‘Put your weight on your left foot and hold the point of the sword down and to your right. No, point it at the ground just ahead of your right foot.’ Lann and Astrid were standing in an open space in front of the shield maidens’ longhouse. It was used exclusively by the female warriors for all their training and she seemed more at home here than he’d seen her at any other place in Stromgard. Astrid leaned forward and adjusted the angle of the wooden weapon. ‘That’s better.’

‘It feels strange.’

‘Stop moaning. This is the Iron Door Guard. You lean forward a little and offer the head as bait to the attack.’

‘Offer my head?’ He stared at her, trying to ascertain if she were joking. The look he got in return was a hard one.

‘To draw an attack, yes. I’m not suggesting you just stand there and let your opponent cut it off. Once your adversary makes his move, you quickly straighten up, removing the head as a target.’

‘Oh, that’s comforting.’

She ignored him. ‘Alternatively you can step in, block, and counterattack with the Wrath Cut we worked on earlier.’

They’d been practising for hours. Astrid’s knowledge of the martial arts was inexhaustible, and she was equally comfortable with the sword as she was with the axe and spear. He knew this from bitter experience, and his body bore the cuts and bruises to prove it.

‘How good are you with that?’ he said, nodding at the horn bow.

‘Better than you.’

‘That would not be difficult.’

‘It’s my favourite weapon.’

‘How about a demonstration?’

‘Are you just trying to get out of any more training?’ she said.

‘Yep.’

She shook her head, but gave him an unexpected smile. Walking over to the bow and quiver, she slipped the latter over her shoulder and removed an arrow, nocking it on the string in a smooth, practised motion.

‘Pick a target,’ she said, looking across at Lann.

He looked out over the training area. About halfway across, maybe forty strides away, was an old wooden bucket. He pointed to it. ‘That.’

‘Really? That’s what you want me to hit?’

‘Too far away?’

The look she gave him suggested otherwise. Lann watched as she took aim, pulled the bowstring taut, then turned her head to look back at him. ‘I’d have liked more of a challenge.’ She had hardly let the last word out when, her head still turned away from the target, she released the arrow.

Lann watched it thunk into the centre of the pail, knocking it back across the ground until it rattled to a stop. He applauded the shot, his admiration tinged with jealousy. He was nothing without his sword; she handled weapons as though she had been born to it.

‘How about you set me a real challenge?’ she said. ‘Something up the far end of the training square.’