We sailed South and we did so with a speed that, dare I say, put the speed of the Imperial messenger service to shame and with an ease that meant that if it wasn't for the rain, the journey might have been quite pleasant which was a stark contrast to my last sea journey. I don't know why there was such a difference. I know that if I asked any of the crew of the Wave-Serpent they would talk about the skills and seamanship of her Captain. That the best crews and the best ships are no competition for men who know the waters and know their ships.

A Nilfgaardian captain I spoke to late was good enough and experienced enough to admit the shortfall and difference in skills. He told me that the difference was that Skelligans are taken to sea while still in swaddling, the salt of the sea runs through their blood and you will learn to sail and you will spend a significant amount of time on the water if you are Skelligan. Whereas the Nilfgaardian and Northern sailors are matters of necessity. We do it because we have to and that that was the difference.

Kerrass had the insight that it was like the difference between a heavily armoured knight versues a skilled fighter. A knight, covered in plate mail is like a small fortress walking. They struggle to see out of their helms and so they come to depend on their strength and their armour to protect them. Skill is useful but almost as useful is their strength as they just move forward, battering their opponents to death. The Nilfgaardian craft had been like a knight, charging forward on their heaviest steeds and swinging their weapons with abandon whereas the Skelligan ships sail with skill, with dexterity and knowledge. To him it was the difference between a man who is a good fighter because of his strength and a man who is a good fighter because of his speed and skill.

Ciri's perspective was particularly interesting being a child of both worlds. She said that it was about love. That the Skelligans love the sea and see sailing on it as being a great privilege. There is a reason as to why their nobility is made up of the captains of the Longships. That the Skelligan sailors are all about the journey. Whereas the Nilfgaardians have a job to do. They are all about the destination so they push through the sea directly.

I don't know who is right. But I felt my new worries at the prospects of extended sea journeys that had been born out of the voyage on the messenger ship dissipated in the swell and lull of the Wave-Serpent under the skilful hands of her Captain and crew.

We came round the headlands and sailed along shores of deserted looking forests. Occasionally you could see old, abandoned and long ruined houses and cottages but they were often obscured by the increasing rain and sleet, we rounded another mountain before I was surprised to discover that I must have dosed as the gentle movements of the ship along with the rhythmic sound of the rain on the oilskin over me, sent me to sleep.

To be fair though, there was very little to do aboard ship other than to gossip and sleep, writing would have been impossible and the quarters were too cramped to do any kind of serious training. But I was woken up from my doze by the sounds of cheering and waving and I climbed to my feet.

We came round another mountainous headland into a narrow bay. The top of the headland had a small tower erected upon it which we could see a torch being waved. A horn sounded from the Wave-Serpent to be answered from further into the inlet by a much deeper, two note horn. The rain had stopped while I slept and I looked out with curiosity as we sailed into Helfdan's home harbour.

It was a small fishing village really, not a great deal to it but what was there was well built. In amongst the mountainous valley the harbour seemed to stretch up into a wooded valley that, in the long run, would take men out of the village and carry them off to the North west. The buildings were mostly built with stone foundations and occasionally the stone had also built the lower parts of the buildings. Then wood and thatch had been harnessed to build the upper walls and, in a couple of places, the upper floors.

To my eyes it was a fishing village and along with the jetty there were several small fishing boats and people working to get the boats out of the water. They were covering them in tarpaulin, presumably against the coming of the ice and cold of the Skeleton ship. The village spread up and into the valley a little way, at the time, I had no idea how big it was compared to some of the other villages and towns on the islands.

But it turned out to be a relatively small place. A hall, a tavern, a smith, a tannery and a small ship-building place. It was obvious, even to me, that the place made it's living out of the sea and that they were largely self-sufficient. I thought I could see a lumber yard well beyond the confines of the village itself and there was a large, well built wooden palisade that covered the approach to the village from land, complete with watch towers.

Ciri was nodding her approval. “If someone wanted to raid this place then they would need to approach from both sea and land at the same time to do serious damage.” She told me in a low voice. “Fire arrows from the cliffs would keep ships at bay while villagers escaped into the woods. Whereas that palisade would keep out all but the most determined attackers while the villagers fled to sea if you were attacked by land.”

Not that people would bother. It turned out to be a kind of remote place and there was little to no mineral wealth here. Svein informed us that it had been meant as a place to get Helfdan out of the way. Away from the larger and more populous areas of the islands where his success at raiding would put some of the other Captains to shame. But Helfdan had grown to like the place and enjoyed the fact that it gave him and his men some measure of privacy.

It was also a place where those members of the crew who had more of a problem keeping their hands to themselves were removed from temptation. Svein kept them all on a short rein in the larger areas of places like Kaer Trolde and would often take people like his youngest brother Kar and search him thoroughly before leaving town. But it was also clear that out here, if someone got out of hand then they could be looked after properly by people that cared.

As we glided into the harbour, still under sail and Helfdan's careful guidance we saw people coming out to meet us, including a group of warriors in full mail, spears and shields shining. Other men and women came rushing towards the jetty where they could be relied upon to be hauling on ropes in order to get the Wave-Serpent into the dock. Others were cheering and calling to the men on the ship, only the warriors were calm and quiet.

The ropes weren't needed though, the ship glided to dock with ease and the only purpose of the ropes was to secure the ship in place. Travelling bundles were unloaded first along with the various bits of cargo that had been carried out to the village. “Never sail empty of cargo,” Svein commented to me with a grin. Emma would approve.

But then men started to disembark where they were greeted by wives, children and friends. I didn't see much of it as I was watching the warriors, the leader of which greeted Svein warmly as she took her helm off to show long, braided blonde hair and gave him the hugest, sloppiest kiss that I had seen in a long while. A kiss that Svein returned with warmth and affection.

Then she hit him, much to the amusement of the onlookers and the other guards.

“Stupid man,” she yelled at him. “Coming back and not sending word. We could have filled you all full of arrows,”

“Secret mission my love.” He protested, nursing his bruised jaw.

“Does that matter? I was all set to give the order myself.”

Then she kissed him again to cheers of onlookers. There was a lot of passion in that kiss before she broke apart from him and clapped her helm back on her head. “Is he...?”

Svein gestured over his shoulder to where Helfdan was prowling round the deck inspecting things, tugging on ropes and running his hands along the wood. Although the majority of the crew, including Kerrass, were disembarking over the side, I decided to wait for the gangplank.

I could probably have jumped over the side to land on the quay but the ship was still shifting and I was more than a little aware of just how stupid I could look in those kinds of circumstances, my pride was not such that I felt as though it could not take the beating of admitting that I am not a natural sailor.

Ciri shared my opinion and followed me off the ship.

The mood of the crowd shifted instantly as Ciri appeared, her ashen hair glittering in the firelight as men hissed and women started shouting.

Skelligans are not people of subtlty. They love, laugh, fight and hate without restraint and their mood can shift without warning, and they hated Ciri.

She stopped in surprise and who can blame her, normally the people of Skellige are well aware of Ciri and treat her with affection, or at least they had until we saw this.

“The fuck?” I heard her mutter behind me as people were beginning to show signs of becoming an angry mob.

Fortunately for everyone though, Helfdan had finished inspecting the things that he felt needed to be inspected and was in the process of following us down the gangplank. It would seem that he was another person who's vanity did not need to be assuaged by appearing manly and vaulting over the side. He was just following us, looking back at the deck of the ship when the mood of the crowd seemed to get through to him a little bit. He seemed surprised and startled then he looked around to see if he could figure out what was causing the upset. As though some enemy had sprouted out of the ground behind him somewhere.

It was like that moment when you hear a horn going off and you look around to see where the threat is. No, that's not quite right. He reminded me of a cat. That has been startled by a noise and was trying to look around to see what had caused the offending thing. He was curious, cautious and a little concerned before his look changed. His eyes widened before a look of frustration seemed to come into his eyes.

“Yngvild,” He called, pushing his way past Ciri and I on the gangplank, showing us both that if he really wanted to, he could easily have jumped over the side. Svein's wife was at his side in a moment, the other members of the guard forming around him.

I thought that Helfdan looked annoyed by this, but also a little resigned.

“Yngvild,”

“My Lord?”

“Lady Swallow,” Helfdan pointed, “Witcher Kerrass and Lord Frederick are my guests, come in from the cold ocean waves.” The guards looked at each other in surprise and beat the hafts of their spears on the quay. Helfdan's voice took on a more formal cadence.

“Bring them fire to warm their frozen hands.” The spears clashed on the ground again, clattering against the wood.

“Bring them Hot water and soft towels.” Another crash as the warriors of the Wave-Serpent took up the clashing as well, hammering their chests or striking weapons against shields.

“Prepare them meat and mead, and,” his voice took on a harder feel. “And treat them well with gentle speech,” The crowd cheered the close of the speech.

And just like that, the mood lifted. There were a few exchanged glances followed by a few shrugs before a kind of communal decision that Lord Helfdan must know what he's doing and that was the end of it.

It left me feeling a little dizzy.

“What was that all about?” Ciri asked Svein as he made his way back to us. Apparently he had taken on the self elected role as our guard, translator and guide.

“Hospitality ceremony.” He told her.

“No, I know about that, I mean the rest of it.”

He smiled at her. “Any number of reasons. Pay it no mind.”

“No,” Ciri told him. “Sorry, but that's not enough. Am I in danger?”

“Not any more. The boss has decided that you are a guest and that's the end of it. Look, a lot of these people are born out of the families of the Wave Serpent. Wives, Uncles, Parents, brothers, cousins. They hear about this remote place where the politics of the great clans leave us alone. That is attractive to a certain kind of person and they come here. Helfdan is selective about who he invites to come here and who he lets into the village. Every single household gets a vote on who is allowed into the village as we are far too small to allow any malcontents in. But our method of gathering people runs the risk of that.

“But it also means that people are quite insular. Many of these people resent the Nilfgaardian influence and the changes that Cerys has brought. And you represent those changes. Of course they know who you are. But the nationalists are afraid that you are the sign of Nilfgaard's subjugation of us. Others hate you because they fear that you bring politics to our little corner of Ard Skellig.”

“I thought that Helfdan was a royalist.”

“He is. But people can love their Lord and not like his politics.”

Ciri laughed abruptly, “The things you forget. I forgot that Shelligans pride themselves on their individual thinking. There are other reasons why people don't like me though aren't there.”

“There are.” Svein admitted. “But Helfdan has declared you a guest and that will be the end of it.”

Ciri nodded as though she was reassured. But when Svein had moved off to confer with Helfdan about something she seemed to sag in place.

“Lord Voorhis is never going to let me go outside.” She wailed. “I'm not going to be able to train, I'm not going to be able to get drunk, he's not going to let me out of his sight again. He'll complain that all I do is to get myself in trouble.”

I laughed at her as we were given a guide to take us off to guest quarters.

We had enough time for the hot water and clean cloths that we had been promised before we were brought out into the hall. It was a relatively small gathering but Svein told us that many people were preparing the Wave-Serpent for the unexpected journey that she would be taking in the freezing conditions. Still more would be continuing to prepare Helfdan's lands for the coming privations but I thought that the crowd was lively enough. Mostly the crew of the Wave-Serpent and their immediate families who were permitted to spend time with their loved ones.

I think this was an element of compassion on their part. Everyone was making light of things but there was still the potential for quite a bit of danger during the coming journey, even if we weren't ambushed by Traditionalists, friends of the man that Helfdan had killed on the docks, or angry merchants that were afraid of having their profits cut into. But the cold that was going to be coming onto us was definitely a concern. Skelligans also like to treat quests as the epic undertaking that they are, as well as the general understanding that the sea could object to our presence at any moment so each man was taking care to say tender goodbyes to their loved ones.

The exception was Svein, whose wife was doing her duty, acting as Helfdan's guard.

It was an odd sight seeing him among his people. It was like a constant feeling of culture shock as he walked around with his simple garments and his lack of ornamentation. Those Sea Captains that I had seen in Kaer Trolde, let alone the two Jarls of the clans that I had met, wore their clothing with ornate patterns and expensive dyes on the wool. They had rings on their fingers, torques round their necks and jewels on their tartans. Their armour was ornate and their weapons were beautiful works of art as well as tools of war. But Helfdan carried his short axe head with a plain, featureless metal and simple wooden grip lacking in all the tracery and runes that you would expect from a lord of men.

I've just realised that I'm repeating myself but it does bare repeating. He looked poor.

But he obviously wasn't. You could tell that by the quality of equipment his guards wore. Most of them, if not all of them, were women. Those men who served in the guard were those men who sailed with him. Svein explained that it's considered extremely unlucky for women to serve as a crew-member on a ship but many women, as well as men, still want to fight and so some of the women had gotten together and demanded the honour of protecting Helfdan's person while he was on land or in a more formal battle situation.

Apparently, Helfdan's expression as he acknowledged this request had been comical.

According to the story that we were told, Helfdan had been informed of the importance of having a well equipped and well trained guard by the village Skald. Helfdan had listened very carefully before turning to the new Captain of his guard Yngvild, who was made the captain by virtue of a wrestling match with the other contenders which, at the time, still included several men, and ordered her to form, train and equip the guard so that their enemies...

Not his enemies you notice. I certainly did.

… Would be afraid of them.

Her first decision was that the personal guard of Lord Helfdan should all be women. The other men of the village were allowed to help guard the gates, the palisade and man the watchtowers but Yngvild had only wanted women in Helfdan's personal guard. Suits of mail were ordered along with weapons from the finest dwarven smiths of Novigrad. Helfdan paid for it all without comment.

I'm told that, early in his rule of the village, bandits had thought to take advantage of Helfdan's relative youth and status as fatherless, but that Yngvild had led the guard to victory.

It was Svein that told us this story. He did so proudly and with love in his eyes. It was later that I learned the other half of the story from the lady in question. That it was Svein who had designed the defences of the village as well as the watchtower system and patrol routes. That the reason that she had defeated the bandits, and continued to defeat the bandits that saw these lands as a good place to seek refuge, was because of Svein's tactical deployments. The pair, husband and wife, were ridiculously good at what they did and the few times that Helfdan had taken the field with his forces, men had fled before the banner of the black boar.

I didn't see that that couple spend more than a few moments together during that first visit to the village of Helfdan's. But I liked that they seemed to complement each other.

One way or another, I think that Yngvild did her job well according to her orders. I could well imagine that Helfdan's personal guard would strike fear in the hearts of their enemies. The calculating look that Yngvild gave me just before she learned that I was already betrothed was....off-putting.

We ate well that evening despite Helfdan's apologies.

“One day,” he told Kerrass, Ciri and myself, “I will feast the three of you in my hall properly. When all of my people can enjoy the moment that a Witcher, The Swallow and Lord Frederick were here. One day, but it cannot be today.”

We nodded our agreement before things moved on and the food started to come out. It reminded me of the army food that we had eaten when working with Sam in the north. It was simple, tasty and there was plenty of it to satisfy hungry mouths. It also consisted mainly of fish.

Another short thing that happened during that feast that I found a bit strange at the time. The party was growing as more and more people were finishing their other duties and were coming into the hall to partake in the merriment. They wanted to hear stories from Kerrass about some of his past hunts and also some stories from Ciri about some of her past adventures.

This was interesting because Ciri was still suffering from some kind of social bewilderment. Not a couple of hours earlier she had been getting worried about the antipathy that was being shown towards her but now people seemed to be hanging on her every word.

Although I noticed that no-one asked her anything about Helfdan's past or what he was like as a younger man. I suppose that this is just part of how things work there.

But Ciri, who must have taken some lessons from Professor Dandelion at some point, is also a gifted storyteller.

I know right? It's truly sickening how some people people can be so annoyingly talented. She's clever, beautiful, talented and amazing with a sword.

Bitch. I hate her.

Just to be clear, that was sarcasm that you just read. I wasn't really threatening the Empress of the continent but she keeps saying that she wants me to treat her like a sister so....

You reap what you sew Imperial Majesty.

Anyway.

So I was sat, listening to the court antics of the Nilfgaardian people, laughing along with the entire court.

Kerrass was going to be using the opportunity to tell a few more stories in a while as Ciri was obviously becoming a little dry of throat when I found myself looking around to finally notice that Helfdan had vanished. I was surprised because it's the height of bad manners for the host to leave the party early in the North.

Note I'm saying that the host is not allowed. The guest of honour is actually obliged to leave a little earlier than they normally would so that no-one will feel guilty about having to depart, or that they don't feel pressured into staying too long. This is why Monarchs are often referred to as the guest of honour, even in their own home and that they have some courtier to do the “hosting” for them. It also leads to important summits being held in notable Lord's castles. Again, so that if the monarch wants to storm out angrily to make a point, or as an excuse to go piss, then he's not breaking the more unwritten laws of hospitality.

This is also why Newly married couples are supposed to leave the party early. This tradition is beginning to relax a little now but...

But I was looking around, trying to remember as much as I can in order to write up some stuff on the subject of Skellige when I noticed that Helfdan's seat was empty. I looked around, couldn't spot him and grabbed Svein to wonder where he had gone.

Svein's eyes darted around quickly before he relaxed.

“Not to worry.” He told me.

“Why?”

“His guards are gone too.”

“I don't understand.”

“His lordship sometimes struggles with the big parties.”

“He was in the main hall at Kaer Trolde.” I protested. “As parties go, that one was quite special.”

Svein laughed with me. “Yes, but he had prepared himself for that. Working up to it in the same way that you or I prepare to do an unpleasant chore. He can even enjoy them when he's ready for it and the Queen's in attendance.” He leered at me.

“Does he know that you have all figured out about his crush?”

“Worst kept secret on the islands.” Svein agreed happily. “He probably thinks he's being really subtle about it,” he picked a piece of chicken out of his teeth and wiped his fingers on his tunic. “He's not bad at it to be fair, and you need to know what you're looking for and understand his thinking.”

I let that slide. I still had hoped that I would be able to talk to Helfdan about this kind of thing and make the man my friend.

“Where's he gone? I was hoping to talk to him.” I asked while pouring Svein a cup of milk.

Skelligans also have a thing about pouring drinks for each other. If you're eating with someone, you should never pour yourself a drink. People are expected to pour each other drinks. As another point, I noticed that there wasn't any alcohol being served that night.

“Well,” Svein drank deeply before grimacing at the milk, brushing white droplets from his short beard with the back of his hand. “He's gone off to his house.”

“I thought that this was his house.”

“And it is. But it would be truer to say that this is his hall. When he sleeps here he sleeps in a small room out back. It's got a small pallet and a blanket. Before I met him, shortly after he had taken over the rule of the village and taken command of the Wave-Serpent, he had gone on two ridiculously successful raids.”

I settled in. There's no stopping Svein when he gets the feel of a good story between his teeth.

“Just two raids. He had been here to accept the oaths of the people, they had been neglected and the place was all but a ruin at that point. As I said. The place was supposed to be a veiled insult as well as a way to get him out of everyone's hair. But he looked around the place with that calculating expression he gets sometimes. You know the one, where he gets a little furrow between his brows?”

I nodded to show that I understood.

“Anyway, he comes back laden with goods after his two successful raids along with a carpenter, a new blacksmith that he had found and he was followed by a Foreign Merchant ship laden with Timber and building materials.”

Svein laughed at the thought. “It must have been a sight when he turns up with all of that stuff. They had to float the wood across because the wharf wasn't big enough for the merchant ship at that point. But I still like to imagine those villagers and the local Skald, used to being the butt of everyone's jokes and being taxed to pay for whatever their Lords had in mind.... I like to picture their faces.”

He laughed before pulling a comedically astonished face, caught between horror and awe. He couldn't hold it for long because then he just kind of dissolved into giggles.

“But anyway. Most of the buildings were torn down and replaced by new ones. The foundations were good, solid stone in a couple of places and we still do that where we can, especially when it comes to the bigger buildings... but I digress.”

“Which you do so rarely.” I commented drily.

“Cheeky fucker. Anyway... They tore down the old hall, which was a joke anyway, after Helfdan had first insisted that they rebuild the blacksmith according to what the new guy wanted. That shocked everyone as well.”

“Pragmatic choice though. Then the Blacksmith can help with all of the other building stuff.”

“True, but most Skelligans, including me, would expect their lord to build their hall first. A Lord's hall is representative of their status on the islands which is why people get all snippy about it. But not Helfdan. He demanded that they build the forge first. I'm told that he frowned at them until they agreed with him.”

“I can imagine that.” It was a funny image but I could certainly see it.

“But then they built the hall and built a large bedroom for the Lord with a huge soft bed in it. They were still expecting him to be bedding his way through the local lasses at the time but he never used it. They got all worried on his first morning after the hall had been built until he came out of a back room that had been meant for storage. He was tying up his bedroll and looked at them as if they were all stupid.”

He laughed at the story again.

“But that's still where he sleeps when he's here. He keeps his books in there and his writing desk. To be fair, it keeps such things out of the way of the other folk. I'm an enlightened, modern man but even I sometimes get a bit uncomfortable when I see him writing something. For some reason I can be ok with him reading next to the fireipit in the main hall on quiet nights but I struggle with his writing. He likes to sit just over there in that corner.”

He gestured.

“So where is he now?”

“I dunno.” he shrugged expansively. “Probably in his hut. He has a hut in the woods, about ten minutes ride away from here. He goes there when it's all getting a bit much and he's feeling overwhelmed. He told me that he can just sit there in the warm and the quiet and listen to the trees until the world starts to make sense again.”

“You make him sound all mysterious.”

Svein grinned but wouldn't be drawn on that.

“But he does go there sometimes when the world hasn't gone according to plan. Don't get me wrong, if he didn't want to help you then he wouldn't have helped you. But he was ready for a nice gentle festival of not looking at the Queen and being involved in the politics.”

“I wouldn't have thought that a man like that would have enjoyed politics.”

“He doesn't. But he is very good at reading people. As well as for his sailing skills, the Queen occasionally asks for his advice on what people are thinking. Especially around foreigners. Apparently there are body language things (he pronounced it “Body Langwidge”) that are universal, no matter the culture.”

“And there are a lot of foreigners around the Festival.”

“Especially since Queen Cerys took over.” Svein agreed. “But it's also a thing that, out of sight really is out of mind. 'is Lordship owes his fealty to Clan An Craite and as such, if we're going to get duty, or decent raiding territory then we need to get it off Hjallmar. So we need to be there in order to be seen and to remind everyone that we are better than they are. Including Hjallmar.” His face twisted in distaste.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“You don't like the Jarl?” I asked.

Svein grinned. “Reflex, he doesn't like Helfdan so I don't like him. That's how this thing works.”

I took a long drink.

“Interesting society you have here.” I commented after a moment's thought.

Svein laughed as though I had made the world's greatest jest.

“But you know that he's safe?” I prompted.

“I do.”

“How?”

“His guards have gone.”

“But they haven't.” I pointed out, gesturing at those women that were still standing in various parts of the hall.

Svein laughed. “Yes, but you notice that they're all calm and collected? If they had really lost their Lord would they be so calm?”

“I have no idea.” I admitted. “There is a lot about life on the islands that I don't really understand. For all I know, you lot take pride in making no reactions at all regarding whatever surprises that come across your way.”

Svein really was laughing a lot. “We do sometimes, or when we're trying to confound enemies.” His face went serious for a moment. “Helfdan's need for solitude is occasionally all consuming. So if his guards, in their big heavy armour, carrying their bulky weapons and shields just stand up whenever he needs to take a shit, then he tries to avoid them. He's not being rude, aggressive or anything, he just wants to be left alone. That is his desire.”

He shook his head mournfully as the jug of honeyed milk came round the tables again.

“And we have to respect his desire, while also ensuring his safety. So as well as the guards that everyone can see, the ones who jangle when they walk from all the metal plates sewn into their armour, there are also the other guards. Women, and men to be fair, who are better at moving around unseen. I don't know too much, deliberately. It was my wife's idea and she commands them. Whenever I ask what they're capable of and how many there are she tells me that I don't need to know such things before wondering if I would use that information to plot against Helfdan.”

He sniffed at that.

“But after a while, you can spot them around the place. Keeping an eye on things. There was a girl who was serving food to that table, closest to where Helfdan was eating who is now gone. Another woman who was tending the firepit, despite the fact that it obviously doesn't need tending that much. Both women are gone. If there was anything to worry about, we would already be worrying about it.”

“Good to know.”

The night was a lot of fun and I had a good time listening to the jokes and the ever present stories that seem to almost permeate the air in Skellige. But it was all over soon, much earlier than I had expected in all truthfulness. My experience of Skelligan culture so far told me that such gatherings would often last for days and nights at a time. But then, the men of the Wave-Serpent abruptly stopped eating and drinking before wandering off in ones or twos. Often with an arm round, or holding hands with a family member.

Svein advised me to get some rest and I took his advice gladly. I slept until shaken awake by a thrall to go down and have a hearty breakfast.

Kerrass must have been in something that approximated his idea of heaven as breakfast was large, and made up of good meats and plenty of bread.

It was early in the morning and it was noticeably colder than it had been, only the previous day. Definitely colder than it had been when we first arrived in Kaer Trolde. Cold enough that I wanted to tug my cloak around my shoulders that little bit tighter and could see my breath, still hot from the mulled wine that they had served in the hall.

Not quite hot enough for me to rub my hands together though.

Which was when I saw that the crew of the Wave-Serpent were training. And oh boy, do these men not fuck about when they were training.

I've seen people train with movement drills, it was how Kerrass began training me all that time ago when he told me a series of movements that he wanted me to perform over and over again in order to get them into my muscle memory. The idea being that when attacked, your body already knows that you answer with this parry and follow up with a feint and that strike.

I've also seen men fight, only with training weapons. Training weapons that are heavier and clumsier than normal weapons on the grounds that if you can become strong enough and have enough finesse to wield these kinds of weapons then the real thing would not be a problem.

These men went at it at full pace. They were all wearing their proper armour. Armed with what they were armed with and the only reason that I could tell that they weren't actively trying to kill each other is because I saw one man bring his axe, whistling down towards the helmet of one of his fellows before the blow stopped short with an admirable sense of control before it descended again for a quick tap.

In the distance at the harbour, we could see the Wave-Serpent being prepared for the coming journey. People were loading her with sacks and crates and all of the other things that we might need. Helfdan was visible down there, easily picked out due to the presence of his guard as well as his deep blue tunic but he seemed to be standing next to the gangplank, watching everything being loaded aboard. I had seen it enough to be able to easily imagine his frown of concentration as he watched things being done carefully.

Kerrass called Ciri and I away and we began our own training routines. Ciri had recovered a lot of the strength and grace that I had first seen back in the training yard in Toussaint and I was no longer able to get anywhere near her. It was hard to begrudge her that though as she had been so frustrated at her perceived lack of physical capabilities and now that she was getting rid of what she called “a horrible stiffness in my limbs,” she was feeling much better about life. Kerrass himself was now having to noticeably raise his game when fighting Ciri and it was now at the stage where I could not have told you who was the better fighter. I remembered that Kerrass used to say that she was one of the few that could be depended on to beat him and it seemed that she had recovered some of that edge.

We set sail again when Helfdan sent a thrall up to where the men were training to let them know that he was finally satisfied with the preparations and that he wanted to get away. The men picked up their gear and walked down to the dock without comment. Svein jokingly told me that voyages and raids have been delayed for days because Helfdan had not been satisfied by some kind of small detail and the launch had missed the tide. The men didn't mind. As far as they were concerned, it was part of what made Helfdan lucky and that if he “wasn't feeling right”, then it was part of that instinct that brought a greater than normal proportion of them home after any given voyage.

We sailed out and came across the gulf. There is a spar of rock and smaller islands that pokes out of the South Western Tip of Ard Skellig and we were coming round that. Getting as close to the tip as we could to lose the least possible time. But then we would feel the full might of the prevailing winds and currents that were trying to drive us back East and we would no longer have the shield of the greater islands to protect the Wave-Serpent from that.

We camped that night on one of the smaller islands to the South East of Undvik. If you drew a line from Helfdan's village to where we camped then it would look as though we travelled half the total distance in a couple of hours whereas the rest of the journey took much longer. You could feel it when the currents of the water changed. In the bowels of the ship, the wood seemed to shift and groan but the crew didn't seem to mind. Nor did they seem to mind the seemingly random course that Helfdan took in order to navigate the islands that seemed to litter the seas around Undvik. They did get the oars out in order to take us into the camp site though. Just a small beach surrounded by cliffs but it seemed a regular place and the crew knew it well. Well enough to know where there was some dry firewood, where they could get fresh water and to confidently state that we were free from any monster attacks. It was a lively evening and I met even more of the crew.

I learned many interesting things during some of those camps with the crew of the Wave-Serpent and we discussed many wide ranging topics as well as talking about the Skeleton Ship itself. But I would be telling the story out of order if I talked about that now.

I met the companies berserker. A man called Sigurd who was anything but what I had imagined. He certainly filled the bill of being tall, broad, hairy and heavily muscled. But after that, he seemed kind and gentle. He spent a lot of time looking at me strangely during those early parts of the journey while treating Ciri with excessive gallantry.

She referred to him as being sweet but I remembered what he had looked like when he had stood there chewing the rim of his shield.

I also met the Company's main Archer. I had expected someone with the lankiness of one of Rickard's men but Perrin was a small little whippet of a man. He grinned often and in doing so displayed stained and misshapen teeth, many of which were missing. He could proudly tell us where he had lost each one as well.

He could move through the undergrowth with astonishing speed for his size and could do so without leaving a trace of his passing. He wore a pot helm that was too big for him and a patchwork leather coat made from leather strips that had been weaved together. He had a shield slung on his back, an axe at his side and carried a beautiful recurved bow. His quiver of arrows was clipped onto his belt while fighting but he carried it in his hand other times. I never saw him without his armour and when I asked why not, he told me that I would have to kiss him first before I would see such a thing.

We set sail early the following day and picked our way round the Southern Coast of Undvik. Apparently the place is occupied again after the depredations of an Ice giant that had driven the former occupants away. But the southern shore of the island is mostly mountainous and as such we didn't see anyone. It was hard going but Svein told us that we had taken the Southern route in order to protect us from eyes that might see us on the northern shore and sell out our location to interested parties.

Helfdan was looking at Ciri as we were told that though, his eyes glittering. I'm not sure whether or not Ciri noticed his gaze. I do know that she seemed relieved when she was told that we weren't taking the Northern route.

That night we camped on the shore of Undvik itself. There was a valley that had been formed by run off water that came down off the mountain. We were beached and the men got into their armour in preparation for what Svein called the evening activities. I didn't ask what that might be because I saw Kerrass constructing his crossbow.

Ciri also loaded her own crossbow and spent a bit of time cleaning it properly.

There were more stories that night and I learned still more about the people that I travelled with. Mostly though, I learned some more about Helfdan's history with Dreng from Kaer Trolde and why the two men had a certain amount of antipathy towards each other.

The camp was attacked twice that night. The first time was a kind of probing thing by a group of harpies. Those members of the crew that could soon chased them off with some well placed arrows and crossbow bolts from Ciri and Kerrass. Then Kerrass ran off and quickly killed the few monsters that had fallen near to the camp.

The second time was a more concerted attack by a group of Necrophages. I don't know what particular type of Necrophages they were, they seemed to be some kind of strange mutation of the normal kind as they seemed to steam in the air and were much more organised and collected than the kinds of Necrophages that I had experience of. There was some kind of intelligence there as they came at us in an organised fashion.

But it meant that I got to see the crew of the Wave-Serpent fight.

It was like watching organised chaos. Like watching snow-flakes in a storm being blown into a flurry by the wind. But the surety is that they are still falling down to blanket the ground with snow and ice.

But out of that maelstrom of movement a shieldwall formed and the Necrophages were bouncing off the men to be ruthlessly crushed underfoot before Kerrass and Ciri attacked from the sides, spinning between the monsters with almost casual efficiency.

I stayed out of the way as I had absolutely no idea what was happening in the dark and it struck me as the height of bad manners to try and interfere in things that I did not understand. So I hung back and stood next to Helfdan who had his sword in hand, almost slouching in a relaxed kind of attitude. Neither of us moved as we watched everything happen.

He did turn away, sheathe his sword and head back to his bedroll before it was over though. I remember that bit where he just seemed to decide that it was all over and that he didn't need to worry about it. He was right though, it was all over although it took another few minutes to actually be over.

There were a couple of cuts and bruises to show for it but nothing too serious.

We set a watch and as is my habit in these kinds of situations I volunteered to take the middle watch. The idea is that I can get it out of the way and people always remember that I volunteered for that particularly unpleasant chore.

But I crouched on the edge of the camp in the cover of a stone. I was thinking of Sir Rickard and his thoughts on the proper placement of sentries when he said that any sentry that is standing in the open looking out for an enemy is a dead sentry. That proper sentries can see, but not be seen and that therefore, the placement of sentries is a balancing act between being able to see things while being hidden. I wished that he and his bastards were with us that night. I felt as though I could have done with a dozen good archers to protect against the harpies and the siryns.

There was another roving sentry that knew where I was. It was Ivar the story teller who was the oldest crew-member of the ship by some margin. He was also the hairiest man that I had ever known with long hair, huge beard and amazingly bushy eye-brows. His was the face of a man who was more beard than face, with a mouth, nose and eyes that seemed to poke out of the solid mass of hair.

He did this thing with his beard. He told everyone that he had the longest hair out of all of the crew but that because it was so bushy, it all just stayed close to his face. He argued that he was so handsome that his hair just wanted to stay close to him and that he couldn't help being so wonderful. He could prove it too. He would take hold of the end of his beard and pull at it until it was clear that it would reach down to his naval at full extension. He was a cheerful man who smiled often.

He had stories to tell about all kinds of things and was the best story teller of the Wave-Serpent by a long margin. The other men boasted that he had once kept them laughing and entertained for days while they waited for a storm to pass but that none of them could remember what any of his stories were about when they set sail the following day. But all agreed that they were hilarious.

He fought with a large wooden club. Maybe five foot long. It was old wood and he had carved strange knotwork and designs into the side of it as he sat by the camp fires and either spoke or listened with equal attention. He was a good man and I liked him a great deal.

But his task for that watch was to wander between the sentries in order to make sure that we hadn't fallen asleep, we would chat for a minute or so, he would crack a joke or something and then he would move on.

So that was what I was expecting when I turned around to find Helfdan himself standing next to me. He had a large wineskin in his hand and a small sack.

“Good morning.” He said without inflection. This had the peculiar effect that I thought of the old joke. Did he wish me a good morning? Was he saying that it was a good morning whether I wanted it or not? Was he saying that I was having a good morning? Or was it a thing about the fact that he was asking me whether I was having a good morning. I stared at him for a while in confusion.

He seemed a little different to the person that I had met in Kaer Trolde, closer to the man who had asked questions about what I needed rather than the man who had rescued me from his rival, Dreng. He seemed, if anything, a little more relaxed, a little happier and collected in himself. Despite the fact that he was standing out in the open.

“Ummm, is it?”

“Is it what?” His lips quirked up towards a smile, just a slight one. It created the unfortunate impression that I was being laughed at. Especially with the lack of eye contact.

“Is it a good morning?” I asked, a little harsher than I had intended.

“Oh yes.” He told me. “The morning will see us a couple of hours away from your first destination as the wind has shifted slightly to the south in the night. And midnight passed an hour ago so yes. It is a good morning.”

I did my best to hide the realisation that this man's definition of “good” was that he would be sailing easily on the morning.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“The turning of the sky.” He told me. “I brought you water and some food to keep your strength up.”

He passed the sack and the wine-skin over.

“Uhhh, Thank you.” The water was icy cold. The sack contained several small wrapped packages which turned out to contain some light honey cake that was absolutely delicious.

I offered him the skin back and he took it without comment. I had meant it as a gesture to offer him a drink in the same way that you pass a bottle backwards and forwards in companionship. But instead, he just took it off me and turned to walk away without a word.

“Whait?” I said, my tired brain being unable to decide whether or not it wanted to ask “why?” or to tell him to wait so that I could ask more questions.

He turned back. “Is there something wrong?”

“Why are you out here?” I asked.

“To bring food and water to the sentries?” He waited calmly for the next question. Again, he answered the question without inflection and again, I found myself wondering if I was being mocked. More and more evidence as to why people struggle to like this man. I was working really hard at it and I was struggling myself.

“But why you?”

“Oh,” he almost exclaimed it as though he had just realised the answer to a tricky problem. “It needs doing. Svein won't let me stand a watch for his own reasons but it seems... unfair that I have a full night's sleep when everyone else has to work.”

He stared at me intently for a moment, or rather, he stared at my neck. I don't know why my neck rather than my chest. “You have more questions.” Still no more inflection in his voice.

“Oh, so many questions.”

He looked at the sky. “One more then before I must move on.”

“Shouldn't you be... I'm being more stealthy to prevent enemies from spotting me. Yet you stand in the open. Shouldn't you be more careful.”

He nodded, more as an accepting of the question.

“We are in no danger.” He told me before turning away.

“What? But... Necrophages and bandits... and...”

He turned back with a frown before sighing and coming back to me.

“The Harpys lost a few of their number and will not attack again as they know we can hurt them. The Necrophages will go off in search of easier prey for now and there are no bandits.”

“But how do you know?” I was annoyed at the sound of pleading in my voice.

“Because there is nowhere else to land on this side of the island.” He said. “If we were going to be attacked here, we would have seen them by now. Or, we would have heard the shrieks of Harpys and Necrophages attacking them. We are quite alone now.”

“Then why set a watch?”

This time he really did smile although his gaze had sunk to my chest. “Because Svein is an old woman.” He told me. “And some men need to see safety in order to feel it. Now I really must move on Lord Frederick. I shall see you in the morning.”

And then he was gone.

Ivar was munching on his own cake when he checked on me next. He laughed at my confusion. “Yeah. He does that once or twice a night.”

“Is he right about us being safe?”

“Probably,” Ivar brushed crumbs from his chest. “He's right about most things.”

“Then why are we setting a watch?”

“Svein would say that “Just because a thing has always been right, doesn't mean that it always will. But The Lord is right. He is an old woman.”

He laughed at the joke and moved on.

“Wait,” I called. “In that story you told earlier. Why did you never use the Lord's name?”

Ivar stared at me as though I was mad, which I might have been for all I know.

“You never say the name of the dead when you're sailing lad.” It seemed like everyone was lad, or boy to this man. “It's bad luck innit.”

“Why?”

“Because it draws the gaze of the dead. They get closer to us and then, other dead sailors might see that and wonder why it's so interesting. Then the Goddess of death herself might take an interest in you. Would you want the Goddess of death to pay attention to you?”

“Not really.”

“There you go then.” He walked off into the night. Shaking his head at the stupidity of foreigners.

The harpies made another dawn raid on us as we were in the process of waking up. But Kerrass was well in control of the situation and had already warned us about the problem. So hidden Archers were in place, and no sooner did Kerrass give the signal and we were all climbing out of our bed rolls to repel the attack. In all truth, it was a matter for just standing my ground, putting a rock or something equally as solid at my back and then just holding my spear out until the harpy ran onto the pointy end.

One of them even fell for it. It didn't get particularly hurt but it screamed in anger and frustration before it went off looking for a different and easier target.

But after they had retreated there were more delays. Launch was delayed by something nautical which meant that it would be pointless to try and sail. We spent the time with some training before Helfdan declared that he was satisfied and off we sailed. Heading round the Western coast of the island. It was getting noticeably colder the further West we got. Something about the prevailing winds was blowing the cold towards us.

I was surprised. The fact that the place we were looking for was not attached to the main island at all. I shouldn't have been, it seems perfectly obvious now when I look back. But at the time I remember looking back at the shore and wondering where we were going.

There were plenty of towers on the island which my imagination painted as being the home of some kind of ancient order of monks. Where the duty of watching for the Skeleton Ship was passed down from father to son throughout the centuries.

How such men ever get sons without there being any women present always mystified me but such details aren't important when your imagination is spinning itself a good conspiracy theory or concocting ancient cults and mysterious orders where knowledge is preserved through the eons.

But some of the men laughed and pointed out that it wasn't the Western most point of the islands at all. That we were sailing through the western most points after all.

They weren't wrong and Helfdan steered us through the small islands and rocky outcrops with relative ease although I still struggled to make sense of the movements of the ship. The way that sometimes we seemed to be standing still despite a full sail but other times we were moving fairly quickly despite an empty sail and an utter lack of effort on the part of the crew.

Then, through the maze of smaller islands, the small, inhospitable little places that weren't home to much more than puffins and gulls, we began to see the open ocean and the gusts of bitterly cold wind were upon us.

I know that stories always portray the open sea as being blue. Ancient writings have it that the Elves used to refer to the sea as being “The Great Green sea.” But on that day as I looked out across the desolate waves and water, it looked grey and bleak. This was a sea that promised death. One of the sailors teased me by telling me that if I hit the water I would last less than ten heart beats before my body would seize up and I would sink.

They told me that I would be lucky if I merely drowned. I didn't believe them but Ciri seemed to take it quite seriously.

We sailed along the line of islands a little sailing slightly at an angle to the wind itself which Helfdan was able to ride by twisting the sail first to one side and then another before we finally looked as though we were heading to the last island to the West of the isles.

I was again struck with the differences between the truth and the stories that they tell us. When I had first heard of this place in the halls of Kaer Trolde I had imagined a huge watchtower on top of a spike of stone that thrust out of the water like a spear aimed at the heavens.

Or maybe the watchtower had clung to the side of the spike. It didn't really seem to matter that much.

I had certainly expected a long climb of steep steps to get to the watchtower itself. Steps that would be slick to the touch.

This looked to be little more than a mound of stone. There was a tower on it to be sure but that was it. The tower itself stood maybe two meters tall and was made out of the same grey stone that seemed to make up all the islands of this place. We could see a man walking around on the parapet of the tower, little more than a dark outline of a man as we looked but he saw us and waved.

The Berserker, Sigurd, was standing next to Helfdan and whispered something in his ear. Helfdan nodded and changed course so that we came round the eastern flank of the island and found a sheer wall of stone.

Sigurd was tying a rope onto a spear before he hurled the spear up to the top of the cliff. Another rope followed and another.

The sail dropped and men appeared at the top of the small cliff.

Cliff, it was no more than five meters tall but that's the right word to us so that's the word I use.

Someone on top of the cliff that we couldn't see started to call off a cadence of some kind and the Wave-Serpent started being pulled towards the cliff. Helfdan ordered men to stick poles out of the side of the ship, presumably so we wouldn't slam against the side of the ship. Svein was called over and Helfdan said something to him but I wasn't paying attention.

I was fascinated by the place that we were going to. Fascinated and a little disappointed. As I say, there was a sense of anti-climax about the whole thing. The soaring edifice out of legend that I had expected turned out to be short, squat and relatively ugly.

But, at the same time, that didn't lessen the impact of us. The men above us were chanting, half singing and half talking something that helped them set up a rhythm that brought the ship into the, for want of a better word, dock. There didn't sound like very many of them but the ship moved well and quickly so it was easy to imagine them being immensely strong.

“Sigurd will guide you.” Svein said to the three of us, startling me out of my thought process. Ciri didn't jump but nor did she turn to look at the man. It seemed that she too was fascinated by the stone wall in front of us and what lay at the top of it.

Kerrass turned... “Why Sigurd?”

“He knows this place.” Was the response. Quick and cryptic as these people often seem to like their answers. “He will tell you if he has the chance or feels the need, but I suspect that you will soon know what the answer is.”

He looked at me as he said that and I felt a chill run down my spine. I have no idea why.

“But in the meantime.” Svein went on. “The Wave-Serpent can't stay here.”

“I was going to ask,” Ciri finally turned to face the man. “Aren't there stones under the water that are dangerous?”

“No. It's a flat landing place. Some hand carved it out that way. It's possible to tie on and we have to put rope fenders between us and the dock so that we don't just get battered to pieces. But whichever God or creature carved this place out they must have intended it that way. We can be here for a while but we can't tie on indefinitely. Nor should we if I'm honest. It's a place where we drop off supplies and new members for the people that live here so it's not meant for extended stay.”

He sniffed.

“Helfdan has an idea about checking behind us to see if we're being pursued. We're in the right place for it. People easily get turned around in the maze of rock and get lost. And there's the added benefit that any ship out there is definitely an enemy.” He said that with a look of relish.

“Why do you think that?” I had to ask. I couldn't help myself really.

“Because we're the only people foolish enough to be out here.” He answered happily. “So anyone who's out here is here for us.”

“Is there danger?” Kerrass asked.

“There's always danger.” Svein laughed. “Anyway, apparently they're going to drop a ladder aaaannnndd. There it is.”

A rope ladder landed on the deck and Sigurd swarmed up it easily. As I said before, Sigurd is not a small man. Easily six foot tall and four foot wide but I swear that there isn't an ounce of fat on him. He looks as though he should be fat. He looks as though nature and the world has designed him to be one of those fat, jolly old friars that sits in the corner of the tavern when they're not preaching kindness and mercy, and drinks the locals under the table. When you weren't actually in his physical presence, you remembered him as this large fat man but I have seen him when he's changed his shirt and as I say, that is an illusion built up by muscle and baggy clothing.

His beard was kind of thin, wispy and curly so that you could easily see the pale skin underneath the dark hair. The same way that my beard looks if I don't shave for long enough to grow a beard. His hair though, was long, coarse and equally curly. My impression of him was that he was a gentle giant. The kind of man that had had to move around carefully since he was young for fear of bumping into someone and hurting them accidentally.

His head was equally as huge and apparently, Helfdan had had to order a helmet made for him especially. It was little more than a pot helm with a nose guard which had been all that he wanted given that it keeps getting lost in the heat of battle. But no one-else could wear it on the grounds that it wouldn't fit.

I tried it on once. Rather unkindly, Kerrass said that my head looked like a pea rolling around in a bowl.

He wore an arming jacket over his massive frame and I know that a suit of chain mail went over the top of that. His arm guards were made from metal and those were the clothes that I never saw him take off. He carried a large two handed axe which he wore slung on his back but that was not his only weapon. He also had an axe on his belt for when he needed to fight in the shield wall and next to it hung a long fighting knife which the islanders called a seax.

He also had a large shield that was wider than he was. A sensible precaution given his size. He fought with the axe and shield when in the wall but he would have it slung on his back when fighting with the two handed axe. I had asked about the axe as I had developed a new fascination with the weapon given my new attachment to Father Gardan's axe and he ruefully admitted that he had been a little jealous of Gardan's axe. As his was a lot simpler and nowhere near as nice. That his axe often got caught in flesh and couldn't be used to jab as effectively as the butterfly blades could be used. He kindly asked me if I wanted some pointers on how to use the axe which I declined, telling me that it wasn't my axe.

He looked at me strangely when I said that although I didn't understand why.

I liked Sigurd a great deal and I struggled to reconcile the image of this large, gentle, teddy bear of a man with the rampaging wall of fury that had been described to me. Or the part of him that occasionally chewed the rim of his shield when he was getting agitated.

But he was immensely strong, as demonstrated by how quickly he climbed up the rope with all of his gear on his back.

Ciri went next, little more than her clothes and her sword on her back as she went and she did it depressingly quickly.

Which was when it was my turn and to no-one's surprise, least of all mine, I struggled. I remembered that although my physical capabilities are a lot better than they used to be when I started the journey, the co-ordination that I needed in order to climb up a rope ladder where the steps were slick with freezing cold water in the freezing cold air, was almost more than I could bear.

There was one moment where I was about two thirds of the way up and I made the mistake. Not the traditional one of looking down although I was reminded of the earlier warnings of just how long I would last if I fell in the water. But instead I looked up. My arms were straining and aching and I looked up to see how far I still had to go.

It wasn't far. I would probably only have to go up a couple more rungs and I would be a the top but it suddenly seemed like a million miles away. I hung there, suspended by the arms, I couldn't go back down, I was tiring further by the second and I knew that if I stayed where I was, then I would eventually fall. There was a moment there when I was honestly concerned that I was going to die there. After fighting through various things, after educating myself on the way that the world works. After going to all of those lengths I was going to die, hanging off the side of a rope ladder, climbing up a depressingly small cliff.

Not the way that I wanted to go.

The thing that got me moving again was not grit or determination. It was the thought of Kerrass having to explain to Ariadne what had happened. They would both be upset of course but neither of them would be able to get past the fact that the image was also rather funny.

Because it was. I barked with laughter and from somewhere I managed to move a leg to the next rung and used that leg to climb the ladder.

Which should have been how I was doing it in the first place if we're honest with each other.

I finally got to the top and in that single moment, no other victory seemed to be as all encompassing as that one. Not proposing to Ariadne, not lifting the curse around Sleeping Beauty or even managing the destruction of the cult of the first born. Just that short climb from the deck of the Wave-Serpent up a ladder.

Obviously this is ridiculous and I hope that my Lady Love is not offended when she hears that I said that because obviously my greatest achievement is to be loved by so amazing a lady and that nothing should take away from that.

But in the moment, as I lay on the cold, wet stone. It felt as though I had conquered the world.

Like the other two, Kerrass was up the ladder in a truly ridiculously short amount of time and he took great delight in looking down at me.

“We need to work on your upper body strength Freddie,”

“Thank you for the observation Kerrass.”

There was another man there. He looked old and scarred, short grey hair over a hard looking face despite the grin. “It can take some people like that the first time. No shame in it. We all have our strengths.” He held out his hand and with the lack of any better alternatives, I took it and climbed to my feet. My rescuer was wearing a thick fur cloak with a hood that looked as though it had been fashioned from the skin of a bear.

“What brings you out here?” He asked. His accent was thick. “Brother Sigurd over there tells me that you have business but that I should ask you the questions.”

“Would it not be better to have this conversation somewhere a bit more sheltered?” Kerrass tried.

“Maybe.” The man told him flatly. “But we're having it here.”

Sigurd was nearby, chatting with another man in a similar outfit. Again I was disappointed. I had expected monks robes. These men looked like Skelligans except for the lack of weaponry.

We were on a flat plateau of stone. It was only a little uneven and were sheltered on three sides by stone walls. The last wall faced out into the open sea. A third man was stood there, puffs of sweet-smelling tobacco smoke came from him so, even though we couldn't see his face, he must have been smoking.

In the middle of the floor was a great construction of wood that had been covered in a tarpaulin. The stench of Lantern oil was pervasive.

Ciri shrugged. “We have been charged with ending the curse of the Skeleton Ship.” She told the stranger. “Although we are unsure as to whether or not the thing should be done we must first discover...”

“If it can be done.” The man nodded. “That ship is the Wave-Serpent which means that you are approved of by the Queen?”

“We are.” Kerrass nodded. “If we can find a way then the Queen will decide if she wants to follow through on it.”

The man nodded.

“This is going to take some more talking.” He decided. “Which means that you'd better follow me.”

He led us to the back wall where there was a wooden hatch in the floor. He stamped on it three times before someone pushed it open.

It was a much younger man, heavily muscled that emerged. He wore a pair of brigga on his legs but other than that he went bare-foot and bare chested. He had a cloak of bear skin and the same bear skull hood on his chest except this bear skin still had it's fangs.

He was missing an arm and an eye but the remaining eye glittered with intelligence and humour.

I felt cold just looking at him.

The older man bowed.

Then Sigurd astonished me by bowing as well.

Skelligans don't bow. They see it as an insult, both to their own honour and the honour of the person that they are bowing to. To show respect in Skelligan society you stand tall and look the person in the eye. That way they can assess your honour for themselves.

The older man decided that his job was done and went to join the other two men at the look out point.

Sigurd straightened up.

“Still alive Sigurd?”

“Only just Father.” The two men embraced fiercely. Sigurd was the bigger of the two, but only just.

“Welcome home brother.” The new arrival said. “It has been too long since you were in our halls. Have you come to finally take the change?”

“I have not.” Sigurd told him. “I still do not feel that that way is my way.”

The man shrugged good naturedly. They talked to each other like monks. The “Brother” bit and the “Father” bit would suggest this as well as suggesting that this man was a superior of some kind.

“Then introduce me.” He told Sigurd.

“Friends, this is Father Ragnvald and if there is a leader here then he is it.”

Kerrass smiled slightly. “I am getting the impression that this place is more than just the watchtower of the Skeleton Ship.”

Father Ragnvald laughed warmly. “More than somewhat although we are charged with that task as well. Do not take it the wrong wa,y but it is unusual to give the secret of what this place is to outsiders but,”

he glanced at me, “I can see why you were allowed in. This is one of the fortresses of the Skelligan berserkers.”

“I see.” Kerrass said carefully.

Ragnvald laughed again. It sounded like something that he did often. Skelligans do seem to enjoy their laughter “I doubt it. But we shall make it clear. But we should do this in order.”

He turned to Ciri.

“Welcome Empress. It is rare that we have a ruler in our halls. There are women here and you have nothing to fear, contrary to popular opinion.”

“I would not doubt it.” Ciri told him, shaking his hand in the warrior's grip. “How did you know that I am Empress? We sent no word as our mission is a secret.”

“And prudently so. Do not concern yourself. We have Shamen and druids in our number as well. But I am honoured that you would come to my halls. I welcome you and offer you my hospitality.”

“Thank you.”

“Welcome Witcher.” Ragnvald told Kerrass. “It has been many years since I last spoke with a Witcher. I find your conversation interesting.”

“How many Witchers have you met?” Kerrass asked.

“Oh, more than a few my friend more than a few. I am older than I look. If it doesn't kill you, Berserking is good for you.”

“I find that.... difficult to believe.”

Ragnvald shrugged.

Then he turned to me and looked me in the eye.

Which was when that I saw his eye was brown with Golden flecks in them. They were deep and soulful and I felt as though I was falling. I smelled smoke and blood as well as roasting meat. I felt adrenaline surge through me, the same cold and ready feeling that heralds the beginning of a fight. Breath whistled through my teeth and I felt my lips pull back from my teeth in a snarl.

Then I felt dizzy and staggered.

To be caught by Father Ragnvald. Kerrass was close behind him.

“What did you do to me?” I demanded while gasping for breath.

Ragnvald smiled a little sadly.

“Welcome, brother.” He said to me.