Fletcher

by P. S. Power

  Calmly enough, Farad got a simple nod out, then looked at what they had.

  His finger pointed at the basket in Ricard’s hand, held by the stout wicker handle.

  “Bar-neg-fen ot neeth” It took some focus and a bit of will on the part of the other man not to drop his prize as it started to glow.

  “Gah!” To his credit the man didn’t put it down, simply staring at the thing which was many times brighter than a mere candle or lantern would have been. There was no flickering either.

  Then he repeated the spell on the other three baskets, in case they needed to split up in order to get the food around well enough.

  “That will last until sunrise. We should hurry. I know that I’m starving already.” That felt like a real threat, even if he’d eaten that day.

  There was some muttering about him as they walked. At least one of the men, a person that had been around his whole life, made a warding hand sign against him. It pulsed a bit, a very light tingle of magic pressing against his back from it.

  Which was almost humorous, when he thought about it. Nardel was using magic, in an attempt to protect himself from… magic. Because, of course, magic itself was scary.

  The four cooks in the guard kitchen grumped at them, snorted at their magically glowing baskets as if that weren’t a big deal at all and loaded them up with bread slices and pots of stew. They had bowls and wooden spoons in each basket.

  Seeing that, the head cook grimaced.

  “Not near enough for all. People will have to share. Not the way I want to serve my good cooking. I don’t suppose you boys could run off and wash them between each serving?” It wasn’t an order and didn't seem that hopeful. Not given the day they were having.

  Anders nodded.

  “I’ll handle that. I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a crust of bread? I’ve been casting spells all day and it turns out that’s actually work. It looks easier when other people are doing it, I think.” Which was true.

  Depak Sona spoke some words and things just happened, without so much as a drop of sweat glistening on his forehead at all.

  The man looked at Anders closely, as if he might be being lied to. Then he checked the baskets again. They were still glowing just as brightly.

  “Likely tale. Still, we have some left. A crust, some old hard cheese and half a sour apple. Here you go!” The man didn’t laugh about it, since the food was very close to what he’d described. The bread was fresh, the section of cheese clearly a portion that had been cut off as inedible, complete with some mouse chew marks on it and the apple was small and new. Green still.

  He started to eat it anyway, as they all walked out. True hunger made him less than worried about flavor in the moment.

  It was gone by the time they all, moving as a group, got to the furthest post outside the castles, up the inner stairs to the wall. They had enough bowls and spoons for all of them up there, though the stew and bread would have to be refreshed. No one left their posts, eating where they stood as the food was brought to them, looking out into the night, crossbows on them, in the crook of an arm for most.

  When they were handed back, the bowls and spoons, Anders cleaned them all, removing all traces of earth or water from their surfaces. Interestingly, that seemed to carry everything away. He’d been afraid that the grease and fat would linger on the utensils.

  They had to make six trips to cover all the men currently standing watch, the last one actually outside the wall, where only ten men were on watch. Walking slowly around the whole place, carrying spears. The trouble there was that the servants all refused to go out, even if it was their job. Then, they’d been kind of afraid to leave the comfort of the castle in the first place, since it was dark out.

  They’d done it, which made their refusal at the moment kind of shocking. Finally, he nodded.

  “I’ll take this last bit around.” Naturally the task would go faster, if there were more of them but fighting about it wasn’t going to get the job done. They only needed one basket for it. The one Ricard had, being that the fresh bread and stew was all in that single place.

  Taking no more than ten seconds to decide that was the better plan, the men left him at the front of the outer wall, to make the rounds himself. Which was interesting. Every single guard approached him with a spear ready, since he was carrying unfamiliar magics with him.

  Anders was ordered to halt and identify himself ten times, even if all the men were glad enough to have their dinner, since it had been missed. Each man jokingly asked him if he could use a spear, then handed him theirs to use in case of attack when he said yes.

  It was well after mid-night when he got back inside. Still hungry, if more tired than anything. Still, he crawled into bed and slept, then rolled out with the birds chirping him awake. That meant he was slightly late getting started, the sun being up already for the day. Not so much that he’d be beaten for it, he hoped.

  That day found the ambassadors being fed at eight, with cleaned rooms and a slightly dragging room boy pretending to smile at them. Depak Sona shared the meal with him, reading the entire time. It was a thing that was familiar in a way, from his own youth. That of Farad Ibn Istel. There was always more to learn and so little time in a life to devote to it.

  After he finished, he left the plate and silver, since the room servants would be picking it up. They did it each day, and had been since whoever was doing that was brave enough to knock on the door and ask for it, if not go in and empty a chamber pot.

  Neither the fletcher or bowyer were in that day, since both had been up most of the night. That or were still out searching for any signs of attackers in the surrounding area. Using the supplies there, including some of the new staves, which had been spliced with other wood for flexibility and weight, he started to make arrows. Real ones for actual full draw war bows. It was no harder to do than the lighter arrows, though he only managed ten per hour. When he left at noon he carried two bows with him. A short riding bow of horn and sinew and a longer one that was taller than he was by nearly a head.

  All of his arrows were brought along with him, though he didn’t know what kind the horn bow needed. To that end he borrowed a selection of things from the bins along the walls. Captain Ford would be able to tell him, he was certain. If the man was around at all that day.

  No one else was in the practice square. Not at first. There was movement by the castle, as two guards came out, with Depak Sona walking between them. As they closed in, it was clear that one of the guards in gray was Captain Ford. The other was the very old man with the gray beard that had been at the first meal with the King and his family.

  There was a wave to the right, which was toward the large field where some large hay rounds were collected.

  His arms were full, so he did a rather clumsy bow toward the men, getting them to stop as they approached. They all did it back, in different ways. Captain Ford placed his hands in front of him and stared at Anders hands, which did, after all, have weapons in them. Depak Sona used his normal open handed palms up bow and the older man used first courtly.

  When they stood it was Depak who smiled and spoke first.

  “I was instructed to take a guard with me and only leave in your presence. Captain Ford and General Nesmith were both kind enough to lead me to you for the day. Thank you, gentlemen.”

  Laughing a bit, the older one nodded.

  “Truly, I just came to see if anyone would be willing to risk coming out today. Then, sense tells me that if anyone dared the open, it would be Master Brolly here. Now, we’re learning and practicing bow work today, Captain?”

  Ford turned then and nodded to Anders.

  “String both of those please. Stinger first, then leg bend.” There was no asking if he knew how to do either of those. He did, at least for the long bow. The horn was shorter but also more powerful, which was only about twice what his was going to pull. The leg stringing was done, with only a few suggestions from the Captain on the smaller bow. As soon as that
was finished, the decorative weapon was handed over to Depak Sona.

  With a courtly bow of a sort that Captain Ford had never demonstrated before in the presence of Anders. It made sense he’d know that kind of thing, given where he lived and who he worked with, day to day. There was a bow back and the thing was taken, then, carefully, drawn.

  It was slowly released, not simply let go.

  “Notice that, Brolly. Never fire a bow without an arrow. It can break on you if you do. The force you put into it needs a place to go and to be carried away. That’s either your arrow, or like the Ambassador here just did, your body taking the force back.” There was a wave then, as the man plucked one of the thinner arrows that had been made and took the light yew bow from his hands.

  Without speaking he demonstrated the form he wanted used, three times. It was enough for all the parts to be committed to memory.

  “Note that I pull low, to my chest? I’m laying my body into it and not just using my arms and back, like you have to on a horse. The power comes from the middle, twisting yourself into place, stressing the bow. This is light. Let me…” He fired, up in the air, sending the arrow out a good way. Further than Anders could throw a rock with his hands at any rate.

  Looking at the distance, the man smiled.

  “Ambassador?” It was a request to fire, which was done differently, in that he held the string with two fingers, not three. His arrows were heavier, though toward a mid-weight out of the selection that had been brought for that. It also flew far enough out that it was hard to see where the arrow went, even if the feathers were mainly white in color on them.

  Ford waved.

  “That’s with a hunting bow, not a war bow. Two hundred paces at a guess. A good war bow with a strong man behind it can go five hundred. That will take you three, maybe as much as five years of regular practice to learn to do, starting from your age. My hope is that you’ll be able to use one twice what you hold there in the next two months.”

  The general looked concerned, nodding as he did it. Depak Sona looked at the Captain as well, his head slightly tilted to show he had a question.

  Ford took a slow breath.

  “If the levies march from this section, along with the light and heavy mounted, Brolly has been tasked to go along already. Queen had a vision that it would be needed, so we aren’t getting him out of it. To that end Prince Robarts set a training schedule for him. Bow, spear, horsemanship and magic. Cooking, too.” He grinned on the last bit.

  Next to him General Nesmith let his head bob.

  “I’d heard some of that.”

  Next was his turn to shoot the arrows, which was done to the calling out of the Captain.

  “Nock…. Ready… Fire!” The string wasn’t pulled back until the command to fire. There was no aiming, either. Not until all the arrows were gone and his arms ached.

  Depak Sona, almost playfully, made ten shots along with him, to his hundred.

  Then Captain Ford waved.

  “One hundred arrows in flight, every day. Even if no one is here to call for you. Collect those up and get back here.”

  As he moved to walk into the field, Depak Sona moved and touched his arm.

  “Use magic for it. Carefully, so that the arrows are not damaged.”

  That took nearly five minutes to figure out. It wasn’t going to be enough to call the wood in the field back to him and just telling it to move from there to there, drawing a line with his finger was going to slide the things along the ground. That could lead to bent or broken fletching.

  Plus, he needed to walk close to the things to make it work in the first place. When he finally worked it out, using compound directions for what he wanted and a description of the brown wood with white on the back, settling next to him lightly after floating up into the air, it did work. Getting half of his arrows back. Then he had to move around and do the thing six more times, separating the arrows that Depak Sona had used, from the last batch, since they were much further away. Then he had to use a heavy bag he had to carry them all back.

  Truly, sore or not, he expected to be told to do it again. Instead a wreath of branches was settled on a rolled hay stack and he was walked ten paces away. Then told how to aim.

  Ford did it all a bit gruffly.

  “You’ll try to aim too high at first. I’ll say lower and then you’ll drop the tip slightly, feeling it’s wrong. At this range it won’t drop much even with that little bow of yours. Just like before, except you need to look over the arrow and center it. Quickly. Don’t hold the shot, waiting for ten minutes while you get perfect aim. Pull, aim and release in one fluid motion.”

  That didn’t happen. The arrow did stick into the hay stack though, to the left of the wreath by a man’s arm span. There was no correction given, just a look that said he needed to do it again. Better.

  Over ten shots he got closer, the arrow finally landing inside the wreath.

  “There we go…” The Captain looked at the others then and smiled at Depak. “Ambassador?”

  Sizing up the target, the man quickly drew, released and not only hit the target, he split the lighter arrow, breaking it.

  A thing that had the other two men clapping, as if it were amusing that his new arrow had been destroyed like that. Then, to show that it wasn’t a mistake, the next arrow went into the middle of the wreath and the next eight clutched around it tightly. The whole group was in a space no bigger than half Anders’s palm. Except the one that had gone first. Low and to the left, ruining his perfectly good arrow.

  “Let’s clear these. Anders, one hundred shots flight, one hundred at wreath like this, every day. I want one hundred at wand as well. That can come later, since it would be too frustrating for you right now. Even most good archers can’t hit a two-finger thick stick at ten paces regularly. You will, by the time you’re done. Each morning, I want you to make replacement arrows for any lost or broken. Try to keep the heads if you can. Those are expensive.”

  He spent the next hour trying to teach himself how to hit the center of the wreath each time. Anders mainly missed, which didn’t get him yelled at. It would have gone faster but Depak Sona practiced with him, shot for shot, ten at a time. When the older man went the target was well and truly killed.

  Anders was hoping that by the end he was at least mildly frightening it.

  Kindly enough the thing didn’t rise up and mock him over his poor performance.

  At the end, the General having stood there for three hours with them, observing, they got to pack up the arrows. Three had been broken, one of those being Depak’s. It had simply snapped when it hit the target for some reason.

  The older looking man stroked his beard then.

  “This is a hard schedule for a boy. I’d put my foot down if it were possible to keep you safe, here. Even if we could just march you ten miles from the fighting and set you to making arrows and repairing bows.” He looked away then. “We can’t. No one will be able to hold your hand if real fighting comes, either. That means you have to ready yourself, anyway you can. From what I’ve been hearing of you in the last week, you can do this. War isn’t a place for a boy…” A hard look came across him then. “It isn’t the right place for most men, either. Do as the Captain says. Magician Depak as well. They’ll get you through, if you do the work required.”

  Then he and the Captain left, as Depak unstrung his bow, doing it lightly. Anders followed suit, standing there in the open field.

  “I hadn’t heard this. It is foolish, sending one unprepared to battle. Still, as they said, there is no choice, since we cannot go against your Queen in this. Listen now, carefully.”

  The man drew back and spoke plainly.

  “Ro es wo es ein es nev-sot ot net ot neg ot ere-fen ot needa.” The area pointed to was a sweep in a half circle around himself, the man smiling.

  “Until night, it will be hard for anything to pass this space. Throw an arrow at me.”

  That didn’t work well, since it went sideway. Then it
stuck in the air. Hanging there motionless, not even dropping to the ground.

  “This is a basic stopping spell. Collecting that which passes, instead of deflecting it. There are better, stronger ways to protect yourself than this. All of which take more complicated spell work. You can add any threat to it that you wish. In a tight situation, telling things to stop, now might work. It’s worth practicing, if you get the time. You’ll have to get that arrow later. It won’t easily come out right now. If you will create your own barrier?”

  His wasn’t as strong, it turned out. It stopped the thrown arrows, without denying the man doing the throwing at all. That was a gap, of course. The whole thing was too simple and took too long to put up, if he were under attack. The wall of air was more of a place to hide if nothing else around him would work for that.

  The interesting portion was that he was combining so many forces at one time. The trick, of course, was that the effect it had wasn’t what they naturally did, making it a learned spell that had one use for him. His mind needed to take in the entire spell, and grasp it as a whole thing, new and complete, if it was to work well. Meaning he had to do it over and over again, standing there in the field. The only change was that they were made to last only one moment, so they could be checked and fade before anyone tried to ride a horse through the area or come to practice their own bow work.

  Depak was out without being guarded directly, with only him for protection if something happened. Noticing that, Anders walked the man back to his rooms. It was nearing on time for a meal, anyway.

  “I’ve been hungry all the time lately. Missing mid-meal didn’t help. I should have run and gotten something. Garen was supposed to bring something to me in the fletcher’s shop. A lot of the servants are having trouble right now. Everything has suddenly gone scary on them.”

  The words got him looked at.

  “You should make sure to eat. You’re already growing thinner. That means you’re practicing and keeping busy, which is good. Too much will leave you unprepared later. You should take us to your meal with you.”