Sorry for the wait, readers. If you like how this is going, check out "Call Me Veil", the prequel to this. However, it might be some time before I update that one...

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They were good, Veil had no doubt about that. Whether they would make the cut, Veil could only hope.

Today, he stood on the beach. He had never been a spectacular archer, but he could hold his own, and he could certainly teach it.

They were in line, all holding their bows, just a few of the weapons that Borlam, the blacksmith, was turning out. Veil found that he had a very strong ally in Borlam. The fieldmouse seemed brimming with energy in the quest against Fargan.

Veil had had to become the Long Patrol drill sergeant of his worst imagination. He had once seen one in action (from a distance, he'd never wanted to come close to any aspect of his old life), and the experience had been a strange one.

"All right, you miserable leverets, the time has come! No more sucking on Mummy's teat! Time to be soldiers! Time to piss your pants over something worthwhile! At noon tomorrow, this company will be moving – is that rust I see on that blade? You WILL have that rust off in one hour, starting NOW! Is that clear, Private?"

Quite harsh, Veil had found it, but Veil doubted that the Sergeant was really so bad off the patrol field. Cruelty had its purpose, and though Veil hadn't reached that level yet, he did have to somewhat hold them to it.

"This is one fine bow. You see, it has a quarter notch to hold in the arrow, plus very supple yew that bends really well. But (and here was where Veil took in the cruelty) without any arrows, it's nothing but a stick, and don't any of you maggots forget it! Fools will tell you power is in the bow, I say it's in the arrow! So an average bow with a straight arrow is better than the fancy bow with a shitty arrow, that's archery for you!"

Later, the time came for target practice. Veil set up three willow stumps out on the shore. Myst distributed quivers to all.

Veil dropped his paw, on queue. The shafts flew in a halfhearted volley, with maybe four successful hits.

"That's it? Is that all you have?"

They cowered a bit, and Veil realized he wouldn't make Fargan's mistake. He wouldn't make them hate him. He would make them hate Fargan.

"Your aim is fine, but your hearts are lacking. Don't shoot at the stump, shoot at the Butcher."

They looked at him, puzzled.

"Yes, aim at Fargan. Aim at the one who took you here, like plants that are placed by their masters to produce! The one who has taken much from you, including the lives of your loved ones! The one who has treated you as slaves from the beginning! What do you want to do to him?"

The response was a deafening roar of "Kiiiiiiiiiiiill!"

Veil roared right back. "Then kill him! Kill him now!"

There was a hiss as all arrows came in a torrent, each one striking the willow dead center.

There was silence. Veil spoke plainly now. "The archer's real weapon is his heart. Now you know that."

There was muttering and laughing as they left, each telling the others of their own hits.

Myst came up to him, capturing his lips without a word. After a while Veil broke away for air.

"Nice work," she said, grinning. "You've really made believers out of them."

"They're good, no doubt about -"

"And," she continued, "You've made a believer out of me."

They came together once more, each relishing the moment.

Tomorrow I'll do swordplay, he thought.