“Are you all right, Stammel? Do you need something?”

“I need a hauk,” he said. “It’s time I started training again.” As he expected, there were mutters of But he’s blind here and there in the room.

But from the Marshal, only silence. Then, “Of course, Sergeant. They’re on the wall to your right. Five strides across the entrance, ten to the corner, turn left and about ten strides—”

That was a challenge—he might have sent someone to be a guide—but also recognition. Stammel put his hand on the wall and set off into the dark; the wall disappeared—the entrance. Five strides … and the wall reappeared, solid stone he was glad to bump his fingers on. Ten—he felt the wall ahead before he reached it, a looming presence he did not know how he perceived. But it made turning the corner easier. In three strides he was abreast of some of the yeomen; he could feel the heat of them, and smell them, and hear their breathing. Another five strides, and two … and under his hand was a rack, mostly empty, but—as he felt his way along it—the well-worn handle of a hauk. He hefted it, then found another. They felt heavy, but he told himself that would be good, after his long illness. He heard a soft sigh that seemed to come from everyone in the room.

“Best come forward,” the Marshal said. Stammel stretched out one arm, so the hauk brushed the wall, and went toward the Marshal’s voice until the Marshal said, “Far enough. You’re even with the front rank, two strides from the platform. Gan—move over and make room. Keder, help the sergeant line up.”

“That’s me,” a voice said, from behind and to his left. “Take three steps sideways left, that’ll put you about right, and I can help if you need.”

But Stammel had been opening and closing ranks since he was a recruit; his body knew how to move sideways and his three steps, Keder told him softly, put him exactly right.

“You may resume,” the Marshal said, and Arñe’s voice, much closer now, started a slower count than it had. He lifted the hauks and beat time with the others. Beside him, Gan lagged a little, then caught up. Stammel supposed the Marshal’s eye was on him. Perhaps he considered having a blind man at the head of the line was a good example. As Arñe picked up the speed, Stammel concentrated on correct form, on precise timing. Up, across, forward, back, together in front, together behind … he began to wish he too had done the stretches and bends. A muscle in his back twinged; he ignored it. It was a healthy twinge.

On six, they should be tapping hauks with the person beside them—but Gan was never there when he was. He himself was on count, he was sure.

“Gan—you missed your tap!” the Marshal said.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Gan said.

“Don’t worry,” Stammel said. “I’m not easily hurt.” There was a moment of silence, and then the Marshal again.