“He would want you to have them,” Janis replied quickly. “He would want you to use them to stay alive. To defend yourself. To survive the war.”
Something about this whole affair struck Khollo as not quite right, but he decided not to pursue it. Instead, he tried drawing the bow, with little success.
“It will take practice,” Janis said.
“Then we’d better get started,” Khollo decided. “Who’s my teacher this morning?”
Janis gave a weak smile. “That would be me,” he said. “Ondus will be writing up orders for the guardsmen.”
Ondus sighed in reply and slumped over the table, resignedly picking up parchment and a writing stick. “I hope you freeze out there,” he muttered as Khollo and Janis left the council chamber.
Khollo led the way down the stairs and out onto the training field. When he emerged from the keep, he was very glad of the multiple layers he was wearing and his heavy boots. The snow was deeper than ever, and a biting wind had sprung up.
“Not ideal conditions,” Janis said bracingly. “But we’ll make do. Wait here.”
Khollo waited in the snow, shivering, while Janis disappeared into the stables. A few moments later he emerged, dragging a bale of hay with him. After standing the hay bale up vertically some ten meters away, Janis returned to where Khollo was standing.
“Try and shoot,” he urged, standing to one side.
Khollo’s numb fingers fumbled for an arrow, nearly dropping it in the snow. Clumsily, he clipped the arrow onto the string, just above a small bead. He’d seen soldiers at the Academy practice from time to time and knew some of the basics, but he had never actually shot an arrow himself.
After looking quickly at Janis to see if he had any more advice, Khollo raised the bow and drew back on the thick string. The string slid back to half draw before Khollo could move it no further. Grimly, he sighted at the bale and released the string.
The arrow zipped away gleefully, darting well to the left of the hay bale and disappearing into the snow.
Khollo lowered the bow, disappointed. “What did I do wrong?” he wondered aloud.
Janis stepped closer, frowning. “Well, for starters you missed the target.”
Khollo, who had expected some more helpful observations, snorted derisively. “I think I could have figured that out for myself, thanks.”
“No need to get angry,” Janis growled.
“Well then tell me how to get better!”
“Try again.”
“That’s it?”
“No,” Janis said patiently. “Then you try again. And again. And again.”
Khollo wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think archery was the kind of skill that came with just randomly firing off arrows over and over again. Nevertheless, he selected another arrow, drew, sighted, and released. This time, the arrow flopped sideways and lay on top of the snow a meter away, glaring up at Khollo accusingly. He retrieved it quickly, and stepped back to his original position.
Growling, Khollo nocked another arrow, pushing the bow forward with one hand, drawing the string back with the other. The string moved well past half draw this time, and Khollo was so surprised that he released the arrow before he had even sighted properly. The arrow flashed across the field, just skimming the top of the hay bale, and disappeared into the snow as Khollo’s first shot had.
“There has to be a better way to do this,” he muttered. Janis said nothing, so Khollo nocked, drew, and sighted again. This time, he spent more time sighting, centering on the hay bale. His arms trembled with the exertion, then steadied as he released.
The arrow slammed into the hay bale, burrowing up to the fletching.
“Excellent!” Janis said, almost sounding cheerful. “You hit it!”
“All thanks to your training,” Khollo said before he could stop himself.
Janis’ grin faltered. “Well, truth be told, I’m no archer,” he admitted. “Everything I know is from watching my brother and other archers.”
“So, any hints?”
Janis considered this. “Make your release smoother,” he decided. “That was one of the things my brother was constantly trying to correct. His teacher was always telling him not to snatch at the string. He also got to full draw whenever he shot,” Janis added as an afterthought.
“Any advice on how, exactly, to do that?” Khollo asked pointedly.
“Get stronger,” Janis replied. “Maybe try just drawing the string and slowly relaxing it. Your arrows will last longer that way. Don’t dry fire, though,” he added hastily. “That will destroy the bow.”
“Right,” Khollo muttered. Slowly, he began to draw and release, moving the string back and forth smoothly. After doing this a dozen times, his arms were burning. He kept going though, not wanting to disappoint Janis. After fifty repetitions, Khollo lowered the bow and looked expectantly at Janis.
“Not bad,” he said. “Better than I expected, actually. Try shooting again.”
The last thing Khollo wanted to do was draw the bow again, but he obediently nocked an arrow and drew. Surprisingly, the string slid back smoothly to nearly full draw. Khollo sighted carefully, aiming for a patch in the bale where some of the hay had come loose and was hanging out.
The arrow streaked away, brushing the tufts Khollo had aimed for and disappearing through the hay bale. The arrow continued on its merry way beyond, until it nose-dived into the snow twenty meters past the target.
Janis stepped back, frowning. “I think we’ll need a few more hay bales,” he muttered. “Find the arrows you’ve shot while I’m doing that, would you?”
Khollo had heard the saying ‘finding a needle in a hay stack’. He quickly discovered that finding an arrow in a snowbank was nearly as difficult. He recovered the first arrow, which had left a hole in the pristine white surface of the snow, but the others seemed to have burrowed in and filled the gaps behind
