The Bjorning decided to treat it as if it was a quarterstaff, and struck at the middle spot where her hands turned wrist-over-wrist to keep the chain moving. Mary dropped promptly to one knee, and let the steel links slide through her gloved palms. There was a rattling chunk as one end of the chain whipped around the ax helve, and a muffled curse as it bound hand to ashwood. The sickle struck his forearm in a way that would have laid it open to the bone if the sharp blade hadn?t been encased in its leather sheath.
He pulled back, trying to free the haft and throwing his far greater weight and raw strength against hers through the metal link. Mary came with the pull and at the same instant the other end of the chain wrapped around the man?s knees, whirling itself into a tangle with the steel ball thudding into his thigh muscle with paralyzing force. He began to buckle forward; Mary?s booted feet struck him neatly in the stomach, her back hit the ground, and she used his own momentum to throw him roaring over her head with an arching twist and pivot.
There was a heavy, meaty thud as he landed in a patch of last night?s snow not yet trampled or stained. It puffed up around him in a cloud of glittering crystal, and through it Mary pounced with a cat-screech of Sindarin that Rudi translated without effort: ?So long, sucker!?
She landed astraddle the man, her long narrow dagger out and hovering above his eye. He glared at her for a moment and then his lips quirked up in a smile. That turned into a roar of laughter, and he threw his arms wide in a theatrical gesture of surrender. ?Hrolf Homersson gives you best, shield-maiden! I give you best. What a pity you?re wedded already!?
Mary simply snorted as she rose and helped him untangle himself. Ritva sauntered over and put her hands on her hips as she watched. ?I?m not,? she pointed out with cheerful helpfulness.?Are you, Hrolf Homersson? Not that I?m proposing, you understand.?
Ingolf came back from his task, working his shoulders. He spoke to Mary in the elven tongue, slowly and a bit clumsily: ?Herves?- wife -?you can throw me on my back and leap upon me when you will, but I may grow resentful if you do it to other men… unless there?s a dagger in your hand.? ?Herven? -husband-?with you I will use not the dagger of war for your eye, but the feather-duster of tickling for your man parts!?
Virginia Kane was demonstrating what you could do with a lariat from horseback; seeing one of their dodging, running number caught and dragged a few yards was another way to tickle the Bjorning funny bone, evidently. ?Their sense of a jest is something… robust, here,? Rudi observed. ?I like it well enough,? Edain said. ? That?s no surprise. You near killed yourself laughing that time the cow I was milking caught me in the face with a well-beshatted tail.?
Edain snickered at the memory.?Chief, a man in his eightieth summer would have thought that funny, and him dead also, much less a boy! The expression on you! And you rubbed dung in my hair, as I remember, and we were both covered head to foot by the time we?d stopped scuffling like a pair of puppies.?
Rudi sighed reminiscently.?And then your da came out and took us by the ears and pitched us both into the pond,? he said.?Lucky it was that was a warm day and we weren?t wearing anything but old kilts.?
Edain shuddered.?Lucky indeed, Chief. You ran back up the hill to Dun Juniper. I had to face me mother!?
Just then Harberga came back out the door and called, smiling: ?If the children are finished their play, the meal is ready!?
A herald more formal came out of the main doors of the hall and blew the summoning horn, a long harsh huuuuuuuuuu through the cold air.
The twin doors were twice man-height, thick oak slabs strapped with iron on either side of a framework of beams, and at the end of the long rectangular structure. The roof above towered high and steep-pitched; the gable beams crossed in snarling dragonheads above the snowy shingles, and a steady trickle of smoke came from the mortared fieldstone chimneys. Pillars on either side of the entranceway were carved in a strong stylized style.
The shapes were a red-bearded man who bore a hammer and a woman with a distaff and hair of bright gold; gold covered the elk antlers above. Within was a square stone-flagged chamber ringed with benches, trunks, pegs and racks where outer clothes and weapons could be left. Rudi was wearing his good kilt and plaid beneath his winter gear today-a kilt wasn?t as warm as trousers, but it was more than enough for a while, if you had drawers on beneath.
He offered his arm to Mathilda as they went through the inner doors to the hall proper, and she took it. ?Father Ignatius is going to duck out later,? she said. ?And you?re not, my heart?? ?No. I… want to see. It isn?t like participating, after all.?
Is it not? he thought, but kept his silence. Well, that?s between him and you at your next confession.
Bjarni had seated Rudi at his right, and Mathilda at the Mackenzie?s side; those were positions of honor, and let him talk to the Bjorning chieftain. Evergreen boughs in wreaths on walls and rafters scented the air, and a decorated fir tree stood tall in the center. The feast was to be long and leisurely. Rudi enjoyed it-potato soup, roast pork, braised red cabbage, more potatoes prepared in half a dozen ways, a meat pie not quite like anything he?d tasted before?Now that?s not beef, nor venison either, I think,? he said thoughtfully after he?d chewed and swallowed; the ground meat was mixed with minced onion and some herbs, and it had a musky undertone, not exactly rank but strong.?Though it?s more like venison or elk than any tame beast I?ve had.?
He plied his fork again:?Tasty!? ?Moosemeat tortiere,? Harberga said, smiling at his enthusiasm. ?Most households here take a moose in the fall, when the frosts set in; we make all the pies then and freeze them in the cold pantry for use all winter. There?s near half a ton of meat on a big moose, and the bones and sinew and hide are all useful too, but they take a good deal of killing.?
Bjarni?s eyes lit and went to one of the spears on the wall; it was a long hunter?s weapon, with wings forged into the base of the head to prevent an irate beast from running up it to express one last opinion of the human who?d stuck it. ?Yes, that?s fine sport,? he said enthusiastically.?None better, except bear or tiger-and the stripe-cats are still rare here. There weren?t any at all in this country when my father founded Norrheim; they came up later from the troll-lands.?
A scowclass="underline" ?And too many of them are man-eaters by choice. Bears leave humans alone, usually, and so do wolves-though they?ll both eat our stock, ayuh! But the tigers are a menace, and there are more every year.? ?They?re common in Montival, unpleasantly so sometimes,? Rudi replied.
Mathilda leaned across and touched the tip of Rudi?s nose; there was a tiny, barely visible fleck of scar there. ?I was there when a tiger did that to Rudi with the very end of one claw,? she said proudly.?He held it away on a spear until it died.? ?It was already wounded,? Rudi said lightly.
Then a faraway look came into his eyes.?Remember those lions we came across in the Sioux country?? ?Lions?? Bjarni asked, intrigued.?I?ve heard of them, but there are none here. Too cold in winter, I suppose.? ?Probably too many trees, as well; the beasts don?t like close forest. They?re spreading north from the desert countries, from the Rio Grande. We were being chased at the time, and sort of ran into them, and through them, at a gallop. It was lucky, in the event-they?d just had time to get good and angry when our foemen arrived expecting to cut our throats and found the lions instead…?
Bjarni and his wife chuckled, and so did the rest of the Bjornings within hearing; evidently that appealed to the Norrheimer sense of humor too. ?What?s an angry lion like?? he asked. ?Every bit as nasty as an angered tiger, and they run in packs like wolves. You?-he pointed his fork at Mathilda-?wanted to keep that cub as a pet!? ?It was cute,? Mathilda said. ?It was young. I?ve had many a shrewd scratch from ordinary moggies who meant no real harm. One that weighed three hundred pounds, with claws like knives…?