Though if it?s John Hordle or even Rudi, they just walk through the door without noticing it?s there. But that would undermine the lesson, so…

She went on:?The Gods have made men and women differently. They have hammers. We have needles. If you want to fight well, you have to fight like a first-rate woman, not like a bad imitation of a man.?

She took up the lath practice sword again.?Rudi can break a shield?s frame with a straight flourish cut like the one you used, if he hits full-on; and break the arm underneath it, sometimes.?

Asgerd blinked.?With a one-handed blow from a sword?? she said incredulously.?With a battle-ax or war hammer, perhaps…? ?I?ve seen him do it. Or slash right through ringmail.? ?So can Ingolf,? Mary said. A little reluctantly:?Rudi?s faster, though.?

Ritva nodded.?For you or me, trying to do that?s just a waste of effort and leaves you open to the counterstrike. Or… you?re about my height. Or Odard?s or Edain?s. But getting into a shield-to-shield shoving match with either of them is a bad idea-they?ve a third again our weight. More muscle, heavier bones. Let?s try something a little different-?

Edain came up on skis, then slid to a halt to watch for a while. Garbh sat beside him, her tail curled around her feet and black nose going back and forth, tongue dangling behind white puffs of breath. ?Not bad,? the young clansman said, after a flurry of blows.?But it?s time for lunch, and then to get moving again.?

He grinned at Asgerd.?They beat me all the soddin? time too,? he added.?Sure, and it?s like trying to hit a ghost.?

She snorted, too winded to speak for a moment. Edain politely didn?t look at her too closely, or in too nonprofessional a way, as she shrugged into her loose parka with its mottled cover of white and off-white and brown, and buckled on her sword belt and the baldric for her bow and quiver that she?d hung on a branch. The shield rattled as she slung it over her back as well; a cover of bleached canvas hid the colorful black-and-red painting of a fylfot. Garbh came over and butted a friendly nose beneath a hand and the Bjorning paused to ruffle the big beast?s fur, which seemed to soften her mood a little. ?Do they beat you at shooting?? she said, tossing down her skis from where she?d leaned them against a birch and stepping into the toe-loops. ?No. They?re better than fair shots, but not nearly as good as me,? he said straightforwardly. ?But better than me?? Asgerd asked, with just a touch of belligerence in her tone. ?For now, yes. Rangers train hard and long. They?re not farmers; they fight and hunt for a living. You could be as good, but it?ll take a year at least, or more depending on how much time you put into it.?

Asgerd nodded, her face calm but approval in her eyes.

She?d have scented flattery, Ritva thought, and hid her grin. ?Now, they?re both a total failure at milking a cow, mind,? Edain said.?More of a moo and a kick they?d get if they tried than aught in the pail.?

The two Rangers snorted, and Asgerd chuckled. They all slid south and east-and slightly downhill-towards the valley where the main caravan lay with its sleds. Or bounded easily in a series of puffs of snow, in Garbh?s case.

Edain?s not quite the bluff simple Mackenzie crofter he puts on. That was quite clever.

Asgerd seemed like a nice girl, if grim-which was understandable, given what had happened to her betrothed-and far less likely to meet a bad end than that Mormon woman back in Idaho. Ritva wished him all success, as she might a younger brother.

As I might a considerably younger brother, though we?re with a year of the same age. Still… he?s always felt younger than us. Men grow up more slowly.

And there wouldn?t be as many religious problems if things went well, which wouldn?t be soon anyway. Those faiths of the Book with their exclusive claims to truth were a complete nuisance; look at the bother it had caused for Rudi and Mathilda. ?You live by the sword too?? the Bjorning girl asked Edain.?Or the bow,? she added. ?Not all the time, no, not until this trip. Mostly I help me da on the farm, and in the bowyer?s workshop we have; that?s what Mackenzies do, work the land and follow crafts. My mother?s a weaver of some note, and well known for that and her cheeses-people come from as far away as Corvallis to buy?em both. To be sure, Da was First Armsman of the Mackenzies for years and years-war leader of the Clan, under the Chief. But everyone who can fights when it?s needful, among Mackenzies. Only a few are warriors all the time.? ?As with us,? Asgerd nodded.?Only the hirdmen of a godhi… the guards of a chief… make a trade of war. We haven?t had a big war for a long time; not since the years after the land-taking, when they say whole bands of reivers were abroad, desperate and hungry. Just scuffles and skirmishes since then, and-?

Her voice broke for a second; then she cleared her throat and went on doggedly: ?-and those who go in viking to the dead cities must fight often against the troll-men.?

They talked, stumbling over terms occasionally; Ritva and her sister helped when they were at a loss for words, or used them differently. Rangers traveled widely and had to be good at picking up how meanings had drifted in the last generation, and she could speak Spanish and some French as well as English and Sindarin. It was harder with Asgerd, because her speech was speckled with words from old languages Ritva knew only as names, or with French. Not the ancient tongue that Portland?s nobility liked to affect now and then, either, but a quacking nasal local dialect like nothing she?d ever heard before.

Asgerd nodded when she was satisfied.?You?re a bondar, a yeoman?s child, like me, then,? she said to Edain.?Neither rich nor poor, eh??

It seemed to make her easier in her mind if she could place someone by station and kindred. Edain shrugged. ?Right. We?ve got a good farm and we?re well thought of in Dun Fairfax…? ? Dun means village, more or less. Thorpe, you might say,? Ritva put in.

Edain nodded.?In our village. But not great chiefs, no.?

Asgerd sighed.?It seems a rich land though, this Montival. Gardens yielding into November! Stock grazing outside all winter? We have to feed ours hay and turnips and grain five months of the year! And I?ve never tasted those fruits you talked about, grapes and peaches and cherries and apricots and hazelnuts, they?re only old words here.? ?The Willamette?s fine country, and that?s a fact,? Edain said. ?Better than aught I?ve seen on this trip-Iowa was very rich indeed in grain and swine and cattle, sure and it was, but cold in the winter too from the looks of it, and no vineyards to speak of, and not nearly the fruit orchards we have. And flat! And short of timber, the which we are not. The Lord and Lady have blessed us.?

She bristled a little, and he added:?It?s not bad soil here. Those were fine spuds at Eriksgarth, and the stock was good.?

Then he looked around; they were traveling down a small river valley now, narrow between low steep densely forested hills, mostly pine and spruce with an occasional stand of taller white pine, and broadleaf trees along the water. Naked rock showed here and there, through snow and the thin soil beneath. ?Or at least that bit about Eriksgarth wasn?t bad. This here would break a farmer?s heart, it would! And any plow he tried to use on it. Fine timber trees, I grant, but ours stand taller.? ?They say the folk of the old world cut so many here in Norrheim. .. they called it Maine then… that few grow as tall as they might,? Asgerd said.?Or as tall as they will grow by my grandchildren?s time. That?s hard to imagine, but…?

The three westerners nodded at her shrug; they?d all grown up on tales of a world of marvels vanished before they were born. You never knew exactly which were true, and which mere fable, either. Not even the old people agreed on that! ?It would be a good place for a Ranger steading,? Ritva said.?We don?t farm. We keep to the woods and wilderness, mostly, and live by the hunt and what the forest yields. And what we?re given to protect farmers from bandits and beasts,? she added virtuously.?That buys us grain and wine, and cloth and weapons… whatever we can?t make or grow for ourselves.?