Androl frowned. “True. But why me? You’re far better with words than I am, Emarin.”

Emarin chuckled. “Yes, but Logain trusts you, Androl. The other men look to you.”

They shouldn’t, Androl thought. “I’ll see what I can think of.” Nalaam was winding up for another story, but before he could begin, Androl gestured to Jonneth, holding up the armguard. “I saw your old one had cracked. Try this.”

Jonneth’s face brightened as he took the armguard. “You’re amazing, Androl! I didn’t think anyone had noticed. It’s a silly thing, I know, but…” His smile broadened and he hurried to a nearby tree, beside which sat some of the men’s equipment, including Jonneth’s bow. These Two Rivers men liked to have them handy.

Jonneth returned, stringing the bow. He put on the armguard. “Fits like a dream!” he said, and Androl felt himself smiling. Small things. They could mean so much.

Jonneth took aim and launched an arrow, the shaft streaking into the air, bowstring snapping against the armguard. The arrow soared far, striking a tree on a hill better than two hundred paces away.

Canler whistled. “Ain’t ever seen anything like those bows of yours, Jonneth. Never in my life.” They were fellow Andorans, though Canler had come from a town much closer to Caemlyn.

Jonneth looked at his shot critically, then drew again—fletching to cheek—and loosed. The shaft fell true and hit the very same tree. Androl would guess that the shafts were less than two handspans apart.

Canler whistled again.

“My father trained on one of those,” Nalaam noted. “Learned the art from a Two Rivers man whom he rescued from drowning in Illian. Has the bowstring as a memento.”

Canler raised an eyebrow, but he seemed taken with the tale at the same time. Androl just chuckled, shaking his head. “Mind if I have a go, Jonneth? I’m a pretty dead shot with a Tairen bow, and they’re a little longer than most.”

“Surely,” the lanky man said, unstrapping the armguard and handing over the bow.

Androl donned the armguard and lifted the bow. It was of black yew, and there wasn’t as much spring to the string as he was used to. Jonneth handed him an arrow and Androl mimicked the man’s pull, drawing to his cheek.

“Light!” he said at the weight of the pull. “Those arms of yours are deceptively small, Jonneth. How do you manage to aim? I can barely keep it steady!”

Jonneth laughed as Androl’s arms trembled, and he finally loosed, unable to keep the bow drawn for a breath longer. The arrow hit the ground far off target. He handed the bow to Jonneth.

“That was fairly good, Androl,” Jonneth said. “A lot of men can’t even get the string back. Give me ten years, and I could have you shooting like one born in the Two Rivers!”

“I’ll stick to shortbows for now,” Androl said. “You’d never be able to shoot a monster like that from horseback.”

“I wouldn’t need to!” Jonneth said.