searched for openings in their sparring partner’s defenses. Further back they passed a few who wielded swords in each hand, and many others wielding maces like their trainer, Jerico. But at the very far end sat a young lady, her chestnut hair cut at the shoulders and then pulled into a ponytail. Unlike the others, she wore soft leather gloves, and in her lap was a bow.
“Jessilynn,” Lathaar said, drawing her attention upward. She smiled until she saw the elf, and then the smile fled her face. Immediately she leapt to her feet, fumbling through a bow. At sixteen she was one of the oldest students at the Citadel, but to Dieredon she was but a child, nothing compared to his centuries of life.
“You must be Dieredon,” Jessilynn said, her eyes staring at the dirt. “Jerico and Lathaar have told me so much about you. Consider me honored to be in your presence.”
“Well-spoken,” Dieredon said, crossing his arms. “Though I fear your teachers’ stories. Paladins may not lie, but I still believe they are prone to exaggeration.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Lathaar said, grinning. “Jessilynn, fire a few arrows at a target. Don’t be nervous, either.”
Jessilynn nodded, and without looking at either of them she grabbed her bow and turned around. Thirty yards away was a bale of hay, and leaning in front of it were several planks of wood that served as targets. For a moment Jessilynn dipped her head, closed her eyes, and began to pray.
“She was part of our inaugural class,” Lathaar whispered to Dieredon. “It was a big stink, too, our very first female paladin. Plenty of the priests were furious, but Azariah declared it good, and that ended the grumblings. Our younger classes have more now, and it isn’t the trouble or difficult matter we thought it’d be. As for Jessilynn, to be honest her skills with a sword aren’t very impressive, and neither can she wield a shield with any sort of grace. But the bow…”
Lying at her feet were a pile of arrows, and with her prayer finished Jessilynn leaned down to grab one. Pressing it against the string, she pulled it taut, then hesitated. As she did, a soft blue began to glow from the arrowhead. Then she let it fly. It arced through the air, leaving behind it a blue-white trail. The arrow missed the wooden targets, instead vanishing into the hay with a brief flicker of light.
Dieredon looked at Lathaar, an eyebrow raised. In response, Lathaar just shook his head.
“It gets crazier,” he said. “Jessilynn, another.”
She grabbed a second arrow, and this time she looked far less tight as she nocked it for flight. After another moment of hesitation she let it fly. Its aim was true, striking a thin board in the center of the hay bale. Upon contact the wood shattered as if blasted by an enormous hammer. Onward the arrow continued, vanishing into the hay. Seeing the explosion, Jessilynn hopped once in the air, her ponytail bouncing.
Now both of Dieredon’s eyebrows were raised, and his mouth dropped open a little.
Jessilynn spun around to bow, and she was unable to hold back her pleased smile. But at least she tried.
“I hope my demonstration was sufficient,” she said.
“Jerico’s shield gives us some precedence in dealing with this,” Lathaar said. “The problem is, neither of us knows what we’re doing with longbows. I’ve only shown her the most rudimentary basics, and even those might have been wrong. Basically, she’s self-taught.”
“Of that, there is little doubt,” said Dieredon. “Her stance is too narrow. She sights down the arrow while gripping it too tightly. Her follow-through is incorrect, and I cannot believe I must say this, but she even nocks the arrow incorrectly.”
Each critique made Jessilynn wince as if she were being stabbed with a dagger, but she remained quiet, her attention undivided.
“That’s great and all, but can you train her?” Lathaar asked, stepping away from Jessilynn and dropping his voice. “We can’t help her, and you’ve seen what she’s already capable of untrained. We can’t let such a unique talent go wasted. She could take down a bull with a single shot. What she needs more than anything is a teacher. That’s why I sent for you, Dieredon. Who else is better with a bow than you?”
“Flattery won’t help you here,” Dieredon insisted. “I can’t train her. The amount of time it would take to make her even proficient would be too much of a sacrifice. The Vile Wedge stirs, Lathaar, and orc armies surround our forests at all times.”
“Take her with you, then.”
Dieredon rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.
“What of her lessons here?” he asked.
Lathaar thought of what Azariah had said, as well as his own beliefs on the matter. His students had been coddled. They were out of the darkness of the world, living in safety and comfort.
“She knows the prayers, the lessons, the verses,” he said. “Everything else she’ll learn on her own, or from you. Please, Dieredon, she’s quiet, focused, and will take to your lessons well, I promise. I’ve talked with Jerico, and we’ve both prayed about this for months. This is the right thing to do, I’m sure of it.”
The elf let out a sigh.
“Six months,” he said. “That’s all I guarantee. And she’ll learn everything I teach her, not just about the bow. She’ll wear the armor I tell her to, move silently as needed, learn to forage, to craft her own arrows, anything and everything to survive out there with me. She won’t be a paladin when she returns, not in discipline or tactics. She’ll be a ranger. Can you accept that?”
Lathaar turned to Jessilynn, knowing without a doubt she’d been listening in.
“Can you?” he asked her.
Jessilynn’s green eyes sparkled, and she clutched her bow tight.
“Will I learn to shoot like you?” she asked.
“In six months?” Dieredon laughed. “Good gods, you humans. By the end of six months, my hope is you’ll know how to hold your bow without hurting yourself. Now do you accept? Know that we will soar to many places on my horse, Sonowin, so if you fear heights you should remain here and accept a more appropriate teacher. A human teacher.”
Lathaar watched as Jessilynn’s grin spread ear to ear.
“I get to ride Sonowin?” she asked. “I accept, of course I accept!”
And then she was off, calling out to her friends while rushing around the Citadel, to where Sonowin waited patiently. Lathaar watched her go, and when he caught Dieredon glaring at him, he smiled.
“I did say she was focused,” he said, and laughed at Dieredon’s exasperation.
4
The crowd was twice the size it had been a week before, and ten times larger than the week before that. Kevin Maryll did well to hide his satisfaction. By leaving, Antonil had done more to undermine his own rule than anyone else over his five year reign. Any other human, at least.
“But what do we say to these angels?” he cried, his hands shaking to convey the sheer depth of rage boiling within him. “What do we say when they declare us liars, thieves, adulterers? Do they give us proof?”
“Do they give us witnesses?”
“That’s right! Nothing, they give us nothing but their word. They give us nothing, then take from us everything, our land, our possessions, our very lives. And what do we say? What
A chorus of denials washed over him, varied in wording but similar in tone. Kevin drank it all in, at last letting himself relax. These were the fruits of his labor, hard-fought and long won. For years he had spoken out against the rule of angels. When the Gods’ War first ended his cries had fallen on deaf ears. No one would listen, for surely he was mad to say they should not trust the saviors of Dezrel. But patience and time had proven him right. Now over a hundred men and women surrounded him in the streets of Mordeina, blocking off a large portion of trade just so they might hear his truth.
“The gods started this war. The gods and their followers tore this land asunder, filling its rivers with blood
