Yells from below. Stammel slid backward down the boulder he was on, back into the hollow, and decided to take the more difficult climb up into the cleft behind his main position. He made it safely back to the top and peered out carefully. For a moment the shards of vision jerked around, but then steadied. A man in a metal helmet with the edge of a metal breastplate peeking from under a surcoat with some kind of fancy design on it was pointing out where Stammel had been … or close enough. He had no good shot at this obvious leader. Stammel moved to the ravine end and looked again. Now three men were exposed, moving cautiously toward the boulders below what had been his hiding place. He could not see the leader at all. He chose his target and whispered “I am the Blind Archer” as he touched the trigger.

That bolt too flew true and struck the man in the ribs; the man screamed. The others whirled around, staring back the way the bolt must have come. Stammel picked up the horn again and blew an obvious signal: two and two.

That brought the man with the helmet and breastplate into view again. Stammel guessed that he thought his protection sufficient, for he stood spraddle-legged on the trail below, yelling orders to his men in some foreign tongue. Stammel’s erratic vision cleared abruptly, as if he were falling toward the man; he could see every detail of the man’s face, his clothing, his hands, thumbs hooked in his belt … and the edge of his breastplate showing just above the belt—a half-plate, they called it in the armorers’ shops. It protected only to the waist or a little above and never included a back plate. Cavalry wore it sometimes, as full frontal protection made riding harder.

“Thank you,” Stammel murmured to whatever gods were listening. Some surely were, to help him this way. He wondered which … but it did not matter, if he kept the villagers safe. He aimed carefully … and the bolt flew home into the man’s gut. Stammel winced as the man cried out and folded around the wound. He knew what damage it would do; he had seen it often enough.

Shouts from below. Stammel belly-crawled to the middle shooting spot. Another troop coming up from below, and this time four of them had crossbows. He took a long shot at the man in front; the bolt hit a metal breastplate and did not penetrate. Two of the men with crossbows raised them and shot at him, but their bolts shattered on the rock. Back to the first spot. Someone was standing up, calling to the oncoming troop. Stammel shot him in the side.