It was impossible; it could not work, but sparring in unarmed combat was not enough for a man like Stammel. He had to feel he could fight. Arcolin understood that very well. And Stammel was right—they did need more archers. They had the captured crossbows …

“If we were in the stronghold, I’d say yes,” Arcolin said. “You’d have the space there; we’d have armsmasters to teach you. But here? We’re on campaign.”

“Just let me try for one day, sir. If I make no progress by the end of it, I’ll say no more.”

“All right.” What, after all, could it hurt? They weren’t moving that day, anyway. He could let Stammel try to get over the notion—though what would replace it he could not guess.

Stammel took a typically Stammel approach to the practice. “How many of you think you can outshoot a blind man?” he asked a glass later. Silence. “Come on, don’t be shy. I’m betting someone a jug of ale, when we get back to Valdaire, that I can outshoot you. Maybe not today, but another day. To make it fair, you can start practicing with me.” A chuckle, somewhat nervous.

Stammel held up one of their five crossbows. “This is a crossbow. It’s nice and short and thus good for use in the woods. Some of you have never used a crossbow, because Siger, being from Lyonya originally, likes longbows.” He pointed out the parts of the crossbow, naming them. “Simple to use—aim, pull this, then re-span and you’re set. Even if you don’t hit anyone, they won’t like the sound of death from the air.” Meanwhile, targets were set up, not far away at all.

They were using blunt quarrels, but Arcolin still worried that someone would lose an eye.

Stammel’s crossbow had a twig bound to the stock so it stuck out one side—to identify it, Arcolin assumed, but why? Then Stammel picked it up and brought the stock up … and the twig touched his neck just when the arms of the prod were level.

“Ready!” he called. Downrange, Suli and Devlin stood one to either side of the target, an arm’s length away. Both said, “Here.” Stammel aimed, Arcolin could see, between the voices. He pulled the trigger. The bolt skimmed over the top of the target.

“Two fingers above the target,” Devlin called.

Stammel had re-spanned the bow and lifted it. Again it was level. “Ready,” he said. The other two called, and again he shot. The bolt bounced off the middle of the target. He spanned the bow again and this time shot without waiting for the others to call. The bolt hit the middle again.

Silence. Arcolin could not believe what he had just seen.

“Well?” Stammel said finally.

“I think some people will be regretting that bet,” Arcolin said. “Gird’s arm, man, I didn’t think anyone could do that. How—?”

“I’m not sure,” Stammel said. “When I found I could walk and then make my way around the grange, I remembered that even on dark nights I had good balance. I always knew where my arms and legs were, when I was upright and when I wasn’t. Siger used to say that crossbows were the lazy man’s bow—you remember he said a blind man with one hand could shoot a crossbow. Then it was a jest, but I thought … if I could figure out a way to hold it level without someone having to show me each shot … and then there were the redroots.”