‘What do I care about their combined value?’ she snorted. ‘I need one, but a suitably large one. How large, master jeweller?’

The lapidary looked again at the drawing.

‘In order to make that cut and those facets? A minimum of thirty carats.’

‘There’s no such stone,’ Guthlaf stated categorically, ‘on the whole of Skellige.’

‘That’s not true,’ the jeweller contradicted. ‘There is.’

‘How do you imagine this playing out, Yennefer?’ Crach an Craite frowned. ‘I’m to send armed men to storm and then plunder the temple? I’m to threaten the priestesses with my wrath if they won’t give up the diamond? It’s out of the question. I’m not especially religious, but a temple’s a temple, and priestesses are priestesses. I can only ask politely. Hint at how much it matters to me and how great my gratitude will be. But it will still only be a request. A humble supplication.’

‘That may be denied?’

‘Indeed. But there’s no harm in trying. What are we risking? Let’s sail to Hindarsfjall together and present the supplication. I’ll give the priestesses to understand what’s needed. But then everything will be in your hands. Negotiate. Present your arguments. Try bribery. Pique their ambition. Appeal to higher reasons. Despair, weep, sob, beg for mercy… Call on all the sea devils. Must I teach you, Yennefer?’

‘It’ll all be for nothing, Crach. A sorceress will never reach agreement with priestesses. Certain differences of our… outlook are too marked. And when it comes to permitting a sorceress to use a “sacred” relict or artefact… No, we’d better forget it. There’s no chance…’

‘What do you actually need that diamond for?’

‘To build a “window”. I mean a telecommunicational megascope. I have to talk to several people.’

‘Magically? At a distance?’

‘If it was enough to climb to the top of Kaer Trolde and shout loudly, I wouldn’t be bothering you.’

The gulls and petrels circling above the water clamoured. The red-beaked oystercatchers nesting on the steep rocks and reefs of Hindarsfjall squealed shrilly, and yellow-headed gannets screeched hoarsely and gaggled. The glistening green eyes of black-crested cormorants watched attentively as the launch sailed past.

‘That large rock suspended above the water,’ pointed out Crach an Craite, leaning on the rail, ‘is Kaer Hemdall, Hemdall’s Watchtower. Hemdall is our mythical hero. Legend has it that with the coming of Tedd Deireadh, the Time of the End, the Time of White Frost and the Wolfish Blizzard, Hemdall will face the evil powers from the land of Morhögg: the phantoms, demons and spectres of Chaos. He will stand on the Rainbow Bridge and blow his horn to signal that it is time to take up arms and fall in to battle array. For Ragh nar Roog, the Last Battle, which will decide if night is to fall, or dawn to break.’

The launch skipped nimbly over the waves, entering the calmer waters of the bay between Hemdall’s Watchtower and another rock of similarly fantastic contours.