With the muddy square behind the longhouse claimed for construction, Marbjörn met them in the grass sward just outside the Raven’s Gate. He had a bundle of weapons wrapped in a blanket under one arm, and a brace of shields over the other shoulder. He left these to one side as he considered the three of them.

“I’ve been thinking on how to train you.” He took a loud bite from a crisp apple. “And I have decided it best to treat you as children.”

Skadi raised an eyebrow.

“Children are fashioned wooden swords and given light shields with which to play. You shall do the same. But, seeing as you are all a little bigger than six-year-olds, I’ve had some special toys made.”

And with that, he unrolled the blanket. Wooden swords gleamed in the sunlight, their blades heavily waxed, their edges dull.

Marbjörn took one up, and it became clear it was the size of a normal blade. “This is a sword.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” muttered Glámr.

Marbjörn grinned. “You swing it at people, and if you’re lucky, you get to cut them open and all the red slippery bits come out. You three, however, won’t get very lucky. Which is why I want you to take up a shield and sword and spar. Feel free to hit each other as hard as you can. We’ll see what comes of it.”

“This is our training?” asked Damian, stepping up to the blanket. “Hit each other hard?”

Marbjörn took another bite from his apple. “It’s but the beginning, priest. Trust your body. It has its own wisdom.”

“And right now it’s telling me to go drink several ales and find a shady spot to lie down in,” said Damian, but he took up an average blade of stout wood and then a shield. “But I’m not as wise as I used to be.”

“So, the basics.” Marbjörn took a final bite and hurled his apple away. “Hold your shield so. Not too close to the body. Anybody tell me why?”

“You’ll get knocked back along with your shield,” said Glámr.

“That’s right.” Marbjörn held his shield against his chest. “A blow will transfer its force right through and into me. Best to hold your shield out, have some space between you and it. Now, your shield is also a weapon. You can thrust with it.” He demonstrated. “Hammer its edge down on a fallen foe.” He demonstrated again. “And shove your opponents back when needed. That’s one of the few times you put your shoulder to the inside of it. But for now, just use it to keep your opponent’s blade from your face, yes?”

Skadi took up a sword. It was half again as long as Natthrafn, its weight comforting in her palm. “We pair up?”

“We do. You’re with me, Giantslayer.”

They stepped to one side. Marbjörn didn’t bother with a shield, just held his wooden blade by his leg, smiling dangerously. “Come at me when you’re ready.”

Skadi pointed the tip of her blade over the shield’s rim at the massive warrior. Almost asked why he wasn’t using a shield but caught herself in time. Approached carefully, every part of her alive with tension and excitement and nerves.

Marbjörn just grinned at her.

She broke into a charge, hoping to surprise him, and yelled as she slashed at his chest. He simply smacked her blade away and stepped right into her charge.

It felt like running into a wall. Her shield slammed into her chest and she bounced off him, staggered back.

He cracked his blade against her shield, once, twice, three times. The instinct to protect herself was overwhelming; she raised her shield to meet the blows, but in doing so lost sight of him.

Which is why she never saw the stab under the shield’s rim until it was too late.

It poked into her stomach, hard enough to make her gag, and then Marbjörn simply shoved her shield aside with his hand and punched her in the sternum, knocking her onto her ass.

“Good instincts with the charge. But you’re not big enough to carry it through. You need a mass of men around you if you hope to overwhelm a foe, or to be bigger. You have neither.” He paused in annoyance. “Stand up already.”

Glámr and Damian were thwacking at each other’s shields to one side.

“Look what happened. You raised your shield like so to block my overhead attacks, yes?”

“And lost sight of you.”

“And lost sight of me. Your shield is big to defend you from knee to chin, and that is good, very good against arrows and spears. But in hand-to-hand combat, you can easily blind yourself behind it. Instead of raising your shield directly above as you did, stand to the side, angle your shield. Actually, both of you, listen.”

Glámr and Damian stopped.

“When possible, angle your shield to deflect attacks away. Don’t take them on the flat, which transfers the force straight into your forearm. Skadi, swing at me slowly from above.”

She did, and he angled his shield so that her blow slid off and to the side.

“Your attacker will be wild with fear and rage. He will hit you as hard as he can, usually. Deflecting that attack will leave him open. If you stand thus, and don’t blind yourself, his weapon will swing wide and you can step in with a thrust.”

He demonstrated, blade tip moving to Skadi’s gut.

“Stay mindful. Men can fight on when they should be dead. Sometimes they don’t realize they have died. I have seen men fight on with arrows in their eyes, with swords through their stomachs, with their life blood pouring out of them. So keep your shield handy. Your foe’s not dead till he lies still, and even then the world is full of surprises. So try that. Deflect, don’t just block.”

They worked for a while at that drill, swinging from overhead, using thrusts, and wide slashes. The shield shivered with each blow, so that Skadi’s arm began to feel numb.

“Now free form, but deflect, don’t just block. Make sure to not blind yourself.”

Skadi approached again, watching over her shield, sword at the ready.

This time it was Marbjörn who charged, roaring with shocking ferocity and bursting forward to hammer at her in a frenzy.

Shocked, unprepared, she staggered back, forgot to deflect, and was knocked to her ass as the huge man barreled into her shield.

“Ha!” He took her hand and heaved her up. “Stay awake! Again.”

He turned to walk away and she struck.

Somehow he twisted and parried the blow, the clack of their wooden swords ringing out loudly. Instead of growing angry, he laughed again.

“Good! Seize every advantage. Like so.”

And he set to hammering at her with his sword, his height and reach making it nearly impossible for her to catch her breath and counterattack. Again and again she tried to deflect his swings, but they came so rapidly, with such manic strength that she could only retreat again, until he suddenly thrust a kick from his hip, his whole torso leaning back, and stomped her shield.

Again it slammed into her and knocked her onto her ass.

“You’re dead,” he said with a smile. “Up. Again.”

They rotated partners, circled, fought, whacked each other’s arms and ribs with the wooden blade. By the session’s end, Skadi was sore and aching all over, but aflame with the desire to practice more.

For she’d glimpsed something. The brutal and quick interplay of savage instinct and training that won fights. Her whole body was a weapon. Sword against sword still included shield and boot, fist and head. Each time she sparred with Marbjörn he defeated her in a novel way. A glima sweep of her foot and she stepped forward. Yanking her shield toward him so that he could smack her across the head. Moving deliberately into the blind spot of her shield. Over and over he showed her how wild and exuberant combat could be, how inventive.

“It makes sense,” she said, interrupting the surly conversation Damian and Glámr were having as they walked home through Kráka. “What he said before.”

“Which part?” Damian was rubbing his elbow which had received a tremendous blow. “Where he said we were useless children?”

“No, the part about not fearing. It’s like a game.”

“It is while we wield wooden swords,” said Glámr.

“No, even with live steel. It’s a dangerous, lethal game. The one who is confident, fearless, alive to possibility, calm, and in control will win. They’ll seize opportunities the other doesn’t see. Will find a way to surprise their foe. We need to laugh while we fight.”

“You sound mad,” said Damian. “Then again, you are from the North, so.”

“No, we do.” She stopped. The other two walked on a bit then turned back to her. “We need to laugh. To convince ourselves at first that we’re not afraid. But to clear our minds of fear. Fear limits us, makes us tense, makes us narrow and blind. We need wide-open eyes. Marbjörn never defeated me twice in the same way.”

“Nor me,” said Glámr reluctantly. “Very embarrassing.”

“No, that’s his greatest lesson. Don’t you see? He wasn’t afraid of us-”

“With good reason,” said Damian.

“So was able to play with us, to pull us this way and that, to be creative and endlessly take us by surprise. Whereas we did the same thing over and over again, like ants, marching toward him with our shields raised and swords ready to swing.”

“Like ants,” mused Glámr.

“We need to be more like… squirrels, perhaps. Playful, agile, fast, confident, creative.”

“Squirrels,” said Damian doubtfully. “That doesn’t sound very Northman of you.”

“That’s it.” She resumed walking, and they fell in with her. “Any idiot can teach us how to hold a shield or swing a sword, but Marbjörn is Kvedulf’s greatest warrior because he uses his mind. That’s what he’s trying to teach us.”

Damian rubbed his elbow. “He could just say as much.”

“And would you learn if he did? No. We have to figure it out. Learn it ourselves. He’s opening the door. We just have to step through.”

She stopped again. “It’s an approach to fighting. It’s fighting itself he’s teaching us. Not how to swing a sword, but how to swing anything. A spear, a chair, a branch, our fist. It’s a mentality. Joyful tackling.”

“Yes,” mused Glámr. “I see what you mean. Which is… fascinating. I’ve always thought in… measured, linear ways. My bow was a means to loose arrows, which I became very good at. But I would never have thought to use my bow as a club, say, in time of need.”

“Exactly. That’s why the very idea of drilling was so strange to him. Why we don’t have schools for fighting. Because fighting is everything, everywhere, all the time. It’s the ability to think, to react, to laugh, to twist our foe’s weapon and shields against him.”

“Like how he kept moving so that the sun was in my eyes,” said Damian.

“Or when he kept me at bay by simply pushing at my shield with the tip of his sword,” said Glámr.

“It’s like glima, too. It’s a dance. It’s reading your foe. It’s knowing what he intends, then finding ways to trip him, interrupt him, surprise him. It’s using your opponent’s plans against him.”

“I’m not sure if it’s all that,” said Damian. “That sounds more like military leadership, not sparring with wooden blades.”

“It’s all the same thing. From sparring with wooden blades right up to leading men into combat. It’s an outlook.” Skadi beamed up at the peerless blue sky. “I get it.”

“Then let’s see you land a blow on Marbjörn,” smirked Glámr.

“Just watch.” Skadi nodded to herself. “I’ll be the first to do so.”

They walked down the street toward the docks and their home, people nodding and smiling at them, the smell of salt and drying fish growing stronger.

“I think you will, at that,” said Glámr just before they reached their front door. “I think you will.”