He swung again and the post rocked noticeably with the crack echoing across the farmyard as mud flew from the impact. His small arms burned with exertion, but he didn't waver or complain, whatever made him different was easing his fatigue, and his focus remained razor-sharp.
Lagertha's voice suddenly cut through the training session. "His hands are sliding on the grip, Ragnar. Fix it properly, or he'll tear his skin raw before you're satisfied." She pulled Gyda's cloak tighter around the little girl with her eyes never leaving Bjorn, immediately spotting the blood on his thumb that the men had missed.
Gyda squirmed excitedly in her mother's lap, pointing her wooden horse toward her brother. "B'on bang! B'on bang!" she said enthusiastically, her little voice partially muffled by the rain and her round face lit with obvious awe at her brother's display.
Lagertha's hand gently but firmly settled the child. "Yes, Bjorn is working very hard, little one. Stay still now and watch quietly," she murmured with her lips barely moving.
Ragnar crouched down again, taking hold of Bjorn's wooden sword, his fingers now slick with mud and rainwater. "Your mother's right, as she usually is. You're gripping far too hard, that's why you're sliding." He carefully peeled Bjorn's fingers open, repositioning them on the squelching leather. "Hold it light but firm, like you're gripping a mooring rope, not clutching a rock. Try again now."
Bjorn adjusted his grip as instructed, his fingers stinging from the forming blisters that were already beginning to heal. He swung once more and the post shuddered under the impact, his grip was noticeably steadier despite the rain making the leather handle treacherously slick. His mind registered the improvement, there was less pain now and more control, and he nodded in understanding.
"I see the difference," he said simply, his voice was firm beyond his years.
Rollo bent down and snatched up a second wooden practice sword from where it leaned against the fence where its grip was worn smooth from years of use with mud immediately smearing its blade as he lifted it. "Enough hitting dead wood. Let's see if you can block a blow," he said with a challenging grin, planting his feet wide in the muck as rain continued dripping from his sodden cloak. "Don't worry, I'll swing slowly for you. Just catch it with your sword, using the middle of your blade." He demonstrated a lazy, telegraphed arc through the air, his shoulder clearly showing his intent.
Bjorn raised his practice sword in response with his mind tracking the movement with unusual clarity; shoulder dips and swing comes from the right, and blocked the incoming blow with surprising precision. The wooden swords clacked loudly on impact, the jarring force traveling up Bjorn's arms to his elbows. His reflexes, sharper than any normal child's, held the weapon steady despite the shock with his boots sliding only an inch in the mud while his stance remained fundamentally solid. Rain blurred his vision momentarily, but he blinked it clear with calm determination with his enhanced senses cutting through the wet haze.
"Again," he requested simply, his voice betraying no excitement or fear, just readiness for the next challenge.
Rollo swung again, noticeably faster this time with the arc tighter and less telegraphed. Bjorn blocked it cleanly and instinctively stepping forward with his small frame maintaining remarkable balance despite the treacherous footing.
"Good!" Rollo exclaimed with genuine surprise, pausing as his breath steamed in the cold air. "You're quicker than you have any right to be at your age. Remember though; keep your eyes on my arm, not on the sword itself. The arm will tell you everything you need to know before the blade ever moves."
Ragnar nodded in agreement, shifting uncomfortably as rain pooled visibly in his boots. "He's got the basic idea of it," he acknowledged with his voice low and directed more toward his brother than his son. "But he's still standing too rigid after each block. Bjorn, when you block, don't just stand there. Move when you block and step in toward your opponent, like you're pushing back against him."
Bjorn attempted the new technique, blocking Rollo's next casual swing while taking a short, deliberate step forward, his boot splashing loudly in a puddle. The combined motion was somewhat clumsy but fundamentally effective. His mind immediately grasped the tactical logic as closer distance meant more control of the engagement, but his young body struggled to coordinate the movements and his legs were trembling visibly from the sustained effort of the training session. A sharp cramp flared suddenly in his calf, it was intense but it was fading with unnatural speed. He stood ready once more and his unusual strength was still evident despite his exhaustion.
Lagertha spoke again from beneath the shelter, her voice barely audible over the steady drizzle. "He's tiring quickly now, Ragnar. There's no need to push him beyond his limits on the first day." She shifted Gyda's weight in her lap with her own cloak now completely sodden, and were her eyes fixed on Bjorn's flushed face with a mother's concern.
Gyda clapped her wooden horse enthusiastically against her palm, giggling with childish delight. "B'on strong! B'on strong!" she chanted happily with raindrops streaking down her chubby cheeks.
Ragnar glanced briefly toward his wife, his jaw was set stubbornly but his expression softened slightly at her concern. "He's tougher than he looks, this one," he insisted, though his tone grew gentler. "Just one more exercise, Bjorn. Block Rollo's swing, then immediately hit the post and show me you can move from defense to attack without hesitation."
Rollo swung his practice sword in another easy arc. Bjorn blocked it with growing confidence, deliberately stepping forward as instructed, his wooden blade holding steady against his uncle's despite the difference in strength. Without pausing, he pivoted smoothly and struck the target post with impressive force with the impact resonating through the wet air of the farmyard. His breathing had become ragged now and his tunic was hanging heavily from his shoulders, but he stood tall and unbowed, his unusual nature evident in every deliberate movement.
Ragnar crouched down to Bjorn's level, rain was dripping steadily from the tip of his nose, and looked directly into his son's eyes. "That's enough for today," he said, his voice was gruff but undeniably tinged with pride. "You've shown you understand the foundations. Tomorrow, we'll build upon what you've learned."
Bjorn nodded solemnly, his mind was already categorizing and internalizing the lesson, his body aching but unbroken by the experience. "Tomorrow then," he replied calmy.
Rollo tossed his practice sword carelessly into the mud with a splatter, grinning broadly at his nephew. "Keep this up, and you'll be a proper menace to everyone in Kattegat before the summer's end," he said with a laugh, giving Bjorn's shoulder a testing nudge that nearly upset the boy's balance. "Go get something hot in your belly now, or Lagertha will flay the skin from both our backs."
Lagertha rose gracefully to her feet despite Gyda's weight in her arms and approached the training area, her boots were sinking deep into the saturated ground with each step. "You showed true strength today," she said to her son, her voice was firm but gentle with her eyes carefully searching Bjorn's face, noting the mixture of sweat and rain on his flushed skin. "But remember that you're still my son before you're anyone's warrior. Rest now; you've earned it." Her free hand briefly touched his shoulder, the contact was brief but reassuring and her maternal concern was evident beneath her composed exterior.
Little Gyda stretched out eagerly from her mother's arms, her wooden horse still clutched tightly in one hand, and patted Bjorn's arm affectionately. "B'on good! B'on very good!" she proclaimed happily, her bright voice was like a sunshine in this gloomy world.
The corners of Bjorn's mouth lifted slightly, a rare smile reserved only for his sister. "I'll be better tomorrow," he promised her softly, his voice was gentler than it had been all day, an instinctive desire to protect her innocence was evident in his tone.
Ragnar jerked his chin toward the longhouse in the distance, where thin smoke curled invitingly from gaps in its turf roof despite the rain. "Food's waiting for all of us inside. Let's move before it's gone cold."
Together they slogged through the deepening mud toward home with the rain finally easing to a light mist, leaving the farmyard silent behind them.