“Rort,” Stammel said, using the least tone of command he could while holding a weapon. “Find a rotten fruit and set it on that stone between the oilberry trees.” The stone he knew by touch, by walking to and from it, feeling around it. Shoulder-high on him, and behind it a rising slope with more oilberry trees. Rort went out the front and was back before Stammel had felt through the bag of bolts for one he wanted.

When Rort had placed the fruit, Stammel said, “You stand two paces to one side, and Cadlin, you stand two paces to the other.” He heard them moving into place. Then he took his own five paces to the center of the little yard behind the workshop, feeling with his toes for the dip in one of the stones there. He spanned the bow, set the bolt in the groove, and faced them. “Now,” he said, “both of you—count to three.”

From their voices, from the minute reflections of sound from the stone, from whatever instinct made him the Blind Archer at need, his inner sight built an image of the stone and the fruit. At the count of three he raised the crossbow and touched the trigger; he heard the hum of the string, the flight of the bolt, the soft explosion of the rotten fruit … then the bolt’s thwack into the trunk of the oilberry tree some paces behind it.

“You—that’s impossible,” Rort said. Stammel heard longing in his voice as well as disbelief.

“I am the Blind Archer, sometimes,” Stammel said. “But it is not enough for war. And you should run away up the mountain if trouble comes.” He stroked the bow, then walked back inside and laid it on one of the benches.

“But why did you show us that if you won’t—if you can’t—” Rort said.

“What I showed you,” Stammel said, “is what skill all my years of training gave me. Without those years, without the discipline of a soldier’s life, I could not do it. You cannot do it, not having had those years. I am one man; I could not stop them. Run away, I tell you. Store food and some necessities somewhere up there, hidden away: that would be sensible, if you think more trouble is coming. But you are not soldiers, and I cannot make you soldiers, though I have trained many young men and women.”

“Will your exercises help us run faster?” Rort asked.

“Yes,” Stammel said. “And carry more when you run. And plan what to take and ensure that you can survive until you rebuild. I can help you with that, if you will.”

“That is worth learning,” Cadlin said. “But we have work to do now. Shall I hang the bow back up, Matthis, and the sack of bolts?”