Bastion

her regular gown and into a set of tunic and trews that were a red so faded they were pink. “Nobody’d take me serious in pink.” She snickered.
    “I’d love to see you in pink,” she said.
    “I might take that challenge,” he replied, and they both went back out as the sound of the next class arriving filled the salle.
    Of course, the class only remained there long enough to get bows, arrows, and other distance weapons, like sets of throwing knives. This time the Weaponsmaster put Mags in charge of an intermediate group and Amily with the advanced students. There were as many Healer and Bardic Trainees in this class as there were Heralds. Guards did their own drilling in distance weaponry. But Healers and Bards were often enough out in the wilderness alone and would need to defend themselves or hunt for food, so this training was mandated for them. Mags’ group was a mixed set of Healers and Bards, four of them. He set them at targets at twenty paces and kept increasing the distance until their arrows were falling short. Then he set to work with them, now that he knew what their base distance was. Of course, there was only so much distance you could get out of a bow with a given pull in the hands of an expert, but this lot was by no means expert yet.
    Amily’s bunch, however . . .
    Amily herself was setting the bar for each flight of arrows. She would shoot first, then the rest were to place their arrows as close to hers as possible. They were all Herald Trainees, and they were using man-shaped targets with multiple hit spots marked out on them. Amily was consistently placing her arrows in the lethal zone.
    He felt himself grinning at her with pride, his smile fully wide enough to make the corners of his mouth hurt a little. The Weaponsmaster turned at that moment and caught his expression, and nodded with evident satisfaction.
    He had to turn his attention back to his own pupils, though; they sorely needed it. Evidently the Weaponsmaster had not yet had the time or opportunity to press them past their current state of achievement, and being, like most younglings, a little lazy, they hadn’t pressed themselves. Well, he could understand that. The Weaponsmaster was only one man, and there were a lot more Herald Trainees now than there had been in the past. They were certainly adequate for fieldwork, and even battle conditions. Mags just wanted them to be excellent rather than adequate.
    He kept his group on the archery targets, but Amily’s group moved on to throwing knives, then axes, then javelins. She was superb with everything but the ax, which didn’t seem to be much of an issue to him. The ax was a weapon for someone with a strong arm; it took an entirely different sort of skill to throw it than to throw a knife. Heralds didn’t carry axes for anything but cutting wood, and the likelihood that Amily would be in a position where that was the only weapon she had to hand was pretty slim.
    And if it was the only weapon she had to hand, it would be pretty foolish of her to throw it away anyway. He remembered the Weaponsmaster’s admonition to all of them the first time they began using throwing weapons. The person who throws his only weapon at the enemy is an idiot. A few moments after that, he will be a dead idiot. Facing someone with a bow, her best bet would be to drop and roll and knock the assailant’s legs out from under him if she could, and at least make herself a harder target to hit if she couldn’t. Against someone with a sword or a knife and no option to run, her best bet would be to wait for him to attack, take his measure, and use the ax as a hand-to-hand weapon.
    He sent his group away to try out some more bows, admonishing them to look for ones that had a harder draw than the ones they were using now. He reckoned it was about time for them to try more powerful bows. While he waited for them to come back, the Weaponsmaster left his group for a moment to come talk to him.
    “Amazing, is it not?” the Herald said with what—in anyone else—Mags might have called “glee.” “Who would have guessed? It is as if a natural warrior, not unlike you, was simply sleeping inside her, waiting for her leg to be repaired before leaping out fully formed.”
    “She’s a natural, that’s for certain sure,” Mags agreed, watching as she set her pupils another challenge. “There’s nothin’ magic about it, though,” he continued. “She’s been playin’ darts t’pass the time since