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I rubbed my eyes. If this could be done, then there was a LOT of work to make it happen.

If it could be done. I pulled two items from my inventory and equipped them.

“Woohoo! Ow, hey!”

I put the knife back into my inventory, balled up my right hand so that the talons were hidden. “Pick up your sword, and let’s begin that cycle again. Hit me with the sword, and count the times that I touch you with this fist. Hitting the shield doesn’t count.”

She smiled at me. “You sure you can take another hit?”

I nodded at her, as she picked up her sword, and swung it at me in a lazy overhead arc. I dodged to the side, let it bounce off the shield, and brought my fist into contact with her side. I didn’t punch her, but pressed firmly enough for her to feel it.

.....

She had reach, but I was significantly faster, and I had a shield. I struck only with the closed fist, and only attempted one touch for each of her blows.

I would attempt, with each blow, to tell her what she had done wrong. For the first seven touches (about ten or eleven swings, I wasn’t always able to touch her), she ignored me. When she got serious, it took her only two attacks to land a blow on my shield arm, at the cost of a single touch.

“Yes, I win again!” she said.

“How many times did I touch you?” I asked.

“Five or so.” She said.

“It was eight.” I told her.

“So it’s eight. What’s your point?”

“My point is...”

“Yearg! You cut me! We’re training, and you CUT me.”

I lifted my bloody talons, let her see the blood dripping off of them.

“Your gambeson, or cloth armor, should have stopped half of the damage, or three of six points.”

“You’ll die for this! They’ll kill you!”

“Will they?” I asked.

“They WILL! How dare you hurt a member of the household. You, a mere slave!”

“It is a lesson, and one you need to learn on your first day at arms.”

She snorted, and swung her sword with futile abandon. This time, I took advantage of her unbalanced stance to send her sprawling in the snow.

“Eight times three is how much?”

“What, is this a math class, now?”

“It is twenty-four. What is your health? Twenty?”

She looked up at me, tears in her eyes.

“These lessons are not about fun. They are not about winning or losing. They are about staying alive in real, actual battle.” I extended a hand, offering to help her up. She slapped it away.

I waited while she stood, this time keeping her sword in her hand. Better.

“We are done for today. Get your wound treated, get a meal in you, and wash off today’s sweat. You should be healed by tomorrow. We will begin with a basic training regimen that will strengthen your body. Then, we will work on your stance, basic attacks and parries. How long is it until your mail will be ready to wear?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out.” I said. “Once it IS ready, you will be wearing it for the entirety of our sessions together.”

“I hate you! All of today was just you playing with me? I’ll kill you myself!”

“An excellent place to begin. I’ll start teaching you the how of going about that starting tomorrow.”

#

I myself had to limp back to the long hall. True, less than half my health was gone, which was more than could be said for many skirmishes I’d been in.

Still, I could be glad that it hadn’t been a red critical that would have knocked me completely out.

The Jarl wasn’t in his main hall or in the feasting hall, so I decided to look around for my dinner. Some kind and generous soul had left nearly half a pail of food scraps, which made for a change from vegetable porridge with oatmeal.

Had it really been only a month?

I wandered to the crafts room, where the unfinished arrows lived. Nobody was there.

Where WAS everyone? I could, if I focused just barely make out the sound of spinning wheels.

I was working on arrows when the front doors boomed open.

“Lady Ingrid! Bring the healers! Thane Kampen is wounded!” one of the huscarl cried out.

Oh, of all the... I grabbed the glue and pulled the knife from my inventory, and headed to the main hall.

I had been expecting bite wounds, perhaps from the Fenris; I had not been expecting arrow wounds.

“Get out of the way.” I said, shoving one of Kampen’s huscarl. “I need to see this.”

“The wound... it won’t stop bleeding.”

“It won’t. Hunter’s arrow. See the groove in the shaft? Hold him still if you want him to live.”

“I can hold myself still, you vicious little... AAAAAAAA!”

But, he did hold himself still, as I pushed the arrow the rest of the way through his leg, far enough to snap the point off and pull out the shaft.

“What manner of incompetent...” Lady Ingrid said, barging into the hallway.

“We need to sear the wound closed.” I told her.

“We need do no such barbarian thing.” She said. “We have compresses of garlic and ginseng, and I think we still have some bloodwort leaves around. You. Move.”

I moved.

“What has it done to me? Will I recover?” Odmund Kampen asked.

“HE has actually begun the proper treatment of your wound. You two, get me wine for his wound, and mead for his mouth. How many others?”

“Lady?”

She sighed “How many others will be returning with arrow wounds?”

“Three that we know of, including your husband.”

“Of course, he’s got an arrow stuck in him. Idiot.”

“You.” She said, pointing at me. “The large stew pot. Get it over the coals, there. We will need as much boiling water as we can get.”

She hadn’t told me to start bringing buckets of well water, but I did anyway.

Other women arrived, their dresses exchanged for more practical linen pants and cloth shirts, most stained brown from use. Not an even brown, you understand, but the mottled kind one expects from overlapping stains.

The pot had not been cleaned well; there were filmy patches of oily grease that floated to the surface. I used a spoon to sweep them together and toward the far side.

“What are you doing?” asked Sonder, I forget whose wife she was.

“The grease is...”

“Ugh. Go to the linen closet, bring all the towels and blankets. Oh, and be certain the infirmary beds are already made and free of dust.”

I nearly stepped on a cat, who hissed at me, and may have taken a swipe at my scaled ankle. The infirmary beds, as Sonder had feared, were dusty. They needed the woolen comforters, which required me to climb.

Two beds, four wounded, I certainly hoped there were superficial injuries.

But when I got back to the main hall, I saw how feeble that hope was. None of them were unconscious, but also none were unwounded. There was an effort being made to save Ulfric’s left lung from collapsing, and he was coughing blood.

“Where can I help?” I asked Lady Ingrid.

“You’ve set up the infirmary beds?”

“Both are ready.”

“Then that is enough. Ladies, move Ulfric and whomever that one is to the infirmary.”

“Sigkalf, I am huscarl to Svein Bjornson.”

“Ah, the new one. Best of luck to you, then.”

“What? Why do I need luck?” But nobody answered him.

The Jarl let loose a bellow. “Wife, get these nattering hands away from me! Just let me scar the way Woden intended.”

“You. If you need someone to assist, help me to my bed.” It was Victor Findseth. I tried to remember, was he the cousin or the younger brother?

.....

But I gave him use of my shoulders, which really he only needed on the stairway.

“That one is mine,” his wife said. “I lay claim to him.”

“All yours.” I said, helping him to a chair, where he began removing his remaining armor pieces. “May I ask, Lord Findseth, what happened?”

“Treason.” He said. “Treason happened, and must needs be answered by war.”

“Oh, husband, no. You are still wounded.”

“Not so much as you imagine, wife.”

“I don’t have to imagine, I can see your wounded hip. Where else did they get you?”

“Slave, please tell my wife what other wounds you see.”

“Your pride seems damaged, lord.” I said.

He drew up a hand to backhand me, and sucked air in through his teeth. “Begone with you, slave! Be ready to carry supplies for us tomorrow.”

“As your lordship wills it.” I said.

It must have been serious if two of the Jarl’s family had gotten hurt. But, without a severe injury, the body of a healthy person will recover all lost health points within five days.

They had ambushed the Jarl; he didn’t feel like waiting five days.

#