Under the Ashen Banner

Chapter Five: The Arbalist (Part 1)

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"Neil, that's the worst shot you've made so far! Are you blind or just stupid?"

He'd heard Sergeant Blue's insults before and let them roll off his back, but the morning after Errigal broke his heart such jibes hurt far worse than normal. It was like there were wounds on his soul, and the slightest touch refreshed the agony.

Everyone else at the target range glanced between him and the target. Three shots, and not a single one hit. The bolts must have continued on, into the forest outside the camp. One of the other recruits shook his head. Another rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. Neil didn't catch most of it, but he was pretty sure he heard the word "useless."

Neil bit down hard on his lower lip and cursed his own sensitivity. He was certain that every other recruit there had dealt with heart-break before and managed to push past it. Why couldn't he? The pain was no excuse for his poor performance. He'd been struggling in his other training too, and he feared that if his failures continued the Commanders would remove him from the company. He'd be doomed to wander the world, unable to find work to keep his belly full.

He silently prayed that none of the Commanders were looking on that day, but when he turned his head he saw both Sir Garrett and Perrion standing just a few yards away. While Perrion's expression held a hint of concern, Sir Garrett's was pure disappointment.

Sergeant Blue stepped in front of Neil and brought his face close enough to him that the boy could tell his trainer had onions in his breakfast that day. His bushy mustache twisted downward in a frown, and his long pointed nose was mere inches from Neil's own.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, lad!" the sergeant bellowed. "What's the matter with you? Need a smack on the head?"

"No, Sergeant," said Neil, meeting his superior officer's eyes.

Upon meeting his gaze, Blue's furious visage softened, and he whispered, "It's a woman, is it?"

Neil hesitated. "...Yes."

Blue sighed and clapped a hand down on Neil's shoulder. "Been there, lad. Look, if some trollop broke your heart, just imagine that target over there is her face."

Neil's stomach churned when the officer called Errigal a trollop, and his heart sunk at the idea of doing her harm. His expression must have made his emotions obvious, because Blue raised an eyebrow at him.

"Still care about her, eh? Even after she hurt you? Alright, then. How about this. Pretend that if you hit that bullseye it'll make all the hurt go away. How's that?"

At this, Neil nodded.

Blue gave him a pat on the cheek. "Get to it, lad." He walked off to give him some room.

Neil took three deep breaths. With the toe of his boot in the stirrup, he turned the crannequin until the string was pulled back and locked in place. Next, he took a bolt and slipped it into the flight groove, careful to keep his fingers out of the triangle the string formed, and his other hand away from the trigger lever.

Once the weapon was loaded, he took aim at the target, and let all the pain settle in. He let every question of his own worth slip into his mind. He allowed himself to ask the questions that had been knocking at his door since Errigal rejected him: Why doesn't she love me? What have I done wrong? Is there something I can do to be better?

That last question was the cruelest of all, because it seemed to be the least likely to have an answer. She had given him no indication of anything he could do to win her heart. The way she spoke the previous night, it seemed like her heart was unwinnable. The only thing Neil could do was try to move past these confused feelings. Such a task seemed unsurmountable. He'd just as soon kill his own heart.

And so, he imagined it was his heart at the bullseye. If he could just hit that, he'd stop feeling anything for her.

With careful aim, he pulled the trigger lever. The string snapped. The bolt launched. Dust flew up from the target. Neil squinted to get a better look. The bolt had struck just a thumb's width below the bullseye.

"Whoohoo!" one of the other recruits cried.

"There it is!" shouted another.

Blue clapped. "Much better, lad. Much better. Not a perfect shot, but had that been a man his fighting days would be done."

Neil turned his head to glance at the Commanders. Sir Garrett stood with folded arms and narrowed eyes. Perrion clapped and wore a wide grin on his face.

"What are you waiting for?" Blue snapped. "Quit daydreaming! Reload and shoot again. Your training's far from done!"

Neil did as commanded. Again and again he shot at the target, each time imagining that it was his own heart he was shooting at. Every time, the bolt struck just an inch or two away from the bullseye. The applause of his fellow recruits grew louder and more boisterous with every hit. Neil grew increasingly frustrated that no matter how many bolts he put in the target, none of them actually hit the point he was aiming at. One was too high, the next too low, then too far to one side or the other. Normally, such a grouping would have been cause for celebration, but all he could think about was how he kept missing his own heart. He feared he would endure the pain of Errigal's rejection the rest of his life.

After what must have been at least a couple dozen shots, Sir Garret clamped a hand down on his shoulder and said, "I think we found what you're good at, son. You're gonna be an arbalist."

"A what?" asked Neil.

Sir Garrett rolled his eyes. "Don't you pay attention during lessons? A crossbowman." He smacked him lightly on the back of the head.

Neil gave a half-smile.

Sergeant Blue chuckled. "It's alright to get more excited than that, lad. It means you've finally found your place in the company. Means you're not useless anymore."

"Come on," said Sir Garrett. "Let's get you outfitted for it."

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