Page 128 of Swordheart
The next day, Zale taught Halla to use a crossbow.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Sarkis. In the abstract, he believed that it was good for everyone to know how to defend themselves, but in the concrete, that meant that Halla was holding a loaded crossbow.
She’s not notably less competent than most of the recruits you’ve trained over the years.
…yes, and how often did those recruits nearly put a bolt in you?
“It is the best of ideas,” said Zale firmly. “We defeat ignorance with knowledge and training.”
Brindle hunched his shoulders up and said, “Better not aim at an ox, rat-priest. Better not aim anywherenearan ox.”
“Oh dear…” Halla looked at the crossbow. “Should we go to the back of the wagon, maybe?”
“That might be best.” Zale took their weapon and led her around to the back. Sarkis followed grimly, determined to be on hand if something went wrong.
There followed a few minutes of the priest explaining what part went where. “You must have a bolt to fire it. If you fire the crossbow without a bolt, you damage the crossbow. All that pent- up energy has to go somewhere.”
“Like some people I know,” said Halla, sighing.
Sarkis gave her a sharp look, but she looked innocently at him. Which meant nothing. Halla’s ability to look innocent was a constant source of amazement.
“Now, put the stock up against your shoulder. Wedge it very tight. There’s a pad, but it will still kick, and the tighter you haveit there, the better.” The priest set their long, thin hands over Halla’s, moving her into position. “No, a little higher. There.”
The ox ambled onward while Zale talked Halla through the act of aiming and firing. “Do not point it at anything that you do not want to put a bolt into. Do not shoot if you do not know what is behind it. Now, this dirt bank will do admirably. Aim and fire.”
“What do I aim at?”
“That plant there,” said Sarkis.
“Coltsfoot,” muttered Halla. “Well, it’s a weed anyway…”
THWANG.
“… ow.”
Sarkis was actually rather impressed at how little the crossbow had kicked. Fisher had dislocated his shoulder once, shooting his in a hurry, and had said it wasn’t the first time it had happened. But that had been a substantially larger weapon, with a great deal more range. This one was… well… cute. But then again, Zale was not overlarge themself and had little need for a weapon that could kill at a vast distance.
And Brindle also killed a man with that crossbow, so let’s not get too hung up on size, shall we?
Halla did not seem to appreciate the relative lack of recoil very much. She rubbed her shoulder. “That hurt.”
“It is not a thing to be fired lightly,” said Zale. “But you’ve slain your weed, look!”
Halla grinned. Sarkis’s heart lurched, as it always did, and he went to go check on the ox and wagon.
As they approached the gates of Rutger’s Howe, Halla shivered. It was cold out, but Sarkis doubted that was the reason. He put an arm around her shoulders anyway.
She cast him a brief look, both startled and appreciative, andsaid, “I know they’re not expecting us, but I’m still half-afraid Alver’s going to be waiting with the constables.”
Sarkis hated the thought of leaving her to face her cousin alone, but nevertheless… “Should I go back into the sword? I do not wish us to spend our first night back in a jail cell.”
“You absolutely should not,” said Zale firmly. “We begin as we mean to go on, and we will not act as if you are a criminal. You were defending Halla against a completely indefensible imprisonment.”
“Yes, but then we ran away afterward,” said Halla.
Zale straightened their back and lifted their chin. “You did not have a lawyer then,” they said. “More specifically, you did not have a priest of the Rat. I will not allow my clients to be imprisoned for fleeing from danger.”
For once, it really did seem to be that easy. It was hard to believe that the servant of the Rat sweeping into town, wearing the full vestments of the priesthood, was the same person who had been violently ill in a ditch while Halla held their hair. Zale exuded authority. They even looked a few inches taller. When they raised their hand and beckoned to a constable standing by the gate, the poor man nearly saluted in return.
