"Sean wouldn't have stopped."
David looked up, still shaking. "I don't care. I have to go."
That cold, gray stare weighed him. Finally, it softened back into a faded blue.
"And guns don't work where we're going. I don't suppose you ever studied fencing or karate?"
David laughed, a bark just short of hysteria. "No. What do you mean, guns won't work? The laws of physics take a holiday?"
"Remember the match. The easiest way to see it, is think about a few additional laws. Say the Old Ones put a speed limit on oxidation-reduction chemistry. Without magic to help, nothing can burn much faster than a normal fire. It's kind of a 'union shop' clause in the way they run their world. They don't like paying attention to people who can't use the Power."
Brian hauled more gear out of the closet. He assembled a takedown bow and started to string it, and groaned with pain. Forcing the tip down towards the string, his hand wavered just as the loop caught. The bow snapped loose like a striking rattlesnake. Brian clutched the side of his face and sank to the floor.
The fiberglass tip had left a gouge across Brian's cheekbone. David wet a towel and swabbed at the scrape, then jerked his hand away in shock. The bleeding stopped, and a shiny film of healing spread across the wound.
Witchcraft. Healing like that was enough to get you burned at the stake. How bad had the earlier injuries really been, if Brian hadn't fully recovered yet?
Brian dragged himself upright and shook his head like a dazed fighter. Beads of blood had popped up along the stitch holes in his left arm, but it was his right shoulder he wiggled experimentally. He shook his head again, as if bothered by a swarm of flies.
Archery. Memories tickled David's fingers, and his left forearm stung in sympathy. "I might be able to use that bow. I practiced target archery in high school, got good enough to compete on the local level."
Brian's face froze with one lifted eyebrow. "How long since you drew a bow?"
"Ten years, maybe. At least I know the mechanics--a sight picture, the draw, a smooth release."
"You need muscles as well as skill, but it's worth a try. That's a hunting bow, twice the pull of a target bow even if you were in practice. String it and see if you can draw it."
David stepped through the bow, hooked it on his opposite ankle, and bent it. It was stiff. Damned stiff. He fumbled the string's loop onto the tip. Pulling the bow to full draw damn near cut his fingers off, but he managed. His hands trembled as he held it long enough to draw a bead on the bow-sight. Then he slacked off, shoulders and biceps screaming.
It had been a long time. Too long.
Brian's face was still a mask. "The people I'm going to fight are stronger mages than I am. They like causing pain. I wasn't joking with that match. If I could draw my bow, I wouldn't consider bringing you along."
David met his eyes. "Jo is over there. Do you have a better chance at saving her with me or without me?"
Brian's smile looked more like a skull. "This isn't some damn fantasy novel. Are you seriously willing to be tortured to death? To be forced to watch while they torture Jo until she uses her powers the way they want?"
Torture. Jo. David swallowed bile.
"I have to. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."
Grim sadness washed across Brian's face, as if he saw memories in the air between them. "Bards never have done well as warriors. They die a lot. Quickly or slowly, they die a lot." He shook himself like a wet dog. "Okay, you can come with me. We're going to need that bow."
A bow David could barely draw. "Don't expect me to hit a barn at more than fifty yards."
Brian grinned, a savage expression with too many teeth exposed. "I'm not too damned good with one, either. What I'm worried about is more likely to be in your face, ten yards or less. You'll be facing dangerous animals, ones you won't find in any zoo, and you won't get time for more than a single shaft. Don't worry about aiming, and just let the adrenaline do the work for you."
He rummaged around in the closet until he came up with another kukri. David caught it. It was heavy, heavy as hell. The blade looked to be a quarter of an inch thick.
"That's not a bad weapon for a beginner. Just hack at things. The balance and curve of the blade take care of the rest. Don't even think about stabbing with it. That takes practice. A Gurk, now, he could shave you dry and never leave a scratch, or slice you in two halves before you ever saw the steel. The buggers can even throw the bloody things. Little brown brother has lived with one since he was in nappies, see, knows it better than he knows his wife. He sees it a hell of a lot more often, that's for sure."
Brian's voice wove an atmosphere, the air of the military training camp. He had more accent, all of a sudden, and David felt like a raw recruit under the wing of an old soldier. There was a new depth to Brian, a sense of age far beyond his looks, the calmness of a veteran.
He's doing it on purpose, David thought. He knows I'm scared. He's telling me he's been through this a thousand times before.
Brian flexed his left arm, swung his right in a slow, exploratory arc, winced. "I'm glad you'll be carrying the bow."
And that, thought David, is the closest you'll ever come to admitting how badly hurt you really are. The confidence rings a little hollow.
"One suggestion," Brian added, "from a veteran. Bathroom. Don't take it as an insult, but the body has its own ways of dealing with fear. Any
