Thorn strode across the sand with her stool on her shoulder. The tide was far out and the wind blew hard over the flats, tattered clouds chasing each other across a bruised sky.
They were packed in tight about the training square, the shouts turning to grunts as she pushed through the warriors, the grunts to silence as she set her stool next to the spear that marked one corner. Even the two lads who were meant to be sparring came to an uncertain halt, staring at her as she stepped over her stool and planted her arse on it.
Master Hunnan frowned over. “I see the queen’s Chosen Shield is among us.”
Thorn held up one hand. “Don’t worry, you needn’t all applaud.”
“The training square is for warriors of Gettland, and for those who would be warriors.”
“Aye, but there’s probably some half-decent fighters down here even so. Don’t let me stop you.”
“You won’t,” snapped Hunnan. “Heirod, you’re next.” It was a great big lad that stood, pink blotches on his fat cheeks. “And you, Edni.” She was maybe twelve years old, and a skinny scrap, but she sprang up bravely enough, her chin thrust out as she took her mark, even though the shield was way too big for her and wobbled in her hand.
“Begin!”
There was no art to it at all. The boy went charging in, puffing like a bull, shrugged Edni’s sword off his thick shoulder, barrelled into her and sent her sprawling, the shield coming off her arm and rolling away on its edge.
The boy looked at Hunnan, waiting for him to call the bout, but the master-at-arms only stared back. Heirod swallowed, and stepped forward, and gave Edni a couple of reluctant kicks before Hunnan raised his hand for a halt.
Thorn watched the girl clamber up, wiping blood from under her nose, clinging tight to her brave face, and thought of all the beatings she’d taken in this square. Thought of all the kicks and the scorn and the sand she’d eaten. Thought of that last day, and Edwal with her wooden sword through his neck. No doubt nudging her memory had been what Master Hunnan had in mind.
He gave a rare, thin little smile. “What did you think of that?”
“I think the boy’s a clumsy thug.” She pressed her thumb on one side of her nose and blew snot onto the sand. “But it’s not his fault. He learned from one, and so did she. The one who got shamed in that bout was their teacher.”
A muttering went through the warriors, and Hunnan’s smile sprang back into a frown. “If you think you know better, why don’t you give a lesson?”
“That’s why I’m here, Master Hunnan. I’ve nothing to learn from you, after all.” She pointed to Edni. “I’ll take her,” Then she pointed out an older girl, big and solemn. “And her.” And then another with pale, pale eyes. “And her. I’ll give them a lesson. I’ll give them one a day, and in a month we’ll come back, and we’ll see what we’ll see.”
“You can’t just come here and take my pupils where you please!”
“Yet here I am, and with King Uthil’s blessing.”
Hunnan licked his lips, wrong-footed, but he soon rallied, and fixed on attack. “Hild Bathu,” his lip curled with disgust. “You failed your test in this square. You failed to become a warrior. You lost to the Breaker of Swords—”
“I lost to Gorm, true.” Thorn rubbed at one scarred cheek as she grinned up at him. “But he never broke my sword.” She stood, one hand slack on the pommel. “And you’re not Gorm.” She stepped across the sand toward him. “Reckon you’re better than me?” And she stepped so close she almost planted her boots on his. “Fight me.” She leaned in, so their noses were near touching, and hissed it over and over. “Fight me. Fight me. Fight me. Fight me. Fight me. Fight me. Fight me.”
Hunnan flinched each time she said it, but he kept his silence.
“Good choice,” she said. “I’d snap you like an old twig.”
She shouldered past him, calling out to the rest of the warriors. “Maybe you’re thinking that wasn’t fair. The battlefield isn’t fair, but I’ll grant you old Hunnan’s a few years past his best. So anyone thinks he can fill Gorm’s boots, I’ll fight him. I’ll fight any of you.” She swaggered in a circle, taking in each side of the square, staring the warriors in their eyes one after another.
Silence. Only the wind sighing across the beach.
“No one?” She snorted. “Look at you, sulking because you didn’t get a battle. There’ll be more battle than you know what to do with soon enough. I hear the High King gathers his warriors. Lowlanders, and Islanders, and Inglings. Thousands of them. There’s a storm coming, and Gettland will need every man. Every man and every woman. You three, come with me. We’ll be back in a month.” She lifted her arm to point at Hunnan. “And your boys better be ready.”
Thorn swung the stool up onto her shoulder and stalked from the square, off across the sand toward Thorlby. She didn’t look back.
But she heard the footsteps of the girls behind her.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS