Movement II:
March
She stood against the target and
raised her longbow, passed down from
Haldad to her. He had given it to her with a sad smile and told her
that he had
used it as a youth before turning to the sword. Sighting down the
arrow, she
released and swore under her breath when it missed the center by two
hands’
breadth—hands the size of Malron’s—to quiver in the hay.
“No need to grow angry, my lady,” Malron said as he
walked down the length of the empty practice hall towards her.
Almost everyone else, except for a few of Malron’s
friends, refused to use it now that a woman
had defiled it with her presence, and Haleth endured mockery from the
adults,
and mean-spirited pranks from the younger ones, especially the boys.
Just the
other day, one of the boys had oiled the steps to her bower when she
was
running her laps to strengthen her legs, and everyone had looked the
other way
when she had tripped and fallen. Everyone also knew who it was,
Kellan—who was
actually around Haleth’s age, and so was not really a boy—whose father
was the
loudest in ridiculing Haleth.
Kellan’s father, the widowed Cullan, had even
advised her father to find her a husband, just as if she were a brood
mare. It
was clear that Cullan fancied himself as her husband and she had been
about to
unleash her whetted tongue on him. But Haldad had coldly informed
Cullan that
Haleth was his daughter, not Cullan’s,
and that if Cullan desired to complain against his daughter within his
hall,
then he should leave.
After Haldad’s open rebuke of Cullan, no one lodged
complaints against her, but still found petty ways to make her life
miserable.
The warriors ignored her when she was in their presence, but mocked her
in
private. The women and elders frequently told her to her face that she
was
Valar-forsaken. The servants ignored her requests and refused to serve
her
food. After one of the boys had flung a mud ball into her face as she
passed
from the armsmaster’s hall to the kitchens, Malron, gray-blue eyes
bright with
sympathy but not pity, had invited her to stay in his hall and sleep
there as
well. But he did not offer to challenge her doubters; that was her
decision and
her responsibility to make her people believe in her. She had accepted,
for he
was kind and told wonderful stories while she rested.
She dragged her attention back to him, for he was
continuing on. “It was a good hit for all that you have not practiced
for
years. The last time you held a longbow was nigh near ten years ago.”
“I remember that time,” she said
wistfully. “It was our twelfth
birthing-day—” Malron had noticed that sometimes, especially when
recalling her
memories, she referred to herself in the plural, “—and Haldar had
received a
new bow, while I was given dyes for
my embroidery. Needless to say, I preferred to watch Haldar practice,
and I
begged and whined until he let me hold it just to silence me. Before he
knew
it, I had released the arrow and nearly hit you.
You proceeded to give me lessons, saying that he could not risk me
hitting
another person. And then a few moons after that, father bade me stop
weaponscraft
and turn to more ladylike activities.” Her voice hardened at the last
as she
released another arrow, this one to miss the target entirely.
“The fifth rule of battle—do not let
anger get the better of you. Channel
it elsewhere.”
Haleth said nothing, but she visibly
calmed as her breathing slowed and her
arms relaxed. Again she drew the string, and the arrow thudded to the
right of
the center, missing only by the span of her
hand.
She snarled again, and Malron said,
“Easy now. ‘Twas a good hit. You would
have hit an orc.”
“But not,” she said
with a calm
that she did not feel, “killed him.”
“No,” he agreed. “But you would have
injured him at least.”
“Injuring is not good enough. Every
arrow I waste is one less to kill
another orc, and every orc that is killed is one less to kill my
people.”
My people. How
quickly she had grown.
“Aim again,” he advised, “but do not
release until you have emptied your
mind. There is only the bow and the target. You are but an extension of
the
bow, nothing more. I am not here. You are not here. There is only the
bow and
the target,” he said again.
Haleth did so, clearing her mind of
all thoughts. Then she released the
arrow as it thudded into the palm-sized black circle.
Again and again she hit, retrieving
her arrows as they continued to slam
into the center, and Malron nodded.
“You’re ready for another target,” he
said, then left the hall for a brief
moments. When he returned, he was carrying a wooden target carved into
the
shape of an orc. He had painted in armor and weak spots, and instructed
her to
aim for the dismayingly small eye slots.
“Practice against that, but do not
aim for the chest. Aim for the joints at
their neck armor but more especially for the eyes. Always aim for the
eyes.”
And so Haleth worked there for the
rest of the week from sunrise to sunset,
practicing into the night through the use of torches. Exhausted, she
collapsed
into her bed at night and then rose again, to practice her archery and
her
swordscraft. And then she began to grow used to her demanding schedule
as she
gained more endurance, and the last traces of her youthful innocence
began to
fade away to be replaced by a woman’s knowledge and the beginning
blooms of
wisdom.
Malron gave her a dagger to match her
sword after re-mastering the bow and
taught her the bare basics of hand-to-hand and barehanded combat,
teaching her
every trick he knew, for if she were ever forced to use
that knowledge, she would need it. However, he bluntly told her
that she would never be able to fully master the dagger or barehanded
in the
few moons they had. The knife was, in fact, rather ugly and not as fine
as her
sword, but it would serve should she ever have to use it. He returned
to the
sword after he was satisfied that she knew how to use the knife without
cutting
herself and that she could deliver a fatal blow if forced to.
The orcs attacked again at the end of
her third week of training, and
Haleth was hustled into armor and handed her longbow and a quiver of
arrows.
She gulped when she examined them; these were man-killing arrows, not
the game
arrows she had practiced with. Game arrows were designed to be removed
easily;
these were serrated so that they would hurt coming out.
All of a sudden, she was struck with
the thought that she was going to war
to kill other thinking, living beings, and she understood what both
Haldad and
Haldar had said. Malron, however, had expressed confidence in her and
she was
determined to make her instructor proud, so she swallowed her revulsion
and
fear to follow the soldiers to her post. It was raining, and she
blessed that,
for it gave her an excuse to not reveal her face. Everyone else had
their hoods
up.
No one mocked her now, either because they did not
have the time or because they did not recognize her, for her long fair
hair was
hidden underneath the hood of her cloak. She was paired with a slim
veteran,
whose injured leg gave her the reason to why he was not fighting with
Haldad.
He proceeded to instruct her on how to shoot from
the battlements, and at what angle to shoot so as to hit the orcs
rather than
the ground. A voice Haleth did not recognize called to the archers,
instructing
them to keep silent and still, and to not peep from the battlements and
thus
betray their position.
She glanced around at her surroundings, careful to
keep her face hidden from everyone else, and so missed her partner’s
broad grin
when he caught a glimpse of golden hair and blue eyes. He was examining
his
arrows for any flaws, and encouraged Haleth to do the same.
She was about to start doing so when she noticed
that everyone else were in groups of three and opened her mouth to ask
her
partner why when she heard pounding feet behind her. Turning around to
see a
disgruntled Haldar, she grimaced when his dripping cloak splashed her
in the
face and wiped the water away with the corner of her semi-dry cloak. A
flash of
guilt struck her; she had not bothered to visit her twin or her father
for her
last two weeks of training, preferring to spend her rare free time with
Malron.
“What are you doing
here?” he
asked rather ungraciously. “Father will have a fit.”
“Father gave me
permission to
join the archers, Haldar.”
“Women do not belong in battle,” he
said under his breath before moving
away.
Haleth would have shouted something
at him, but someone else touched her
shoulder.
“Haleth? Don’t be angry. He’s upset
because Haldad won’t permit him to go
out with the warriors, and forced him to remain behind to direct the
archers.”
“Malron! Why aren’t you with father?
You’re a fine warrior—the best—in the keep.”
“I must remain behind to survive and
train the next generation,” he said
without rancor, but with calm acceptance. “There must always be an
armsmaster
from my line to train the young ones. My brother and my cousin both
fight,
however.”
“Ah,” she said, at a loss for words.
“Gelvar?”
The veteran beside her grinned at
Malron’s voice, and then flicked off
Malron’s hood to reveal his face, and then pulled down Haleth’s.
Haleth smiled in relief; Gelvar was
one of Malron’s good friends, and the
armsmaster praised him. He had also been one of the few willing to
practice
with her, and had given her good advice. It was a relief to talk with
him,
because he was always less formal and more humorous than Malron. Both
men were
lean and wiry, but Malron was slightly taller, and where Malron’s face
was
often dour, Gelvar’s contained only the amiability and geniality of a
friendly
hound.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head
about it, Malron,” the slim man said
and laughed when Malron grunted. “I’m honored to serve with the Lady
Haleth.”
“I will be completing this trio
here,” Malron said with an irritated glance
for Gelvar. “I need to give some of my students some encouragement, so
I shall
go and take a walk about the battlements. Excuse me, former students;
they quit
because I was teaching Haleth.”
“You mean that you need to give them
a nod of your pretty little head and
then pat them on their heads to tell
them that they’re being good little children,” Gelvar said. “And then
shake
your long white hair at them to prove that you are older.”
Malron, whose black hair was cropped
short to his head, ignored Gelvar with
a ridiculous dignity that had Haleth fighting to hold in laughter.
“This is
their first time in battle as well, and I’d like to make the rounds.”
“Put up your hood, Malron, it’s
raining,” she said with a wicked grin as
she pulled up her own. “Or didn’t you notice that your pretty little
head is
getting wet?”
“Impudent child,” he muttered indignantly as he
stomped away, careful to keep his rangy figure from sight of the orcs,
and
Gelvar winked at Haleth before returning to carefully examine his
arrows.
Haleth did the same as well, and then listened to Gelvar tell stories,
for he
was almost as good as Malron in storytelling. They waited for Malron
and
battle, often restlessly picking up an arrow and examining it as they
spoke.
For the third time, someone got Haleth’s attention,
but he did so by giving her a rude shove that would have sent her
sprawling if
Gelvar had not shot out an arm to steady her. Haleth opened her mouth
to give a
stinging rebuke, but the stranger pushed off her hood again.
“You belong in your bower or in some man’s
keeping,” he said in his harsh voice, his eyes taking note of her
breeches.
“And you should wear skirts.”
“Cullan,” she greeted coolly. “Both the Lord Haldad
and armsmaster Malron gave leave for me to be numbered among the
archers.”
“You should have wed by now and produced children,”
he said as he stepped closer. “But your father says that you refuse to
take a
suitor.”
“Go away, Cullan.” She stood up to face the
warrior, one hand lingering on her dagger. She refused to back off from
his
beer-sodden breath, for that would make her seem weak, but she did
breathe
through her mouth. “And if you think that you’d be my husband, you can
think
again.”
“You’d make a fine wife for Kellan,” he said.
“You’re strong, and you’d bear children easily. The Haladin need more
children.”
She slapped him as Gelvar also rose and stood
silently at her shoulder, supporting her. “I am no brood mare to be
bartered
thus,” she snapped. “And I am not your daughter, and nor are you Lord
of the
Haladin, so I advise that you keep silence until you can prove to be
both.”
“Haleth?” Malron hurried towards them, and then
slowed as he saw them standing there. Gelvar beckoned him closer, and
the two
men stood as silent as Haleth’s shadow and as close.
“I am not for sale, Cullan,” she said, enunciating
every word with an icy clarity that made Malron shiver. “I suggest you
get to
your post before the Lord Haldar inspects the archers.”
They stared at each other for long moments before
Cullan gave a jerky nod of his head and departed, seemingly compliant.
But
Haleth knew that she would have to contend with him at least one more
time.
Gelvar
said, “Well done, my lady. That one won’t be bothering you again—”
She shook her head. “No. I will have to fight him
at least once, though whether with words or with swords I do not know.”
“Aye,” Malron said. “But it will be an evil day
should you ever be forced to battle with him… an evil day when the
people of
Haldad—” the people of Haleth, he
corrected to himself silently, “—turn against each other.”
Haleth decided to change the subject, so she asked,
“Why are we in groups of three?”
“We have put every graybeard and boy in armor and
sent them out as archers, whether they have been trained or not,”
Malron said,
his expression grave. “This is the largest attack yet, and we have
pulled off
everyone save for the most skilled marksmen, the injured, and the
untrained.
These remain as the archers, and even children of six or seven fight,
slinging
stones. All they need to know is how to draw a bow or fling a stone,
whether
they can hit what they aim at or not; at least they will hit someone,
for the
orcs swarm like maggots.”
“And the women?” Haleth pressed, hoping that
someone else would follow her example.
“They cower behind walls for the most part,” he
said, and her face fell. “The Lady Bríani said that the women of
the hold knew
their place properly, unlike some she could name. However, some of the
braver
ones, especially those with family amongst the soldiers, carry bandages
and
water.”
“At least they do that much,” she said, and gazed
at the wall as if she could see what lay beyond—where the orcs waited.
“Where
are the orcs?”
“They do not attack yet, and seek to attack in
surprise. We had warning only through scouts.”
“Ah.”
The three were silent. Malron went through his
arrows for flaws, and then repeated the same process for Haleth and
Gelvar,
though they had already examined theirs. Gelvar waited, his body
relaxed, but
his brown eyes darted everywhere. Haleth fidgeted, trying to get
comfortable in
her unaccustomed armor until Haldar, who had come to examine the
archers,
hissed at her to be still. They waited for at least an hour, and the
entire
keep was silent, waiting for the attack that would come.
The morning quiet was broken when they heard the
guttural cries of orcs, and the same unknown person softly ordered all
the
archers to ready their arrows but not yet fire. Malron and Gelvar
selected an
arrow, and then nudged Haleth to do the same when she heard the orcs
begin to
clash their shields and swords together. She blushed to have not obeyed
the
order, and hurriedly grabbed an arrow from her quiver and placed it
upon her
bowstring.
The din outside continued, and Haleth was tempted
to place her hands over her ears. But Malron was not doing so, and so
she did
not. After a moment, she realized that if she had
covered her ears, she would not be able to hear her orders.
“Prepare to fire,” the captain commanded, the noise
outside serving to cover his voice. “When I give the command, one man
from each
group will take a swift glance outside to see where the orcs are. He
will then
instruct his partners on where to aim, and when I give the command,
fire. Do
not glance outside or let yourself be seen. Fire blind; it does not
matter
which orc you hit as long as you hit someone. Aim for the largest
concentration
of orcs.”
“I’ll do it,” Malron said. “I have more experience
at gauging a shot.”
Gelvar simply nodded, and when the orcs’ chant
swelled once more, the captain gave the order to look outside. Malron
dropped
down again a moment later, and passed on instructions to Gelvar and
Haleth.
“Fire!” the captain called, and there was a hail of
arrows as they swept over the battlements into the orcs. The orcs
stopped their
chanting as their comrades dropped dead about them, and someone roared.
“Huddle against the wall!” The orcs returned fire
to clatter harmlessly upon the stone walls, and Haleth marked where the
arrows
came from. “Fire once more!”
This pattern continued for about an hour until the
demoralized orcs, unable to hit their unseen tormentors, fled. Haldad
led a
sortie against them but retreated when they had driven them away,
pulling back
to the keep as the orcs heedlessly ran through the rain. The archers
shot once
more, this time using the orcs’ own arrows, and the last volley hurried
them
along even more.
Even as the others exulted in the easy victory,
Haleth knew that it was not yet over.
Malron, it appeared, knew as well. As everyone else
clattered down for a wash and hot food, he beckoned at her to remain
behind.
“In less than two weeks,” he said quietly as the
last few archers straggled past them and gave them only a cursory
glance, “the
orcs will lay siege. Do not spread word of this about; only your father
and I
know, and now you.”
“I knew that before you told me,” she said. “Well,
not that they would besiege us but that this was not yet over.”
“You are wise, my lady, to know what others do
not.” He smiled with mischief and offered her his arm. “Would you care
to come
downstairs with me?”
She raced past him, shouting over her shoulder,
“Last one down gets to fetch all the food!”
Malron grinned and ran as well.
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