Leal stepped into the yard and half bowed. ‘The morning meal.’
Old Bear straightened from the tub and threw his arms out to her. ‘Come to me, my dove of love!’
The old woman let out a squeak of terror and ducked back inside.
Orman saw that, impossible as it might seem, the man was twice as hairy from the waist down.
They ate a morning meal of barley porridge and apples. Then Old Bear announced he’d trounce them with any weapon they cared to name. They sparred with spear and staves, then moved on to wooden practice swords. Orman found that while Old Bear could, literally, overbear any of them, his technique with the spear was poor. With the sword he was useless. He wielded it like an axe. After a few bouts Orman began to wonder how on earth the man had lived so long through a lifetime of battle.
With the Reddin brothers it was the other way round. In just a few moves they always had the better of him. Just when he thought it could not be any more embarrassing Kasson reached behind his back to draw twinned long-handled hatchets that he then employed to systematically destroy Orman’s defence with spear and sword. Orman was amazed by the weapons. The brothers could weave the spiked and bearded axe-heads to catch swords and yank them aside or deliver a killing thrust that could penetrate mail armour.
As if this humiliation was not enough, it was then Gerrun’s turn to beat him armed only with a knife. ‘You let me in,’ the little fellow warned him. ‘Never let a knife-fighter get inside your reach.’
Orman waved him away. ‘This is stupid. No one is going to come at me with a knife when I hold a sword.’
Old Bear growled from where he sat on a bench, quite winded. ‘If all they have is a cooking pot then that’s what they’ll come at you with!’ He gestured Gerrun forward. ‘Again.’
They practised through the full day, taking breaks in which they discussed various techniques and moves. It was during one of these rests that a thought occurred to Orman while he sipped water from a ladle. He looked to the Reddin brothers. ‘You two marched north with Longarm’s Fifty,’ he said. ‘When you were here, in the Blood range, did you … you know …’ He motioned to Sayer Hall.
The brothers shook their heads. Keth studied the edge of one of his hatchets, sheathed it at his back. ‘The Bains,’ he answered, low.
‘The Bains,’ Orman repeated. ‘Did you face, you know, that one — Lotji?’
‘We didn’t,’ Kasson said. ‘But we saw him fight.’
‘And?’
The brothers exchanged a look, said nothing.
Old Bear loudly cleared his throat. ‘Lad,’ he said. ‘It’s one thing to learn how to fight. Any fool can do that. But it’s a damned ugly business, risking death and hurting people. Few really enjoy it. But that one does. To him, it’s a game. As in the old days, when the fighting was constant between the clans. Now there’s too few of them.’ The old fellow pulled his fingers through his scraggly beard. ‘He misses those days, I suppose,’ he mused. Rousing himself, he slapped his hands to his thighs and stood. ‘Now, more spear work, I think. Try to keep us at a distance, hey?’
Orman groaned inwardly, but he understood what they were doing. He was carrying Boarstooth: he would be the mark of anyone they met.
In the evening they ate a meal of freshly baked bread, a steaming soup of boiled vegetables and barley, baked pheasant, apples, and weak beer. Old Bear was in a great humour. He entertained them all with the story of Ruckar Myrni and the slaying of the ice-drake in the heights of the Salt range, and all the frozen maidens he found greatly in need of warming. ‘You can be sure,’ he finished, ‘that Ruckar thawed the heart of each of them!’
Noise at the entrance brought their attention round. Vala was there with Jass. She pushed him in and followed behind. The lad’s light brown hair was slicked back, and he wore a belted shirt of mail that was far too long for him and a large knife at his hip, its ivory handle wound with silver wire. They climbed the platform at the end of the hall, where Vala sat in the centre chair while he stepped forward to stand before her.
He shot one uncertain glance back to her, and she nodded for him to continue. He faced them once more. ‘Greetings,’ he began, and cleared his throat. His voice was still a touch high. ‘I am Jass Sayer. In the name of our clan I welcome you to our hearth and hall. I understand that there are those among you who would pledge your spear and arm to guard our Holding. Would these men stand forth?’
Orman recognized the formula — though it was an oddly archaic form. The swearing of the hearthguards. Keth and Kasson also no doubt knew it. He looked to them. They shared a glance, then Keth stood and approached the raised dais. It came up to his knees.
Jass clasped his hands behind his back. With the aid of the dais he stood eye to eye with the rather tall Keth. The lad glanced back to Vala. She mouthed something. He turned back. He cleared his throat once more, obviously quite nervous. ‘Say your name so that all within may know it,’ he said.
‘Keth, Reddin’s son.’
‘Keth, Reddin’s son, we Sayer swear that these lands, this hall, our Holdings, shall be your home so long as you shall defend it. Do you pledge your spear, your arm, and your heart to its defence?’
‘I do so swear.’
A cold breeze tickled Orman’s neck and he turned, sure that someone had passed behind him. But no one was there. He had the sudden feeling that more far more Sayers than Vala and Jass were now present in the hall as witnesses to this swearing.
‘Very good. We accept your pledge and give our own.’
He turned back to Vala and she handed him a basket. From this he took a small round bread and gave it to Keth. Then a small cake of salt. And finally a tiny round object that flashed gold — a ring. These Keth gathered up.
‘Welcome, Keth, Reddin’s son. Guard to our hearth, hall, and Hold.’
Keth sketched a slight dip of his head and backed away.
Kasson followed and exchanged the same pledge. Then Orman approached the dais. Jass gave him a shy smile. ‘Say your name so that all within may know it,’ he repeated.
‘Orman, Bregin’s son.’
The smile was whipped away. Jass gaped, then spun to Vala. She gave a straight-lipped nod to indicate that he should continue. He slowly turned back and Orman saw wonder in the lad’s eyes. He wasn’t certain what he’d said or done wrong — was Bregin unwelcome here?
The lad appeared quite shaken. He had to clear his throat before he could go on, and when he did speak again it was distractedly, his voice faint and weak. Orman received his bread and salt and gold ring from the lad’s hands, then gave a small bow and returned to his seat.
Jass sat down in the chair on Vala’s left. He still could not take his eyes from Orman. Vala leaned forward, calling, ‘Leal! Ale for our hearthguards! Let them never know need or want here within our walls.’
‘Yes, m’lady.’ The servant woman disappeared into the kitchens, while Old Bear swatted the Reddin brothers and Orman about the back and shoulders.
‘Well done! Well done. Now you need not kill yourself sweating for starvation wages among the lowlander filth. Serve well and you will be rewarded!’
Leal returned carrying a large tray bearing flagons. Gerrun jumped up to ease the heavy burden from the elderly woman’s hands then shooed her back for another. He thumped it down on the table and Old Bear rescued a jug that was about to fall.
Keth took up a round loaf of bread, tore off a piece and thrust the rest at Orman, who was slow to take it as he was watching Vala and Jass. The two had their heads together, Jass imploring, animated, she soothing and calm, a hand at his shoulder. They must have reached some sort of agreement as he pulled away from her hand to jump from the dais. He came to Orman’s side. ‘May we speak?’ he asked, his voice stiff and very formal.
Orman nodded, still rather bemused. ‘Of course.’
Jass motioned to the front. Orman followed him outside.