result involving the fact that, to a certain set of elements of Skelligan society, Coulthard shipping is now fair game to Skelligan pirates is counter-balanced by the fact that arguably the best sailor in Skellige is now a good friend and that his people will come to the defence of our shipping is... significant. But damned if my sister didn't let me have it about that in her last letter.

But I maintain. I will swear on any holy text that you think is important, that my plan was a good one, that the significant players were consulted about the formation of the plan and that the plan achieved it's goal.

It was a good plan. It was a simple plan, which all the best plans are. The problem with the plan was that, as the plan revolved around her, it meant that certain people who shall remain nameless, ended up having a particular part in circumstances that were beyond everyone's control.

What I'm saying is, that the plan did not survive contact with the object that I was planning around.

What I'm really saying is that the Empress has a temper on her and that she can be a little.... I'm going to say exuberant, in the expression of her energy and humour. She also has a very direct method of thinking that is sometimes something of a.... a trial. Obviously, so august a personage cannot possibly be at fault in all of these circumstances and as a result, the blame falls onto my, humble, shoulders.

Shoulders that can bear the load I should say. Nor can I say that I am entirely angry about this. After all, the plan was a success.

I first broached the subject of my plan with Kerrass from my sick bed.

After my long conversation with the Empress, Madame Yennefer escorted me further into the warren of tunnels that lie under Kaer Trolde keep to a room that had been set aside for my use. It was a nice room, well lit by lamps and torches and although there wasn't an outside facing window, there was plenty of ventilation so it was far from being stuffy. There were also rugs on the floor and many tapestrys on the walls to provide insulation from the cold stone. The artistry of the weave was impressive and the rugs were soft but I didn't really get to see any of that because no sooner was I through the door than Madame Yennefer had spelled me to sleep.

Madame Yennefer has told me to stop calling her “Madame” but I cannot help it. She insists that I call her “Yennefer” while stopping short of “Yen” as apparently that shortening of her name has certain suggestions of intimacy which she would be uncomfortable with. She told me all of this in a very prim, clipped and concise manner despite the fact that I had never asked. She also told me that she disliked the title of “Madame” as it made her feel as though she was in charge of a brothel. I asked her what she would prefer. I suggested “Mistress”, a suggestion to which she raised one of her immaculate eyebrows without otherwise changing her expression. She informed me that we were “close enough now that the exchange of titles was unwarranted.” She wondered if I wanted her to call me “Professor” or whether I would prefer “Doctor” in front of my name. I told her that being called either by her would be mortifying. She told me that I should therefore understand.

But despite all of that, I cannot think of her as anything other than the formal title so, for now, Madame Yennefer she will remain.

But at the time she just seemed to aim me towards the large, relatively opulent, bed and gave me a shove. She said something that I didn't catch and I remember nothing more. When I woke I was naked and sweating under the influence of a small fever.

Words cannot express how much I hate the fact that a lot of these chronicles seem to involve me being sick or injured.

Madame Yennefer had taken her instructions to care for me to heart and I was well dosed. But some element of her character prevented her from showing me any kind of sympathy for the illness. The Empress later joked, when I commented on this, that unless the blood was gushing from my open head wound, I still wouldn't receive any kind of sympathy from the raven haired Sorceress.

The Sorceress informed me that I was suffering from stress, anxiety, dehydration, change of climate, fatigue and from not having been taking care of myself properly. She chided me to eat and drink whatever was sent to me as it would have been sent by her. I was to remain in the room as it had been spelled to aid my recovery and that, all being well, I should only be confined here for a couple of days. Then she said that word again and I passed back into the warm embrace of sleep.

I don't remember much of the next day although I am informed that I was fed and watered properly. I was awake more the day after that. I will freely admit to being a bad patient as I wanted to be up and about, doing things, talking to people. I wanted to get my chore done so that I could be back at Kaer Trolde so that I could properly enjoy the coming festival. But then Madame Yennefer pinned me to the bed with a violet gaze and a pursing of her lips, an expression far more terrifying than it sounds when it's written down.

I did not move and ate my chicken broth like a good little invalid. That was when I started to be able to properly look at my surroundings. The stone of the walls was cold which was, presumably why they had been covered by the rugs and the tapestrys. I had a bed, a desk and a drinks table over in the corner that looked to be well stocked. There was also a stand which had my spear in it, broken down into the two halves and tucked into it's oilskin pouch. There was plenty of room for other weapons though.

Lord Voorhis had been as good as his word and had provided a stack of clean shirts and trousers while we waited for the rest of our gear to arrive. That was still due to come to the islands on the boat that had originally been going to carry the pair of us to the festival in the first place as well as the beer and food supplies that Coulthard shipping had been hired to ferry to the islands. As well as the clothes there was also a fur lined leather waistcoat that was for day to day use as well as a wide belt that lay across my mid-riff.

Yennefer (I'm practising not using her title) frowns at it and calls it a “gut retainer” so that all the older Skelligan warriors ,who have possibly spent more of their time at the bottom of an ale barrel rather than out training in the yard or aboard ship raiding Cidaris, can still pretend that they are hale and hearty, young and pretty men. I wondered if I should forgo wearing it but she told me that it was in fashion hereabouts and it wouldn't do any harm. The one thing that she did have to say for the item of clothing was that it was good for posture.

I was also gifted with a pair of gloves and another thick pair of mittens. A large seal fur coat as well as a thick cloak that boasted that it would keep out all but the worst weather. I was told that the latter equipment were gifts from Queen Cerys as well. I did wonder how I was going to get it all home but Kerrass waved off the objection.

Kerrass came to see me that day to discuss when we could go and see the Druids. As I say, I wanted to get moving on that as soon as possible so that I could enjoy the rest of the festival. There were some other activities that were going to happen as part of the festival that I didn't want to miss in the same way that I had missed far too much at Toussaint. There was the normal kinds of tests of strength, tests of courage and tests of knowledge. There were rumours of other things going on and that the Queen had something special in mind for the closing of this particular ceremony.

I was particularly intrigued by the test of insults. It was a strange competition where the objective was to throw off your opponent by coming up with the most vile and inappropriate insult that you could think of. Your opponent was forced to answer within a particular time limit as otherwise you would forfeit the match. There was an overall time limit for the contest before the audience would judge the proper victors. I really wanted to see that but Kerrass had been well schooled by the Sorceress.

“Yennefer has informed me that she will have my testicles removed, so that she can present them to Ariadne in the form of a necklace, if I take you anywhere before the rest of our belongings arrive at the absolute minimum.” The fact that he was smirking as he said this was not reassuring. “Further to this, if I try and take you from the castle to the Druid's place of power before she, Yennefer, agrees then I will suffer “her displeasure”.”

“What does that mean?”

“I haven't the faintest idea. Which is precisely why I have absolutely no intention of allowing you to go anywhere without first having you thoroughly checked out by the Sorceress.”

I swore a bit.

“Relax Freddie. We have plenty of time.”

“Could we get Lord Ermion to come and see me so that he can answer our questions first?”

“I doubt it given that he's already left.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he left on an errand for the Queen after you managed to perform your minor miracle in getting the Empress to listen to some sense. Someday you're going to have to tell me how you did that.”

“Maybe. Ideally I want to have it published in order to remind the world that the Empress and the ruling class are people too, but I could foresee a way that that would end badly. Possibly with a dagger in my back with the whispered words of “Lord Voorhis is very upset.” For all I know, the lady herself will want to keep that discussion private.”

“Hardly, from what I understand they could hear the pair of you out in the castle hall.”

“Surely that's an exaggeration.”

“Probably but Skelligans like that sort of thing. Don't be surprised if you get some appraising looks when you do make it out to the feasting hall.”

“Are people going to pick a fight with me?”

“And try to sleep with you.” He nodded.

“Oh Flame.”

“Try to enjoy it.”

“I'm engaged Kerrass.”

“But you're not married yet. Anyway, you might not have a choice in the matter. Some of these Skelligan women can be quite insistent.” He grinned happily.

“Speaking from experience Kerrass?”

“A gentleman never speaks of such things.”

“You are far from a gentleman though Kerrass as well you know.”

He leered at me.

“Seriously though Kerrass. What do you think of this Skeleton Ship business?”

Kerrass poured himself a cup of my mulled mead. “It's an interesting one. It astonishes me a little bit that it's been allowed to go on for so long if I'm honest.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well,” he scratched his chin. “I've listened to variations on the subject many times now. They're always different but several things are true. It always results in a famine because the crops are decimated by the cold. The fish, which is the other main source of food for the islands, go elsewhere when the ship arrives. There's even a theory that I've heard that this is why the Skelligans were raiders. Because the cold means that crops, fishing and cattle are not reliable as sources of food. The Queen's modern farming and rationing programs will mitigate the disaster but it's still a disaster that afflicts the islands once every two to three years. And no-one's ever done anything about it?”

He shook his head.

“I'm trying not to think about it now but it's tricky because it's a mystery and I want to get into it. But on the other hand, I haven't been hired to do anything about it. But it itches, at the back of my mind. I have theories and possibilities that draw me in.”

“Are you going to offer your services?”

“Nah. At the end of the day, I'm not entirely sure that the Skelligans want the problem solved. I can tell that because it hasn't been solved before. I don't believe for a moment that a Witcher came and had a look at the thing with a view to getting rid of the spirit. I think it much more likely that that Skald made up that passage because he saw me in the audience and didn't want people asking too many questions.”

“Could it be done?”

“Could what be done?”

“Lifting the curse? These people do seem to have more than a little bit of sympathy for the people, or the spirits on that ship.”

“Freddie, you and I have lifted one of the most powerful curses in existence. Of course it can be done. The question is, should it?”

I nodded.

“Kerrass,” I said after a moment's thought. “Don't get angry.”

“Oh Freddie. What have you done?”

“Nothing yet. Just let me tell you about this idea that I have.”

I told him about my plan.

I was shocked. He listened carefully as I explained my reasons and what I wanted to do. The fact that he didn't lose his temper was more than a little bit surprising.

“It's not unfeasible.” He told me, tugging at his lip. “But a lot of things will need to happen in order to get the right people on board.”

“I will tackle Madame Yennefer later when she comes to dose me up. Lord Voorhis will follow, I'm pretty sure, but he will want to send an escort.”

“Which will defeat the object of the exercise.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I'm onboard. Let me know how it goes with the others but I'm under orders not to wear you out. Talk to Ariadne would you. It's a Skelligan Festival and you don't want to upset too many people by refusing to sleep with the wrong person.”

“The first time ever that I would insult someone by not sleeping with them.”

“The Skelligans are an interesting people.”

“That's one word for it.”

Madame Yennefer, Lady Yennefer or whatever she wants me to call her...

At some point, I'm expecting some kind of dream, or I'll be walking past a mirror be in a bath or something and suddenly I shall see her face. Shortly before I grow boils all over my skin or am otherwise unable to sleep. Or that I suddenly can't go anywhere without stepping on a frog. Or that the food and drink that I'm eating becomes rancid or transforms into something unspeakable.

I mean she claims to be more relaxed and understanding now but you always hear about these rumours of things that she used to do. Things that she once had done to people that annoyed her or otherwise obstructed her progress in any way. She also told me once that she does not have any kind of sense of humour that she is aware of and suggested that it had been removed during her tutoring at the academy in Aretuza.

But anyway,

Lady Yennefer came to see me as promised.

“Lord Frederick, how are we today?”

I glared at her. It might have been a risk but I wasn't thinking clearly.

“Two things. First of all, I notice that I am “Lord Frederick” when I'm not allowed to call you “Madame Yennefer”. Second of all, why is the question “How are we doing today?” You are fine. It's me that's ill.”

She gazed at me levelly with an utter lack of humour and folded her arms. “That is because it is we that have to suffer through your illness. Your level of complaint alone is enough to make a person regret having known you in the first place. I shall recommend that Ari...

(turns out that the Lodge of Sorceresses have little nicknames for each other. Mal for Maleficent, Yen for Yennefer, Phill for Lady Eilhard and so on. Triss is still Triss though. One syllable names are good for something I suppose. Ariadne's name had been shortened to Ari. Although she claims to like it I will admit that I do not and will continue to call her Ariadne. It almost seems a little rude to not use her full name to me. As though in shortening it, people are suggesting that her full name isn't really worth saying.)

… keeps you gagged whenever you are ill and not just for during bed chamber play. She will not be able to get any work done otherwise.”

“I'm bored.” I moaned.

“Well, the rest of your belongings are still a couple of days away by our count so you shall simply have to put up with it. My recommendation is that you should ruminate on ways to maintain your proper health in the meantime. Open wide.”

She insists on feeding me my medicine with a spoon.

“Why do you do that?” I asked her.

“Two reasons. The first is that it ensures that you are getting the correct dosage. If I just handed you the bottle and told you to take two spoonfuls of it you, like most men, will simply equate that to being two swallows from the bottle which might cause damage. Open wide.”

I did so and swallowed the spoonful that she gave me.

“And what's the other reason.”

“It makes me feel better when I have to treat idiots such as yourself.”

“This time was not my fault.” I protested. “I simply did as I was ordered to do. By Imperial decree no less.”

“Yes. Lord Voorhis and I have already had words on that subject. Words that he did not enjoy.”

In the manner of nursemaids everywhere she placed the back of her hand against my forehead to check my temperature. The difference being that Yennefer chanted something so that she knew exactly what my temperature was and could adjust things accordingly.

“Well your fever has broken anyway.”

“Why did I have a fever anyway. I was mostly just tired.”

She sighed in a way that reminded me so strongly of the Empress that it was kind of funny. That particular sigh that suggested that she was actively working at it in order to prevent herself from strangling the idiot in front of her.

“Deprivation leaves one open to small bugs. These things still need to be fought off by the body. One of the ways that it does this is to create a fever in itself. The normal, properly fed, properly rested body,” she glared at me as though this was somehow my fault “would have fought off the illness with ease with, at most, maybe a cough or a sneeze. But those people that do not take care of themselves properly are liable to suffer.” Another glare.

“Thank you for the lecture.”

She gazed at me for a long time.

“You know that I could very easily have someone replace your food with a thin gruel that contains all the proper nutrient and sustenance that you need in order to complete your recovery. I could also inform the guards outside your door....”

“I have guards outside my door?”

“Yes. It's an honour thing. Do not interrupt.”

“Sorry.”

“I could tell them to prevent any visitors from coming in and inform the thralls and the guards that any kind of stimulus would be harmful to you and that they are to prevent any kind of books or writing equipment to be brought to you. Then I could make it so that you cannot sleep and must suffer through the boredom.”

“Please don't do that.” I said in a small voice. “I'm sorry.”

She nodded as though the world had returned to it's proper and ordered state before moving towards the door.

“Lady Yennefer?”

“Freddie...” She warned.

“Sorry, sorry. Yennefer. I need a favour.”

“What is it?” She glared at me suspiciously.

I told her about my plan. She sat down on a chair, crossed her legs and clasped her hands together on her lap as she thought it through.

“Your plan does have merit.” She declared, much to my astonishment. “I will even speak to Queen Cerys on your behalf as she would, undoubtedly, want to send some kind of honour guard to ensure everyone's safety which would defeat the object of the exercise. But the thought behind the plan is a good one. The sentiment behind it is even better.” She considered a little more. “Yes. I think that would work. Very well Lord Frederick. I shall order paper, a quill and ink to be brought to you. I cannot speak for you but I am still unsatisfied with the chapter of our book on the origins of Jack. We do not have enough theories and we can present no truths. I do believe that our critics might site this as to suggest that we have not done our jobs properly. We need more theories.”

I agreed with her and we talked about the book a little bit more. She took the criticism that her writing was a little too technical for the average reader and that she needed to make it more readable, rather well. In turn she told me that my approach was a little too conversational and that I needed to tighten up the language a little in order to properly put our ideas across to our more academic readers.

She was not wrong.

But we both agreed that I couldn't do much work until my original copies of the chapters that I was working on had arrived from Novigrad.

Lord Voorhis was the next person to come knocking at my door. He was a little bit behind Lady Yennefer and I was left wondering whether or not he had delayed his visit in order to make sure that he wouldn't bump into her. He laughed when I put this to him.

Or rather, he chuckled. Lord Voorhis never does anything to extremes. He's a lot like a Witcher in that regard.

“Lady Yennefer and I do not see eye to eye on many matters Lord Frederick.” He told me. “Not least of which, most recently, was my arbitrary summoning of you and your companion to the islands. She is rather cross with me at the moment which I find a little ironic given that she is more than pleased with the outcome.”

“It does rather strike me that Lady Yennefer is never happy unless she has something to be angry about.”

“It leaves one wondering how Lord Geralt stands it.” He agreed.

“My understanding is that whenever he gets upset with it, he goes off to go “hunting” and leaves her to it.”

“Your source for that information will not thank you for that.”

“I'll live with his disappointment.”

“Really? I rather thought that you would hang off every word that Professor Dandelion gave you.”

“Ah,” I smirked. “So you have access to the same source then do you?”

“Naturally.” He looked at my suspiciously. “Are you sure you wouldn't like a job. I pay well.”

“I am otherwise employed at the moment thank you.”

“A pity.” He shook himself. “Lord Dandelion is a well known scoundrel but he is able to ferret out all kinds of information. Having worked for several intelligence services in the past I took the liberty of ensuring his loyalty to the Imperial throne by employing him.”

“I would have thought that his loyalty to Ciri was all consuming.”

He winced at my use of the familiar name. It seemed involuntary but with Lord Voorhis, you can never quite tell.

“Yes but that same loyalty has got him into trouble on more than one occasion. Driving him into the arms of notorious gangsters and scum before enjoying the loss of his freedom. But he is a good provider of information. Some of it is even useful.”

I grinned. He had smuggled in a small flask of mead which we were sharing slowly.

“How's she doing?” I asked after taking a small drink. I was still unused to the power that the stuff had and I didn't dare slur my words the next time Lady Yennefer came in to see me.

Yes. “Lady” Yennefer seems to work better. I shall have to try that the next time the two of us speak.

“She's doing better. Ah, the problems with language. She is better, but she is not better if you understand what I mean.”

“I think so.”

“Have you ever seen a new born horse?”

“Many, many times” I said, a little flatly if I'm honest. Father's horse stables were important parts of castle life but Lord Voorhis didn't catch the tone

“Then she reminds me of that. She's wobbly, very very shaky but she's taking strides forward. Still a little too keen to procrastinate and ask for too much advice when she already knows what she needs to do and, indeed, has already decided what she needs to do. But she wants the confirmation, she needs the confidence reinforcement. Every so often, the old Empress shines through.” He considered that for a moment. “Mostly when she's angry about something which I might need to look at. It's going to do no-one any good at all if I just keep her angry all the time in order to get her best work out of her.”

“Least of all her,” I put in.

“Quite right. But if I know that an important meeting is coming up or a vital decision needs to be made. Then I might slip in one of those little complaints she gets from people that she despises about “behaviour unbecoming an Empress” into her morning intelligence briefings just before the important stuff happens...”

“I still think it might be better for everyone if you find a different way to engage her mind.”

He subsided a little. “You are probably right. But for emergencies though, I think it might be a good thing to have in reserve.”

“What's the plan for the near future then?”

“She wants to stay for the duration of the festival. She no longer speaks as if she wants to do anything particularly stupid and maintains that she will stand with Queen Cerys in her allotted space. But at the same time, there is something sentimental about it for her.”

He accepted my passing the flask of mead back.

“This entire festival strikes me as being a form of catharsis. A festival of rebirth really although it does seem to suggest that that has come about by accident rather than design.”

“And after that?”

“We take ship over to Novigrad where we are being met by the ninth regiment of Heavy Cavalry. The first Northern brigade of formal Imperial Forces as well as several elements of the Temerian heavies that are still employed by the Temerian crown before the war. Lord Roche will command the military side of the escort as we march down the Pontar and into Aedirn in order to escort the Empress to oversee the crisis in the upper Pontar.”

“You mean Vernon Roche?”

“Yes. I'm told that he knows the area. It will also be a show of Northern and Southern cooperation and to let the bickering Aedirnians know that the Empress means business.”

“So how long are you actually planning on keeping her here?”

“Until after the passing of the ship. I think you were correct Lord Frederick. She has been working herself too hard. Some time with old friends in familiar places as well as the change in culture will be good for her. I bear as much guilt in not having seen that as anyone.”

He cleared his throat.

“Have I mentioned how grateful I am to you Lord Frederick?”

“Grateful enough to go along with a plan I'm concocting.”

“What's the plan?”

I told him. He was not amused.

“Lord Frederick. I am, of course, incredibly grateful for all of the work that you have done and continue to do for the Empire as a whole. However, that is a disastrous idea and I simply cannot condone it.”

It would not be unfair to say that argued rather strongly but I resolved to work on it. I did use the fact that I had Lady (Yes, that seems to work better in my head) Yennefer's approval on the subject of my plan and wondered what that said about the quality of the plan.

He pointed out that Lady Yennefer (still a little awkward in certain contexts though) had once ostracised and offended everyone that she had ever known in the pursuit of a single goal. That even then, she had needed to be rescued.

He was chased out by the Lady in question and I informed him that I would be continuing to pursue the topic in the mean time.

I slept again. This time with the aid of some extra herbs that were slipped into my medicine rather than any kind of magical aid and in the morning I was able to wobble into the main hall of Kaer Trolde. I spent the next couple of days just soaking up the culture and the life of what it means to be Skelligan. I listened to the story of the Skeleton Ship several times by several different speakers. I also asked many questions of those Skalds who, even though I must have been more than a little aggravating, this strange foreign scholar who came with lists of questions, more questions and even more questions, they were always happy to answer all the questions that I had.

Also, tellingly and in contrast to some professors that I know, whenever they didn't know the answer to the question that I was asking them. They were happy to admit it. They didn't care that much and were much happier to say something like “No-one knows” in a portentous and dire tone, than to try and pretend as thought hey had more knowledge than they actually had. They were also more than happy to point me in the direction of someone who would actively know more if the subject was more mundane. I appreciated that. I would have taken up more than one extra correspondence with any number of them.

But none of them could read.

The flow of information was not entirely one way either. I spent a lot of time answering questions as well as asking them. It was almost an informal trade, in return for my questions being answered they, would ask questions of their own. There was more than one period of time in that hall where I was sat in a group of Skalds, or their apprentices, all of us asking questions of each other. It was the strangest of feelings. Not entirely like being a lecturer as lectures have a tendency to be dry and limited to the information that I am trying to hand over to the listeners. This was the telling of stories and to hear people laughing at my jokes, even the feeble ones, and cheering or groaning at the recounting of events was...

Not going to lie. It was amazing.

I spent a lot of time recounting adventures that I had shared with Kerrass. They were particularly fascinated with the adventure regarding Sleeping Beauty and the episode in Angral where I met Ariadne despite losing interest in what happened after Ariadne left the tower. They seemed to have a fondness for those episodes where there weren't as much politics involved. They were uninterested in what happened with my father or the circumstances regarding the disappearance of Francesca.

But they loved the story of the cult of the First-born. They cheered at the destruction of Bishop Sansum and his followers after having wept at the fate of the Sally, Saffron and Pula. There were several times where people would be called over with words that I did not understand in order for friends to listen to the same story over and over and over again.

I didn't have the stamina to do a great deal of this as I was still tiring easily but I was given the impression that I was making myself a lot of friends.

And enemies. It is very easy to make both in the Skelligan isles and I would council anyone who intends to visit that place to be careful with their words and to ensure that they make the right friends and the right enemies.

It's not that some people didn't like my stories. I don't think that that was a factor at all. What I think was a factor was that the wrong people were listening to what I was telling them. They didn't like some of the sentiments that I was expressing. Some of this was quite surprising to me and I didn't really get to hear a lot of this actively expressed but a number of people didn't like the story about the failed uprising in Angral because the heroine of that story wasn't human. Someone else didn't like that story because the person who saved the day was actually female.

I explained that I had no control over the fact that I was reciting what had actually happened rather than crafting a story but I was told that this was not actually going to achieve anything. The people that were actually offended never came to talk to me. Go figure.

Another complained about fault that ignored the truth of the events was that Kerrass and Sleeping Beauty did not live happily ever after. They were also disappointed that we did not kill the dragon as apparently, they had been really excited about the prospect of a story with a real, honest to Flame Dragon in it and there wasn't a titanic struggle with said Dragon where the heroes vanquished the beast. They claimed that this made the story boring and pointless.

My arguing that, again, this wasn't a story so much as it was a recount of actual events was countered with the argument that I should step down and let a Skald or a Bard tell a proper story.

I did so without complaint. The man doing the arguing was later pointed out to me as a ship Captain of the Longboat Seastrider. He wore his long beard plaited which fell to his chest and his chainmail was rich. Instead of the normal weapon of the Skelligans, which tended towards Axes, he wore a hammer at his belt, slung from a metal loop that was strapped to his side. He didn't seem like a particularly bad person, just rather set in his ways.

I stepped down from my position and the man's crew jeered at my perceived cowardice and I was informed by one of the other Skalds that I should have refused as now, The Captain, a man called Dreng, would be arguing with me and belittling me at every turn. I was told that the correct thing to do was for a bard or a Skald (a title which they tentatively gave me, as in “That Foreign Skald” as they quickly learned that I was a teacher at the university.) would not give up his place until he was done with it. That I should have refused and responded with violence when things got worse.

When I pointed out that I was ill and that Captain Dreng, or Hersir Dreng if you prefer, could bend me in half I was told that that wasn't the point. That in showing my courage would mean that I would not be troubled again.

I was unconvinced. But it was done with now.

I also met the Queen's brother. A man called Hjallmar or at least I think that's how you spell it. He was a big man with his families red hair and beard. Hugely muscled with an equally huge smile and voice. You don't see Hjallmar coming. You hear him. Throwing jokes and insults left and right with giddy abandon. Switching from the language of the Skelligan isles and to the normal language of the Northern Kingdom with ease. He listened to the stories, laughed, joked, wept, heckled, groaned and cheered with all of them before insisting that I join him for a horn of mead.

That was the last thing that I remember of the first day that we were waiting for the arrival of the rest of our belongings.

The following day I started things off with a hangover that left me feeing disoriented and tired for far too long. A fact for which Lady Yennefer had absolutely no sympathy at all although she did express some surprise that I was alone in my room and that I had managed to avoid any attempts by some of the women of court to get me into bed.

As I say, I couldn't remember a thing but apparently I had made a big fuss about being promised to someone else and that I could not possibly break that promise. I had even waxed lyrical, apparently, about the virtues of remaining faithful to the dark queen of my heart and that I would sooner die than to hurt so fine a lady. So fine a woman. According to an amused Lady Yennefer there had been two reactions to this. The first was that a number of the local bards had taken my story about the meeting of the Skald and the Vampire.

I'm really sorry to those of you that might, quite correctly, be offended by my being referred to as a Skald. I'm not a Skald as my ability to read and write actually means that I cannot possibly be a Skald as I would be disqualified. But certain members of the crowd at Kaer Trolde had decided the matter. Including a couple of Skalds had decided that I was the nearest foreign equivalent in that I tell stories in order to teach.

I did wonder why I had been granted this honour and wondered why they were so happy with it. Kerrass had the theory that there is actively no Skelligan word for “Scholar”, “Professor” or “Lecturer” and as all teaching would be done by the village Skald, it was the closest equivalent that they could think of.

“But there was now something of a competition going on between the minstrels and the Bards as to who could compose the best poem or song regarding the love that existed between the two of us. So important was the competition that Queen Cerys herself was forced to take a hand and said that the results would be judged in the days leading up to the final approach of the Skeleton Ship. I was informed that my services would be required in order to take part in the judging.

Words cannot express how little I was looking forward to that.

The other reaction to my determination to remain celibate was that a group of women had gotten together and decided to take bets on who could get me into bed first. Apparently the pool was quite interesting as well as bets on how good I would turn out to be, as well as the amount of alcohol they would need to feed me in order to get the deed done.

Apparently there were prizes. One prize, obviously, would be awarded to the woman that got me into bed first and the other prize was for the woman that did so with the least alcohol involved. There were some others as well which Lady Yennefer teased me with including penalties for those women that failed to get me into bed as well bets regarding the size of my manhood and a bet in case the pair of twins managed to get me at the same time.

I will be honest that, although, a little while ago, I would have been pleased to be the subject of this kind of attention I found that I was nervous and a little put off by this. Almost offended by being reduced to such a factor.

Lady Yennefer laughed and chided me, surprisingly gently considering, at the double standards. She told me that games like this are played by men all over the continent and all over the world. From the lowliest tavern to the highest palace taking bets on how many women they can bed and targeting women who would be considered particularly chaste.

She is not wrong, but the prospect made me uncomfortable. She sympathised and suggested that I talk to Ariadne about it. Lady Yennefer also suggested that my fiancée herself might want to listen to the poems, songs and sagas being composed in her honour and that I should invite her, along with the theory that her presence might help me guard my virtue a little better.

I thanked her for the advice before telling her about the road-block that I had run into regarding Lord Voorhis and his negativity towards my plan.

“Leave it with me,” she said with a sinister smile. She stopped short of rubbing her hands together and cackling though, which I thought was a positive.

I did speak to Ariadne. At first, she was confused as to my discomfort.

“We're not married yet Freddie, why are you so uncomfortable? My understanding is that Kerrass is going to do his very best to get you drunk, and laid during your stag party so... why so upset?”

“Because I love you and am promised to you.”

“So?”

“So isn't that a betrayal?”

“Not to me.”

I said nothing.

“Oh Freddie,” She said. “I do love you but you are wrong. Remember that I am a scientist.”

“So?”

“So I am aware of a number of things. The first is that you are in Skellige where alcohol famously flows freely. They are a society of hard work, hard fighting and hard playing. They do not have time for the moral codes that other places impose on themselves. So alcohol will be flowing freely and you cannot refuse as that would be refusing their hospitality which would be insulting to them. Secondly, you are a young man...”

Young...” I protested.

“And there are certain elements of your physiology that you must come to terms with. Although your brain might be wanting to refuse the advances of these women, your body will be more than willing to accept their advances. You cannot help this, it is Biology. It is science. The alcohol will have lowered your inhibitions. You should be at peace with that. If we were married and oaths have been sworn then that would be a different thing and I would be upset and annoyed at you, although I would have more sympathy for you if someone took advantage of you and say....drugged you in some way.

“But you are a slave to your biology. Indeed, it is something I intend to take full advantage of when we are married. To fight it is futile and the only way to avoid it is to remove yourself from the situation by leaving the party early and refusing to drink anything other than heavily watered wine or milk. But that would insult the Skelligans.

“Ariadne. I love that you're understanding, but that's not the problem.” I considered this statement. “Well, that's not all of it. It's correct to say that I don't want to hurt you. But this is my sense of personal honour that we're talking about. I would feel as though I was betraying you and betraying the love I feel for you.”

“Fascinating.” She said after a short while. “Humans really are fascinating creatures. You more than most and I love you for that. I understand that you have some errands to run?”

“Yes. We're waiting for Lady Yennefer to sign off on my health and for the rest of our gear to arrive and then we will set out.”

“Well, I'm in Toussaint at the moment arranging for you to visit someone. When you're done with your errand and the cold confines you to the halls of Kaer Trolde, call and I will come. I will wear my best “evil Queen” costume and face so that I can terrify my rivals into submission.”

“They are hardly rivals for my affections.” I commented.

“Ah Freddie, you say the sweetest things.”

“Have I told you that the local bards and poets are composing songs in our honour?”

Hearing a vampire squeal in delight is something that I hope I never get tired of.

“Would you like to come and help me judge the best one?” I added to the mix.

I could feel her doing a little dance of joy, wherever she was before she gasped in inspiration. “We can have the best one performed at our wedding reception.”

I laughed and let her get on with her latest train of planning for our wedding. She told me that she would be getting in touch with Emma in order to arrange the matter and about how excited she was to hear it.

I passed word to Queen Cerys that the winner of the competition about the best saga regarding Ariadne and I would be invited to castle Coulthard in order to perform their composition before our wedding guests and word soon filtered out as bards, Skalds and Minstrels disappeared off to dark corners to begin work on their magnum opus.

But it was still the time of the Skeleton Ship and none of this was allowed to get in the way of the educating and informing that was still going on regarding the coming of that most famous of ghost ships.

After the initial excitement of my introduction to Skelligan society was over though, things started to die down. There was still several efforts by various women to get to know me but I made sure that Kerrass was nearby at all times and that he was well aware of my desires and opinions on the subject. My other semi-permanent escort was Hjallmar, the Queen's brother and technically the Jarl in charge of Clan An Craite.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

The gossip says that he was once the rival of the Queen in their mutual desire for the throne. Skelligan Monarchs are elected rather than born which I suspect makes things interesting in different circumstances. But since Queen Cerys was chosen by the other Jarls, Hjallmar has settled into his role as his sister's strong right hand.

He actually admitted that although, at the time, he had desired to be the King, since seeing how much work was involved he was actually grateful for the fact that he didn't have to do those things. He was quite open about the fact that his sister had brought the Skelligan Islands into the modern world and that she had to drag it, kicking and screaming and clawing. But now, the positive changes were starting to be seen. That he would have been a traditionalist, basing the economy of the islands on raiding and he was well aware that this would not have been workable for much longer.

So now, he could drink with his men, fight with his enemies and do so free from the guilt inherent in thinking that he should be doing something else. He was educated and I found that his father, Jarl Crach an Craite had seen to it that both his children had been taught how to read and write. Hjallmar had complained bitterly while Queen Cerys had absorbed the information like a sponge. Another reason that Hjallmar was forced to concede that his sister was making for a better monarch than he ever would have.

Hjallmar had that trick. He was funny, charming and able to put you at ease quickly. When you were talking to him, you felt as though you were the very centre of his world. The most important thing that existed. But later, I was left with the feeling that he had forgotten me when we were separated. I wasn't bitter though. Despite his carefree and easygoing manner, this was still the leader of a clan, Captain of a warship and a formidable warrior.

I saw him train with his weapons at one point which was a learning experience. Skelligans use their shields differently to just about everyone else on the continent. The vast majority of armies on the continent are trained to the formation. They stand, shoulder to shoulder and move in that way. In a very, formal, direct way of movement. It's that attitude that makes some analysts describe battle as being like a dance.

Skelligans can do that. They do know what a Shield-wall is for and know how to use it. But they are also sea fighters and mountain warriors. Which means that they have to be aware that the shifting deck beneath their feet can destroy the most careful formation ever invented. They know that safe footing might make formation fighting impossible. So they are also taught to fight as individuals.

The way Kerrass put it was that fighters on the continent are trained to be soldiers whereas fighters in Skellige are trained to fight as warriors. They drill in fighting one on one or one on two or three. Where continental soldiers use a shield in order to protect their own bodies and, hopefully, the body of the person standing next to them, Skelligans use their shields as weapons just as effectively. Sometimes, that shield was slung onto the warrior's back in order to facilitate the warrior being able to use their larger weapons, or an off hand weapon. Their shields are almost universally round and made out of wood but they often have sharpened edges designed to be driven towards people's throats, eyes and other joints.

Another thing to point out is that the Skelligan's primarily use axes rather than swords. This is for two reasons. The first is that metal is actually relatively scarce on the islands which means that the manufacture of a sword is quite expensive. In place of one sword, a skilled Blacksmith could make two axes. It's a simple cost saving measure which means that if a man is carrying a sword then he either took it from the body of a fallen enemy, or that he is wealthy enough to be able to afford one.

It's a similar mark of status as full plate harness is on the continent. Heavy metal armour is not so much of a thing on Skellige due to the danger of people falling into the sea, the deep lakes and rivers. That, or the combination of metal and cold weather meaning that the wearer will freeze to death. They mostly wear leather. Metal is sometimes sewn into the leather armour over vital areas such as the heart, but other than that... The other factor regarding the use of axes is that axes can be used to tug a shield out of the way which is how Skelligans can easily tear apart the careful formations of the continent. Wealthy warriors or important folk have heavier armour. But they only don it when it becomes clear that there is about to be a fight. It's also always the kind of thing that can be removed quickly and easily to help prevent drowning.

But I saw Hjallmar fight. He was like a storm. Fury and movement. Given the bulk of him and the other warriors I expected them to be much calmer and careful in their martial movements but Hjallmar was, by no means, alone. When I asked him how he had become so formidable he told me that it was one of the benefits of being a Jarl's son. The vast majority of Skelligan fighters are not fighters by trade. They might be sailors Blacksmiths, tanners, hunters, farmers and whatever else they need in order to keep society functioning. So although all men, and women, of the isles are expected to be able to take up arms in defence of their native land, the children of lords and their professional guardsmen can indulge themselves in properly training in martial skills.

I also saw Queen Cerys train which is when I learned why she is called “The Sparrowhawk.” Queen Cerys is another woman whose force of personality mean that you always think of her as being larger and more physical than she actually is. But she is quite small and slight. But she moves with a speed that is terrifying.

She maintains her distance from her opponents before darting forwards and striking in quick succession when her opponent leaves an opening. She trained, primarily, with the Empress and other than with Witchers, I have never seen swords move so fast.

Kerrass' assessment was that of the two women, the Empress had the edge, but only just. The Empress was that little bit more instinctual whereas Queen Cerys had my problem of sometimes over thinking the situation.

Obviously she would kick my ass though. I trained with no-one at that point as Lady Yennefer was still an oppressive presence and insisted that I not over exert myself. I complained but even Kerrass was cowed by that level, violet gaze and pursed lips.

There is one other incident that took place before we could leave to consult the druids. It might seem a little odd and out of place but it's important to mention. I also think it's going to be really important for the future of Skellige and the continent.

Our family's ship came into port. Carrying food, beer, wine, cloth, herbs, spices and all the things that you might want for celebrating a festival. Stopping short at some of the gnomish fireworks on the grounds that there was no confidence that the fires would actually start given the low temperatures that we were told to expect.

But it also contained the rest of Kerrass' and my belongings which included, but were not limited to, our horses, Kerrass' Alchemy equipment, our cold weather gear, my writing and the thing that caused the problems which was Father Gardan's axe.

For those people that might have forgotten, Father Gardan was a priest of Kreve that we met while we were investigating the cult of the first born. He was an old man by the time that we met him. Old and worn down by the things that he had done and the things that he had seen. We also had reason to believe that he had been the victim of a curse at some point but this was impossible to prove as we ran out of time to properly investigate before he was killed by some of the cultists.

Before he had been an old priest out in the woodland though, Father Gardan had been Knight Father Gardan. The Silver Slayer, The Captain of the Axe. Smiter of infidels and destroyer of heretics. He had been one of the foremost soldiers of the militant arm of the Church of Kreve and many people, including me, remembered being told stories of Knight Father Gardan saving innocents and protecting those less fortunate than himself.

The fact that he was often portrayed as protecting those self-same innocents from the evil and sinister Elves and other non-humans is one of those things that is best left forgotten.

What shouldn't be forgotten is that the man spent the vast majority of his life in service towards a power greater than himself. The fact that the thing that he was serving had some questionable morals and ethics when examined from a more modern perspective should not subtract from all of the genuine good that the man did. Such as clearing out cursed ruins, destroying monster dens and genuinely protecting villages from marauding bandits.

The story was that he had attempted to desecrate a shrine to some kind of dark God or Goddess but the entire thing had gone badly leaving him at the loss of whatever it was that had made him a powerful warrior. He described himself as a coward and that he had lost his courage. To me, I thought that this was him being unfair on himself but he certainly struggled with things that the rest of us would take for granted. Such as moving around, going out in public, talking to people and generally interacting with the world.

But when he died, he did so with his axe in his hands. Even though he must have been shaking. I know this because when I met him he was sweating and shaking with fear.

At seeing me in all of my glory.

He was a brave man though. I admired him really. He had a lot to overcome and he did so with determination despite all of the things that he fought with.

When we found him, someone had stolen his axe. The thief had been an evil man who had sought to destroy and tarnish the legacy of a great hero and I had taken no small amount of pleasure in reclaiming the axe from the rat-fucker's corpse.

The church of Kreve had not wanted to take the weapon. Not because they thought it was cursed. But more because they didn't think it was fitting. I was told that because I had quested to reclaim the axe then it belonged to me. My intention was to ensure that it found it's way into the hands of someone who deserved it and would live up to the legacy. Not of the Elf killing and minority bashing but of the working to protect those that were weaker than themselves.

It was a beautiful weapon. Black metal haft with a double bladed butterfly blade. Runic symbols were drawn around the blades along with tracery that drew the eye. I had been carrying it around with myself for quite a while in the hope that I would find someone that would be worthy of my giving the axe over to.

It was heavy. Far too heavy for me despite Kerrass' suggestion that I should learn to use the axe myself.

In defence of the trouble starting, my spear and dagger were already in my rooms. These are the weapons that I consider to be my personal weapons so when someone tells me that I'm only aloud to bring my personal weapons then, to me, they mean that I bring my spear and dagger. To Kerrass that would mean his steel sword as his silver sword is more a tool of his trade.

I guess that when someone says to only bring your personal arms into a place, the things that you leave behind are your shield, your bow or other missile weapon. Anything more than a couple of knives I suppose, one for your belt and one for your boot. Kerrass maintains that if you need more than that then you either need throwing knives or you need to rethink your strategy because you're doing something wrong. Some people like to use knives as a form of personal decoration. That isn't for me. Like Kerrass, I always wonder how you intend to use more than one or two knives at any one time. If you're any good with your weapons, you shouldn't be leaving knives behind in people's bodies.

So when we went down to the harbour to collect our goods and lead our horses back up to the stables, the axe was strapped to the side of the saddle. I had had to have those straps specially made to carry the axe. As I say, it's not a small axe and having it on one side or the other threatened to overbalance the horse. In all the pictures, Father Gardan had it strapped on his back or carried it in his hand. The balance point for that is just beneath the head of the blades.

But it was on the side of the saddle when I was leading Cassie (my horse) up, through the tunnel of Kaer Trolde towards the bridge and the keep itself. We led our horses into the courtyard where they were taken off by grooms to wherever the horses were kept at the keep itself.

I went looking once. I couldn't find it. I considered asking directions on the grounds that I wanted to check on my horse but that seemed to counter the point of the game. It also needed to be said that cavalry is not a thing that the Skelligans are into. They have riding horses or working horses so Kaer Trolde's stables, such as they were, were to house the animals of visiting guests.

We stopped in the courtyard to take our bags and things inside and Kerrass remained behind to chat to one of the guards about something, telling me to go on ahead. I nodded, Kerrass often finds these people around the place where he suddenly has to stop and go over to talk to them on some subject. I didn't think too much of it. I had my writing equipment again and was trying to order some thoughts so that I would be able to record the story of the Skeleton Ship as I had heard it. Not the full version that I published but just so that I could get the shorthand down on paper before it fled my mind all together.

So I had my bags over my shoulder and I was carrying the axe in my left hand. It was not a small load but as with most of these kinds of things it's more about proper arrangements of the gear around me and around the bags that made it easier to carry.

To get to the guest quarters I had to walk through the main hall. This will have been in the middle of the day really and so, rather than the more heavy duty carousing that would be done later, it was more of a subdued, people sitting around talking kind of situation. There was still food and drink being consumed, stories being told, dice being rolled and things but of the important people in residence, the only one present was Jarl Hjallmar of the An Craite clan.

So there wasn't a great deal going on as I walked through the place. Not enough to draw my eye. For Kaer Trolde, a low hum of background conversation, a sudden outburst of laughter, a few shouted jokes but nothing that would cause any kind of outburst. So I was in my own head. “Head in the clouds” as my father used to say and yell at me about so often.

“Nice axe.” Someone called out to me.

“Thank you.” I called back. Not really taking notice of what was happening as I kept on walking.

“I said, nice axe.” The voice was now a little closer.

“And I said Thank you but if you'll excuse me I...”

“Give it to me.”

“What?” I turned to see who was talking to me and woke up on the floor, the rest of my gear scattered around me.

If the Skelligans do have one fault it is that they tend to value strength of arms over all other virtues and that possession of something is most of the law. Hjallmar had seen what had happened and came over to help me to my feet. My head was spinning and I spat blood.

“What the fuck was that for?” I wanted to know, my eyes spinning.

“The shine has worn off you.” Hjallmar told me. “You are no longer new and exotic.”

“Does that mean that they get to punch me in the face?” I spat blood again.

Hjallmar laughed, he does that a lot. “You can argue that you are a guest of the Queen's hospitality and that she has promised to defend you. I suspect that this will mean that you get your axe back but then you will be seen as hiding behind a woman's skirts so you will be described as cowardly.”

“It's not my axe.” Testing out my injuries, I discovered that I had bitten my own lip when I had been struck and it was this that was bleeding. I spat again.

“Which is even more reason that they can take it from you. The other thing is that you are not Skelligan. That means that you are less than human in the eyes of true born Skelligans which means that crimes against each other are punished severely but crimes against outlanders, such as yourself, are sometimes treated more leniently.”

“Is this a political thing then?”

“Probably. Especially knowing that crew. They are raiders. They've made their living from raiding your coastlines for years just as their fathers did and their fathers did before that. Now my sister's ruling is that such raiding is not illegal but it needs to be moderated. So they are no longer as wealthy as they once were. Not as favoured as they once were.”

I spat again and wiped the involuntary tears from my eyes, looking for where the axe went.

“The other problem that you have is that Dreng...”

“Was it him that took the axe?” I looked for the Captain and his men that I had run into earlier.

“Not him. But one of his cronies. I think you would be mistaken for thinking that Dreng didn't have something to do with it though. He doesn't like you very much.”

“Why?” I found Hersir Dreng and his men sat at a long table towards the right of the room. Well away from the avenue that I had taken to get through the masses.

“Dreng sees it that you are insulting Skelligan traditions by being a Skald but not a Skald. By being a man but not a man. He thinks you are a coward.”

“Why?” I asked again.

“You use a spear. You keep the enemy a long way away.”

“That's the point.”

“Which is his point.” He laughed at me again and clapped me on the shoulder. “We are a simple people Lord Frederick but never assume that just because we are simple, we can't think complicated. Lord Dreng is doing something here and now he waits for your counter move. The benefits of our society are that once you win, or lose, then the matter is finished.”

“Any one of those men could tear me apart with their bare hands.”

“But if you face that with courage, you will earn their respect.”

I could see the axe now. Some of the men sat with Lord Dreng, were passing the weapon around. I could now recognise the one that struck me. A tall, lanky man with a black beard and bushy hair. He was swarthy in appearance and the way he laughed set my teeth on edge.

I didn't like him. I know that that might come as a shock to many people. I could understand Lord Dreng... sorry, I keep forgetting to call him Hersir Dreng. I could understand his fear that he and his kinds of people were becoming obsolete in the new and more modern Skelligan islands so I could understand the urge to be a cultural conservative and traditionalist. But, as sometimes happens. The man that had taken the axe was making me cross.

“So what do I do?” I asked Hjallmar.

Who laughed again. “That my friend, is up to you.” He walked away.

“A lot of help you are.” I said to his retreating back.

I looked around for Kerrass who was nowhere to be seen. People weren't looking at me but I got the feeling that I was being watched. That people were waiting to see what I was going to do. The urge to walk away was strong but I was in this now. I needed to do something. I took a deep breath, took a mug of ale from a passing thrall and drank it for some courage before walking up to the table that Dreng and his men were sat at. I stood before the man holding the axe even though it wasn't the person who had taken it originally.

I tried to reach for the anger. The anger that would normally carry me through these situations whether that would be violence or verbal sparring but, it just wasn't there. I still felt a bit sick. I still got tired easily. Up until now I had been enjoying my time spent in Skellige and was looking forward to seeing a bit more of the islands, people and culture.

But then this had happened. I also had a bit of a suspicion in that moment that I was being a coward. I had looked around for Kerrass to save me. I had wanted to walk away and let events take it's course. I had backed down from a confrontation with these men earlier. Sometimes, it is a good thing to be cowardly as caution can save your life. But for the right here and the right now. Cowardice was the worst of sins.

The Skelligans believe in fate. They believe that everything happens for a reason and that the moment of your death has been ordained since before the dawn of time. So why run from it?

I stood over the man admiring the axe.

“That axe does not belong to you.” I told him. I had wanted to use a much more threatening voice but I had no idea how to go about that. Not one of the skills that Kerrass had taught me.

The man looked up at me. Then he examined me a little, up and down my frame.

“You are correct.” he said in his heavily accented Northern speak. Then he threw the axe to the man who had taken it from me in the first place who caught it and moved round to face me himself.

I had to look up to see into his face. His breath stank, reminding again that there is no cliché that is not there for a reason.

“Is there a problem?” He rumbled. He was tall, thinner than I expected and I could see ale in his beard along with some leftover meat juice and bread crumbs.

“That axe does not belong to you.” I said again, drawing out the words carefully, frantically trying to find some kind of clever comment in order to defuse the situation. Something that would show them that they were in the wrong and that they should just hand the axe back.

He laughed.

“Who does it belong to then, little man.” Another cliché. “You? You can barely lift it.”

“No, the axe does not belong to me.” I answered as truthfully as I could manage.

“Then it isn't stealing is it?” He laughed and his friends laughed with him, feeling as though he had won the point.

“It isn't mine,” I began, raising my voice in order to carry the words over the top of the laughter. “Because I am not worthy of it.”

“Again, we agree.” The big man joked. “You are just a little fool who thinks that they can come here and...”

“I had not finished speaking.” I snarled. “I am not worthy of it but I am it's guardian. I hold it until I can find someone worthy of it.”

“I'm pretty fucking worthy of it.” My opponent jeered. “Wouldn't you say lads?” His shipmates jeered at me.

“The last warrior that carried that axe into battle was a great man.” I shouted, just barely keeping my voice from cracking. “Not just a mighty warrior but he was a hero. A legend. A man who strode into battle and men quailed before his wrath.”

“The more and more you speak. The more and more it sounds like you are describing me.” He snarled, beginning to get angry.

“Are you trying to say that you are a man of honour.” I felt my own anger rising now. “He was a warrior priest. He protected those weaker than himself...”

“Snorri here is weaker than me and I protect him all the time.” He grabbed one of the smaller men from the table and threw his arm round him. But the question about the honour had hit home a little.

“When was the last time you protected a village from marauding bandits?” I demanded. “Or were you the marauding bandits in question? I wonder. When was the last time you protected an innocent girl from being raped? Or were you the one who was doing the raping. When was the last time you saved someone from a monster. Or are you the monster?”

I had poked the sleeping dragon now and his rage was building.

“The previous wielder of that axe would not have clubbed down a man to steal the things upon him. He would not have laughed at those weaker than himself. He would not have jeered and sullied the name of others. He would have had the honour and respect to show courtesy to the guests...”

“Are you calling me a thief?” He snarled.

Before you laugh at the irony, I would remind you that there isn't really any irony here as this man was a Skelligan traditionalist. I was not Skelligan which means that I was less than human. Therefore my belongings are free to anyone who can take them from me. It's why the same people who give far more power and status to their women on the islands and rape of a Skelligan woman is punishable by the most extreme of tortures, freely rape the women of the continent when they go raiding. It's because those women are less than human which means that they are not really being raped.

This was already changing with the Skelligan alliance with Cintra and now that they are part of the Empire, these attitudes, particularly the thing about raping continental women, is changing. Now they are often more horrified at the way we treat our wives and daughters where they will often point out that women are much better at certain things than men.

As an example. It is a woman that manages the household when they are married. They buy food, clothing and administer to the thralls and workers, if any, because the man cannot be trusted with money.

It was a man of Skellige that told me that. He said that men were too busy going off and raiding, fighting, training or drinking to be trusted with money or household duties.

But I am not writing about Skellige here. I just find them fascinating. Which is good because I think I could write volumes on the subject and still not get to the bottom of them.

“I'm saying that that axe does not belong to you.”

“Then you're calling me a thief.” He snarled with a grin. “And that means that I can cut you in half with the weapon that you claim I am unworthy of. I will show you how worthy of it I am. I will cut you from the top of your head to your balls.”

“All the more proof that you do not deserve to carry that...”

“Fuck you. How dare you call me a thief, you who are less than a man cannot call me a thief. You are a thief for trying to take this weapon from a warrior. I should...”

“I wouldn't.” Said another voice. It was a quiet voice. A low, male voice but the tone was educated. The words clipped and carefully spoken with little to no trace of accent. I sensed a presence standing behind me and to one side.

Hersir Dreng finally chose to intervene.

“Helfdan this is none of your concern.”

“I disagree,” said that quiet voice, unconcerned by the fact that several other members of Dreng's entourage were shifting in their seats. Getting ready to leap to their feet and draw weapons.

“This man is a guest of the Queen,” The quiet man who Dreng had called Helfdan went on. “He is a scholar and a teacher, a continental Skald if you prefer.”

“Such words are insults...”

“To whom?” Helfdan asked. I still had not looked at him. I had the feeling that if I took my eyes from the man in front of me holding the axe then I would not survive. “Besides. As this man says. He is not the owner of the axe. He is the custodian of it. The keeper of it and that the axe's owner is dead. Which means that your man has taken the axe from the dead.”

The man in front of me frowned at the word “Custodian” as he tried to figure out of it was an insult. But I could see that Dreng knew what the word meant.

“You are calling me a thief.” The, well, the thief roared and made to bring the axe over his shoulder in preparation for a strike.

“That would be a mistake.” Helfdan said, a little louder.

“Why is that?” Dreng mocked. “Is he going to hide behind hospitality? Hiding behind the skirts of the Queen like the continental coward that he is.”

“I suspect that he will not.” Helfdan's tone shifted from the calm, quiet and polite tones that he had been using. It was still calm and quiet but now there was something else. There was a menace that I had not heard before. “But he is unarmed so that your man was about to strike down an unarmed man. Hardly the actions of an honourable warrior which suggests that the accusations are true. And striking an unarmed man comes with... penalties.”

The thief looked over at Dreng who was staring over my shoulder at his opponent which is when I sensed that there was something else going on here.

“Leave it Dreng.” Helfdan said.

Dreng said nothing. Suddenly looking less certain.

“Return the axe.” Helfdan told the thief.

“You can take it from my cold dead hands which you are too cowardly to take.”

“You are making a mistake.” Helfdan said, echoing his earlier words again. As though he was saying the same thing over and over in an effort to get through to a particularly stupid person.

“Oh yeah. And what are you going to do about it, Bastard?”

“Me?” Helfdan wondered. “Absolutely nothing. Except that to point out that you are a coward, a thief, a bully and are insulting the hospitality of this hall and it's Queen.”

The thief roared and took a step forward when someone stood up next to me. The other tables had all been watching the entertainment with interest. A thin man, his face ravaged by some kind of childhood disease, stood up, there was the sound of scraping metal and a blade had appeared at the thief's neck. It happened, almost faster than the eye could see

Dreng's other men reacted instantly, climbing to their feet and reaching for weapons.

Two arrows slammed into the table that Dreng's men were all sat at. Two men appeared round the back of the table, knives drawn and placed the blades round the throats of some of the more uppity men. A barrel of a man, carrying a huge shield and an axe stood at one end of the table, his face obscured by his helmet and an axe on his shoulder. A man who could have been his brother but for the difference in hair colouring stepped forward on the other side. He was a bit more worrying though as he was chewing the rim of his shield.

From the other end of the table, a tall wiry man with what looked like a woodsman's axe leant over and poured himself a beer while glowering at two men who had drawn knives. Another man with a shaved head and whispy goatee stepped forward and gently steered me out of the way with a smile before turning to face the thief, rolling his shoulders and rocking his head from side to side in the manner of a man preparing for a fight

And then it was over. Just like that. The fight went completely out of Dreng's men. They were surrounded by armed and armoured men while all of their weapons were still at their sides and they wore little more than wool.

“This is unseemly Helfdan.” Hjallmar had finally arrived although I got the impression that he was stifling a smile. “Openly threatening your fellow ship captains with violence and disturbing the peace of our hall.”

“Svein?” Helfdan said. He sounded disappointed if anything.

“Yes My Lord.” The man with the shaved head and the goatee responded with a face full of innocence.

“Explain yourself as I, certainly, did not order you to threaten Hersir Dreng and his men.”

“No excuses my Lord.”

“You will apologise to Lord Dreng.”

“Yes My lord.” The man that Helfdan had described as Svein turned to Dreng and bowed deeply. “I do humbly and abjectly apologise for any insult that I might have given Lord Dreng. And I absolutely regret my part in any harm that might have been done to the tranquility of the hall of Kaer Trolde and the halls guests.” His face was a mask of utter dejection. “As I'm sure Singsven here regrets his.” He gestured towards the man who had taken the axe in the first place.

I nearly laughed aloud as all attention turned on the thief that answered to Singsven. “Errrr. I ummm.” I saw movement and saw Dreng turning away from his man with an expression of disgust. “I apologise as well.” Singasven muttered softly.

I also saw that all of the fighters and warriors that had sprouted up around Dreng's table had vanished, seemingly into thin air. Helfdan finally stepped into view and held his hand out.

I was oddly disappointed. He was not tall, short sandy hair and relatively slight of build compared to many of the other warriors around the hall. He wore a plain shirt with a blue woollen vest over the top, woollen trousers and sturdy but battered boots. He looked like any number of traders that I had seen working down at the docks and in the town and would not have been out of place in either. He looked...

He'll laugh, or at least chuckle when he reads this.

He looked poor. Ragged, as though he would struggle to find somewhere to sleep that night.

There were two things that would set him apart from the other men in the town. The first was that he was clean shaven. This is rare in Skellige. His hair was unkempt but he looked as though he shaved every day. With a razor too, not just with a sharp knife.

The other thing was his sword. As I said earlier, most Skelligans prefer axes to swords because of the cost of the metal and therefore the cost of the sword and he had his on his left and side, resting his hand on the pommel easily. It was wrapped in soft, dark leather with some kind of fur around the rim which suggested a fur lining. The hilt was wrapped in leather and showed signs of much use.

The pommel was carved into the shape of a boar.

His only other ornamentation was that of a plain golden ring that he wore on his right hand.

For those in foreign parts, this would not suggest that he's married. Married men wear their rings on their left hand.

He also had a short axe, almost a hatchet but with a curved handle, hanging from a hoop on his right hand side.

He stepped past me and, as I say, my first thought was that a servant or bondsman had stepped through the group on an errand. That was before I noticed the sword, but he walked up to Singsven the thief and held out his hand.

“May I see the axe? I understand the jest now.” His voice was still quiet which meant that we all had to strain to hear it. “You merely wanted to admire this weapon of legend and desired to have some fun with the foreigner. There was no insult intended. Was there?”

I was impressed, giving his adversary a way out. A classy move in courtly circles.

Singsven looked at Dreng who sighed and nodded.

“No there wasn't.” The Thief said as he handed the axe over. “No insult at all.”

Helfdane took the axe and examined it in the light from one of the windows. I noticed that he seemed to struggle with the weight of it although I wondered if it was a pretence. “A fine weapon indeed.” He said after a while. “Worthy of a great warrior and hero.”

He re sheathed the weapon and handed it to me. “Lord Coulthard, would you do me the honour of telling me the tale of the hero that wielded it last? I feel that such a story needs to be told”

It was not a surprise to me that he knew my name. The proper name as well which had not really been used

in the hall yet. I was lord Frederick or Freddie to the runners, guards and servers.

“I would be proud to.” I declared to the hall.

The story took me a long time and I embelished it with every story that I could remember from reading of Father Gardan's exploits. Both the ones from my childhood and the ones that I had read since then. I was applauded when I stepped down.

Which was when I was astonished again. I was handed a flask of mead by Singasven. “Well told.” He said, looking me in the eye. “You were correct. I do not deserve such a weapon.” He bowed to me then and turned away.

The next man to shake my hand was Dreng himself. “I too was wrong in my treatment of you.” He said. I was noticing that they weren't apologising. They were making statements. “Although I think you will struggle to find another worthy of that blade's legacy.” He left in turn.

Helfdan didn't approach. When I had climbed down from the table that I had stood on in order to tell Father Gardan's story I had to look around to see him. First there was a queue of people who congratulated me on the telling with kind of back handed compliments like “I never knew you had it in you,” and “don't give up what you do for a living though,” as well as some constructive criticism from some of the bards in attendance. But when I was done shaking hands and recovering from being clapped on the shoulder by men twice my size in height, width and muscle mass. I couldn't see the man that I was most curious about.

Kerrass had been in and out during the telling of the story and I guessed that he was setting aside supplies and things for the coming journey. He likes to get anal about that kind of thing and if we were heading for stormy weather he was probably making extra sure that we would be alright.

Nothing wrong with that and I have certainly been grateful for his over preparation in the past.

So I was craning my neck looking for Helfdan and it took a surprisingly long time to find him. He was sat at a table towards the back of the hall. Well out of the way of everyone else. It was a crouded table as well, far too many men for the size of it but they were all the men that had appeared out of the crowd to help me. The one referred to as Svein saw me looking and raised a cup in toast which led the rest of them to turn and offer their own toasts. Helfdan was sat at the back of the group, his back to the wall and he barely moved. I got the feeling that there was very little going on in the hall that he didn't see.

“What's his story?” I asked Hjallmar who was still stood next to me, in the manner of a man guarding a post.

“Who's story? Oh.” Hjallmar grimaced. “That is Helfdan the Bastard and the crew of the Wave-serpent.”

“You sound like you don't like him?”

“I don't like him.” Hjallmar steered me to a seat and poured me an ale as I sat next to him. I noticed that a thrall had taken my bags and things off somewhere but I kept the axe next to me. It wouldn't do for anyone else to get sticky fingered.

“Why? He seems like an honourable man.”

“Oh he is. Don't get me wrong. Possibly the finest Ship Captain in Skellige. He has an almost uncanny ability to read the weather and to understand the shifting of his ship under his feet. He knows the seas around Skellige better than any man alive. He's led his crew out into storms that no-other man would dare in order to rescue foundering ships. He's never lost a crewman to storm or sea. Monsters and enemies? Yes, but never to the whims of the ocean.

“I once went with him on a raid against a Nilfgaardian ship building harbour. The place was as well defended as it could be with catapults, trebuchets and ballista and so an approach by sea was all but impossible. A land approach would have taken an army. But we had to do something as the black ones were building a fleet to attack the islands again.

“This was after the Wraiths of Morhogg (Freddie: The wild hunt) had attacked but before the alliance had been declared so many Nilfgaardians still wanted us invaded. The lord of this harbour was building his fleet in order to help with this, or to get it done before the Emperor or new Empress could object so we absolutely needed to get in there and destroy the growing fleet.

“We spent ages arguing over how to get it done. Trying to invent some trick to get us into harbour. We thought about stealing a Nilfgaardian ship and going in in disguise. We thought of sending in swimmers but there was a stony breakwater and a nasty current that would kill even a highly skilled swimmer, let alone a warrior with weapons and things.

“Helfdan had sat on the outskirts of the debate. No-one thought that much of him and he never forces his way into one of these things. He's a bastard after all which loses him status. We had argued ourselves out and were sat around, drinking and getting sullen. Then Helfdan leant forward and came to the table. We had a map of the harbour there. We had taken one of the Nilfgaardian merchants captive and he had freely given us all the information that we could want so our map was exhaustive and highly accurate.

““It has to be a night attack.” He said in that calm and quiet voice of his that rubs so many people up the wrong way.

““No-one can make that harbour in the dark.” Someone said dismissively.”

Hjallmar suddenly stopped speaking and looked at me slyly. “It might even have been me that said that.”

I laughed with him.

“But Helfdan shook his head. “I can do it.” He said before beckoning over his second. The one with the wispy goatee and shaved head?”

“The one he reprimanded. Called Svein.”

“That's the fucker. Anyway, Svein came over and Helfdan asked him how many me he, Svein, would need to take and destroy the harbour defences and protect the ship while the rest of the fleet came in. Svein sucked his teeth and told us that he wanted to choose twenty men.”

Hjallmar laughed at the memory.

“Twenty men and the crew of the Wave-serpent? To take a harbour and hold it long enough for the rest of us to arrive. It was a ridiculous thought but suddenly we were all interested. The Wave-serpent would go in. Destroy or disable the harbour defences in the dawn before signalling the rest of our fleet who would attack in daylight. It was risky. But we're Skelligans and we love a good gamble.

“Also there was the question of “What did we have to lose?” A single ship, captained by an upstart bastard and his crew?”

Hjallmar shrugged. “I insisted on going with the landing party because I wanted to be part of it. My sister was the Queen and I felt as though I needed to commit a deed and remind everyone that I was still alive. Svein laughed, saying that he had wanted me in the first place. He told me that me and my twenty men's job was to guard the Wave-serpent when we landed and that the crew would deal with everything else.”

He sighed in the memory. “I'll never forget it. The fleet arrived off the harbour and Helfdan went out in a small dinghy to have a look at it. Then he came back and went to sleep. Just wrapped himself in his blanket and had a kip next to his tiller.

We sharpened our weapons and checked our armour before Helfdan rose in the middle of the night and signalled Svein who put the men to work. I'm a Jarl so I stood next to Helfdan at the tiller. I've told this story many times but no-one ever believes me. Helfdan made a series of gestures which Svein translated into other orders which were, again, given out in gestures. The ship shifted. There was some fine, delicate maneouvering done as though his ship was dancing on the waves. Then Helfdan nodded. Gave another gesture and the ship shot forward as the crew leant to their oars.

It was pitch black out at sea. The moon had set so we were only lit by starlight. We had blackened weapons and armour for the night attack although I noticed that many of the Wave-serpent crew were un-armoured. But it was pitch black. We could see the torches and the fire baskets of the harbour in the distance but that didn't do much.

But Helfdan directed his crew. No musician has ever played an instrument with such care as Helfdan played his ship and his crew that night. Minute adjustments of the tiller in response to whatever it was that Helfdan had felt in the sea and the currents. But you know what the kicker is for me?”

I sensed that there was some kind of response required. “No.”

“He did it all with his eyes closed. He had the position of the harbour gate in his mind, he aimed his ship and then fired it forward on the energy of his men's rowing the way an archer would shoot an arrow from their bow.

“The Black ones were taken completely by surprise. They had such faith in their harbour defences that it did not occur to them that they might be attacked at night. Night attacks are fucking dangerous, especially at sea. But Helfdan got us in there like he was threading a needle. They didn't know what was happening until Svein brought the lads back and ordered Perrin, that's their archer, to start shooting fire arrows into the siege weapons from where they'd put oil all over it after we made it into the harbour. Easiest guard duty of my life and when the Black ones started to realise they were being attacked?”

He chuckled at the memory.

“Fucking brilliant it was. As the Jarl, Helfdan even gave me a lot of the credit for it despite me telling the tale of his extraordinary seamanship and the skills of his warriors. But he, and his men, insist I had a much greater role in that victory than I think I did.”

“So why don't you like him?”

Hjallmar sighed.

“I've read your journals.” he said after a while. “You get quite hard on yourself sometimes don't you.”

That was an odd tangent but I thought that I would go with it.

“Sometimes you need to. Sometimes you need to look into a reflective surface and properly see what's there rather than what you want to see there or what you think you should see there. I'm a Northern noble. I was never hungry, never went cold and for the longest time I thought that that was my right of birth. I thought that the world consisted of nobles and people who do things so that we can be noble. Admittedly I was also six but even so. As I've grown, I've learned that I was spoiled, sheltered and oh so very ignorant. Even when I was as highly educated as a noble can get, I was still ignorant about the way the world works. Ignorant and stupid.”

Hjallmar grunted and poured me another ale.

“I would have been a terrible King.” He admitted after a while. “In those deep, dark moments of the night when I pull myself from sleep to piss or to move one of the wenches into a more comfortable spot,” he nudged me with a wink and a smile. “You know how it is.”

“Not really,” I answered but he wasn't really listening.

“In those moments as I struggle to get back to sleep I realise that truth. Cerys is a better Queen for Skellige than I would ever have been. She's forward looking. She has ideas and ways to do things and I? I am a traditionalist through and through.

“I can see why. Just as you can see why you made the mistakes you did.” He sniffed. “But Skellige has always favoured big strong men who can fight. I am a big strong man who can fight really well, so tradition favours me. I will admit to kind of being on Dreng's side regarding your axe. His man was stronger and he took it from a weaker man. I know it's wrong but that's how it's been done for centuries. He would pay for it of course. Theft is a thing but you are a lower life and the warrior is the higher life. The fine would be small and you would hot have your axe back.”

He scratched his chest.

“If I was King, men like Helfdan would not exist. He would be a fisherman still. I just... I just don't understand him. Too much a traditionalist. I can see that my sister and men like Helfdan are leading our people onto bigger and better things. We're a power on the world stage now. If I had been King, Nilfgaard would have been forced to conquer us. It would have been nasty and brutal, they would have paid for it in blood for every step of the way, but we would have fallen.

“But I just don't like it. I don't understand it. Look at him. He's a slight man. He doesn't wear a beard. He can read and write.”

“So can you can't you?”

“Yes but I was forced to by my father. Most of the warriors in this hall can't read and he's the only ship's captain that can do the trick. He fights without a shield. He can use a shield when the situation needs it but otherwise he has his sword in one hand and his axe in the other.

“Sometimes he swaps them over, having his sword in his left hand and his axe in his right.

“I don't understand why he's not dripping in wealth. If he put his mind to it, he could have the best weapons, the best armour. He could live in luxury but he wears simple clothes while his men wear rings, torques, charms and wield the best weapons and wear the best armour that money can buy. His village is well looked after and provided for so why doesn't he flaunt that a bit more.

“He's a hero of many raids. He's raided places that other captains said were impossible to raid and I know, I know that his men came back laden with loot and treasure. So where is it all. And why does he never boast of his deeds. His men do. His men boast for him but why doesn't he do it.

“He's also, and don't tell her I said this, the most dependable Captain that my sister calls on. My sister has a saying. “When a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well. When it needs doing and must be done. Give it to Helfdan.”

Hjallmar shook his head.

“Are you jealous of him?” I asked.

He laughed. “A little. And I don't know why. I am wealthier, a better fighter than him, higher ranked. Obviously better looking.”

“Obviously.” I agreed.

“But his men are devoted to him. And I don't know why.

“Remember me telling you about Svein?”

“Yes?”

“That man was a drunk and a lech having drunk away his money to the point that his wife divorced him. (Freddie: Yes, Skelligan women can divorce Skelligan men if it's proven that the male is mistreating the woman) But he's a better Tactician than Helfdan. It's well known that Helfdan defers to him in most matters regarding fighting, battle and tactics. Helfdan is far from the best fighter as well. Ursa the bear, Haakon the axe or Snorri are all better with swords and axes. Perrin is better with a knife and on and on it goes. But they defer to Helfdan. They are proud of him. I just don't understand it and I hate him for it.”

“Hate?” I asked.

“A strong word I suppose. He's a good man and a loyal captain to my sister.”

I grunted because Kerrass came in then and we spent a bit of time talking over The Plan and what was going to happen next. But looking back, I wondered at the emphasis on that last part. About how loyal Helfdan was to Queen Cerys and what Hjallmar had meant by that.

But the planning stage of things drove it all out of my mind. It was only later that these conversations came back to me with that ever most perfect of gifts. The gift of hindsight.

The truth is that the incident with Helfdan didn't really stick out to me that much. That might sound strange, I was threatened with physical violence and death. An item that was very important to me was taken from me by force. There were confrontations, posturing, boasting and some bluffing. After which, a story or a saga was told.

But the truth is that none of this is unusual in the Skelligan islands. In Skellige, if a man upsets or offends you then you walk up and punch him in the face. It doesn't matter if you're weaker than they are or if they are bigger than you are. That's just how you behave but then there are important follow ups. I suspect, rather strongly that I was never in any real danger for my life at the hands of Singasven because there is another point that occurs.

When you punch someone in the face, they are expected to punch you back. This fight will continue until one or other combatant can no longer carry on. At which point it is the winner's duty as victor, to care for the fallen man. In the majority of cases, that's a case of pouring cold water over their heads until they wake up before buying them a drink in consolation. In more extreme cases the victor would be expected to pay for any medical expenses that might have come up in the meantime. If there was an accidental maiming then the victor would be expected to pay the way of the crippled man and in the event of a death. Then the killer would have to pay to support the family of the deceased. As well as whatever penalty the Lord of the dead man would impose.

A friendly punch up is actively an encouraged way for people to solve their differences in Skellige. It's quick, undeniably brutal but then the air is cleared because afterwards, neither party is allowed to bring up the cause of the complaint or refer to it ever again except in the case of the history leading from the combat. Firm friendships have been formed over such sudden outbreaks of violence.

And it is the very height of bad manners to interfere in such a thing. You're supposed to get out of the way. Move any bits of furniture or obstacles that might mean that a man might become injured in the pursuit of their justice before cheering for which ever person you want. Even if all you want is for the violence to continue in as entertaining a way as possible. You do this by screaming that legendary cry at the top of your lungs, the cry known in watering joints all over the world. The shout of “'IT 'IIIMMMMM. 'IT 'IM 'ARDEEERRRR.”

If what happened later, hadn't happened then it's doubtful that I would remember the incident revolving Hersir Helfdan at all. I had already had several run ins with Dreng as well as several other men in the halls of Kaer Trolde and I was also rescued by other men whose names I remember and have not forgotten, but who don't really warrant mentioning as they did not affect the other events that I was involved in.

I do have one last insight to share before I move on.

On the continent, whether we are from the North or the South there is one thing that we are all taught, whether we are children of nobles or the children of the poorest beggar on the street. Whether we are from the Far North of Kaedwen or the Far south of the Empire. That thing we are taught is that we should fit in. That we should endeavour to be part of the greater whole. We are encouraged to have a group of friends, to not hold our hands up, to stay out of the way. “Do as you're told and they'll leave you alone,” is one of the most common pieces of advice that a parental figure teaches the young people under their care as well as “Keep your head down and do as you're told.”

You can also see it in the from of our armies and our soldiers. The reason that the Warriors of Skellige stand out so much in my memory, to the point where they almost eclipse each other and other situations is that they are a collection of individuals.

Soldiers in the north and south both are trained to be uniform. To work, march, eat and stand in the battle lines together. This is so that when the order is given, they can move as one and not be distracted by making a name for themselves above each other because that desire for glory can destroy battle formations which is death on a battlefield.

And yes, I know that knights and heads of family where ostentatious and gaudy outfits. They wear flags and pennants and ornament their armour in order to stand out. Why do they do this? So that they can be identified as the nobles that they are. So that they can be part of that clique of nobles. So that if they shout “mercy” or “ransom” on the field then no enemy soldier is going to mistake them for a common man. It's another way of fitting in so that they can be identified by their fellows.

The Skelligans aren't taught this. They are taught to work together to be sure but they are also taught to stand on their own two feet. That one man is just as good as the next man, or woman for that matter. So in order to make yourself stand out... or be remembered. You have to stand out and make sure that you will be remembered and that no-one will forget you. As I say, it comes down to their warfare. A man has to know how to stand and fight alone because he never knows when he might turn around and be by himself because of terrain or shifting sea currents.

The only place that I can think of that is similar in this promotion of the individual is Toussaint. Another place that doesn't really have, or need, a standing army. Instead there is a collection of individual knights that are responsible for the protection and policing of that place. So a man makes himself famous by damn well making sure that everyone knows how awesome and wonderful they are.

But then, after a while, it all starts to become noise. All of these individuals fighting with each other in order to attract the most attention just distract from each other. If one of these men had started to do the kinds of things that the Skelligans took for granted in any other court, the lord of that court would either need to slap them down or they would become the hero of that court.

But I had other things on my mind.

Kerrass had told me that things were arranged so that everything was set. Signals were given, notes were exchanged from the various players that were part of my little conspiracy and Lady Yennefer made a big play of coming to examine me for one final time before we set out on our “little excursion” to go and see the druids.

It wasn't that far to be honest. Across the isle of Ard Skellig, a couple of days there and a couple of days back. At most. It was getting colder and the weather was a factor so we had planned for the entire thing to take a week.

Lady Yennefer made a big noise of summoning me in order that I could be properly examined although, again, we must be honest, I had been feeling much better for a while, although she did check me for a fever, peer into my eyes and check my pulse. We spent most of the time working on the book about Jack. Then, when she emerged she declared in a loud voice that I was ready to travel the following morning after a proper nights rest.

Dutifully, there was a party that night. It seems that there are certain traditions that need to be obeyed in the Skelligan isles and one of those traditions is that there be a party thrown for those warriors about to set forth on a Quest. Note that it isn't the same as going on a mission. A distinction that I didn't entirely understand but there you go. So there was a party, much was eaten, much was drunk and I managed to fend off numerous attempts to get into my bed. I argued that I would need my strength for the morning which the ladies in question dismissed with a wave and a “Pffftt” kind of a noise.

Stories were told of our reasons for setting out which was not entirely pleasant as I was not really enjoying the prospect of listening to all of the stories regarding Francesca's disappearance again, but the bards did me proud and we went to our beds with the toasts to our success ringing in our ears.

Kerrass and I rose early, ate one of Kerrass' huge breakfast. One of those things that is stomach busting but keeps you going for hours. We checked our horses and supplies as well as the other things that we had ordered set aside in order for the plan to work before we all found ourselves in the main hall of Kaer Trolde.

You see, the lords of the hall that the Questers depart from have to bid them farewell.

We waited dutifully. Many of the assembled Captains and their men were there waiting. Some joked, others mocked, a few more jeered but all in all, it seemed like a relatively sombre crowd.

You know, for Skelligans.

We waited for a few moments, sharing a takard with a couple of people that we had both got to know over time.

No, Helfdan was not among them. I don't know where they were and to be honest, I wasn't really looking for them at the time.

But the doors opened and the dignitaries came in. Led by Hjallmar as, technically, it's his hall being the Jarl of the An Craite clan. The Empress came next. She was dressed down in her normal combination of riding coat with golden starburst over her heart, trousers and boots although I noticed that they all had a fur lining now. She looked better than she had when I had first seen her but there were still dark circles under her eyes and looked a little too pale to my eyes. But the blood shot nature of her eyes had changed back to a more normal, healthy white. Her private secretary, Lord Voorhis and Queen Cerys herself followed.

Queen Cerys' eyes glittered and I swear, I swear that she winked at me.

The court shuffled into as much formality as a court of Skellige gets into. Kerrass and I moved to the front. Kerrass, for his part, was in his full Witcher garb. The same way he rides into villages. Two swords on his back, cloak on his shoulders, every piece of metal polished to an eye hurting shine. I was the same, my armour had been brushed until not a speck of dirt or dust was in the leather. It almost shone to look at. I leant on my spear with my other hand holding the belt at my waist over where my dagger was tucked.

We stood proudly, chests puffed out, chins raised as we looked at the people in front of us.

Queen Cerys stood before us, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword, her gaze flicking from my face to Kerrass' and back.

“Two brave warriors.” She said after a while. “Two brave warriors about to head off on a quest.”

“We are.” Kerrass intoned formally.

I struggled to keep a straight face.

Queen Cerys appeared to consider then changed her mind.

“Normally,” she began, addressing the hall. “I would send the warriors onto their path with fitting words. Or my brother would send them from this hall.”

She knew. She definitely knew. I hadn't talked to her about what we had planned. Lady Yennefer had said that she would take care of the matter but until it actually came time for us to stand before her, I had no idea as to whether or not she would be successful. Lady Yennefer had done me proud.

“But this time, the quest is not one known to me.” The Queen went on. “This quest started well outside of our islands, in a distant land over churning seas. If I am any judge, it's end will be similarly remote to our fair islands. It also has a personal stake for one who is as close to me as if she were my sister.”

She raised her voice.

“Will you accept this break from tradition?” She asked. “Will you allow me to pass the ceremony of departure onto the Empress? The woman whose friend, these men are hunting for? The Empress who grew up on our shores and has witnessed the ship's passing?”

The crowd roared. The sound a hammer at our ears. Kerrass and I stayed quiet.

The Queen stepped aside and again, I saw her eyes twinkling.

The Empress was visibly moved and shook herself before stepping into the Queen's space.

“Noble warriors,” She intoned as though reciting an epic poem from memory. “Noble knights and champions. You are charged with the Quest of rescuing our most beloved friend, Francesca von Coulthard or of visiting our wrath upon those who took that most bright of stars from our presence.”

She looked at me and then at Kerrass.

“You have already undertaken this mission before you come here but now you seek permission to cross the isles of Skellige to achieve your goal. Do you so seek?”

“We do.” Kerrass spoke formally in keeping with the ceremonial nature of the scene. I had to bite the inside of my tongue to keep from laughing.

“Will you cross this place. Over sharp stone and cold ground?”

“We will.” Kerrass answered.

“Through icy river and frozen lake?”

“We will.”

“Will you brave the sirens, the Arachas and the other monsters that sore above the earth and tunnel beneath it?”

“We will.” A rhythm was building with the question and answer. Despite my cynicism, I could feel it and the men of the hall began to beat their fists to their chests and stamp their feet along with Kerrass' answers. Slowly at first but more and more.

“Will you brave the beasts that would seek to prevent your passing? The Wolves of the forest and the Bears of the Mountains?”

“We will.” Someone was beating a drum.

“Will you fight those villains that wear human skin? Bandits, thieves and marauders?”

“We will.” A cheer, a small one but still a cheer. And the rhythm carried on.

“Will you struggle through against whatever odds are set before you?”

“We will.” The cheer was stronger again.

“Will you fight until your last breath until your quest is fulfilled?”

“We will.”

The Empress had to wait for the noise to die down.

“Will you do whatever it takes, to drive your enemies before you and see this oath fulfilled?”

“We will.”

The cheer was almost deafening and I had to fight not to wince with the power of it. It was powerful, despite my resistance to the theatre of it. It was powerful, reaching to something primal in my soul.

The Empress waited for a long time. I decided that somewhere in her past, Professor Dandelion had taught her the benefit of a dramatic pause and how silence is just as effective at staying in someone's memory as words are.

“It is a dangerous task.” She said eventually and much quieter so that people had to strain to hear her. “And these are dangerous times. The road is perilous and your enemies many. It will not be an easy journey and you will come across many hardships and sorrows. Knowing all of these things, will you set out on this journey?”

Which was when Kerrass triggered the plan. He smiled. The smile that I call “The gleeful killer.” The mischievous smile. The one that has sent more enemies fleeing for their lives than any other. The one that has caused more self-important idiots to back down than you can imagine.

The crowd was silent, the rhythm had faltered . They had accepted a different response and waited to see what would happen next. Never let it be said that the Skelligans don't enjoy a good bit of drama.

“Yeah,” Kerrass said slyly, drawing out the word. “You wanna come?” He threw the challenge into the Empress' face.

I was watching carefully. You could have heard the proverbial pin drop in the hall as the entire assembly waited to see what the Empress' response would be. Her eyes widened at the question. Then she looked from Kerrass to me and I let my own lips curl into as close an approximation of Kerrass' challenging smile as I could manage. I grinned the same way that I always had as a child when Emma or Sam suggested some kind of mischief to play on Mark, Edmund or, when we were feeling particularly brave, on Father.

Then her eyes shifted back to Kerrass and she changed. Suddenly, the Empress was retreating and I saw the woman in her come forward. I saw Ciri stand forward on that dais.

Whose eyes twinkled in mischief as her lips curled into an answering smile.

The crowd went berzerk.