“You’ve a new sword,” he said, looking down at her belt.
She hooked a finger under the plain crosspiece and drew it halfway so he could draw it the rest with the faintest ringing. “From the best blade-maker in the Shattered Sea.”
“Gods, she’s got good.” He brushed Rin’s mark on the fuller with his thumb, swished the blade one way and the other, lifted it to peer with one eye down the length, Mother Sun flashing along the bright steel and glinting on the point.
“Didn’t have time to do anything fancy with it,” said Thorn, “but I’m getting to like it plain.”
Brand softly whistled. “That is fine steel.”
“Cooked with a hero’s bones.”
“Is that so?”
“Reckon I’d had my fathers fingers about my neck for long enough.”
He grinned as he offered the sword back to her, and she found she was grinning too. “I thought Rin said no to you?”
“No one says no to Queen Laithlin.”
Brand had that old puzzled look of his. “Eh?”
“She wanted her Chosen Shield suitably armed,” she said, slapping the sword back into its scabbard.
He gaped at her in silence while that sank in.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Thorn’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t even have a shield.”
He snapped his mouth shut. “I’m thinking you are the shield, and none better. If I was a queen I’d pick you.”
“Hate to crush your hopes, but I doubt you’ll ever be queen.”
“None of the gowns would suit me.” He slowly shook his head, starting to smile again. “Thorn Bathu, Chosen Shield.”
“What about you? Did you save Gettland, yet? Saw you gathering on the beach. Quite the crowd of young champions. Not to mention a couple of ancient ones.”
Brand winced. “Can’t say we saved much of anything. We killed an old farmer. We stole some sausages. We burned a village ’cause it was on the wrong side of a river. We took a slave.” Brand scratched at his head. “I let her go.”
“You just can’t help doing good, can you?”
“Don’t think Hunnan sees it that way. He’d like to tell everyone I’m a disgrace but he’d have to admit his raid was a disgrace, so …” He puffed out his cheeks, looking more puzzled than ever. “I’m swearing my warrior’s oath tomorrow. Along with some lads never swung a blade in anger.”
Thorn put on Father Yarvi’s voice. “Let Father Peace spill tears over the methods! Mother War smiles upon results! You must be pleased.”
He looked down at the ground. “I suppose so.”
“You’re not?”
“Do you ever feel bad? About those men you’ve killed?”
“Not a lot. Why should I?”
“I’m not saying you should. I’m just asking if you do.”
“I don’t.”
“Well, you’re touched by Mother War.”
“Touched?” Thorn snorted. “She’s slapped me purple.”
“Being a warrior, brothers at my shoulder, it’s what I always wanted …”
“There’s no disappointment like getting what you’ve always wanted.”
“Some things are worth the wait,” he said, looking her in the eye.
She had no doubts at all what that look meant now. She was starting to wonder if getting across this frozen lake of theirs might not be so hard. Maybe you just took one step at a time, and tried to enjoy the thrill of it. So she took a little pace closer to him. “Where are you sleeping?”
He didn’t back off. “Under the stars, I reckon.”
“A Chosen Shield gets a tent.”
“You trying to make me jealous?”
“No, it’s only a small one.” She moved another little step. “But it’s got a bed.”
“I’m getting to like this story.”
“Bit cold, though.” She moved another little step, and they were both smiling. “On my own.”
“I could have a word with Sordaf for you, reckon he could warm a blanket with one fart.”
“Sordaf’s everything most women could ask for, but I’ve always had odd tastes.” She reached up, using her fingers like a comb, and pushed the hair out of his face. “I had someone else in mind.”
“There’s a lot of folk watching,” said Brand.
“Like I care a damn.”
COWARDICE
They knelt in a line. Three of the young lads and Brand. Two had pointed spears at an old farmer. One had cried as he set fire to some houses. The last had let the only slave they took go.
Some warriors.
Yet here they were, with the fighting men of Gettland gathered about them in an armed and armored crowd, ready to welcome them into their brotherhood. Ready to have them at their shoulders when they met Grom-gil-Gorm and his Vanstermen at the appointed place. Ready to carry them into the iron embrace of Mother War.