Orphan's Song by Gillian Bronte Adams

Author:Gillian Bronte Adams [Adams, Gillian Bronte]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, YA
ISBN: 9781683700296
Publisher: Gilead Publishing
Published: 2016-07-15T07:00:00+00:00

17

“To load your crossbow,” Jirkar said, “set your foot in the stirrup—that’s the square piece at the tip of the bow—and turn the crank to pull the string back.”

Birdie blinked to clear the sleep from her eyes. Misty dawn hung over the campsite where Nisus and Amos slept beside the dying fire. She would still be asleep too, if Jirkar hadn’t awakened her at first light for a shooting lesson

She studied the strange contraption in her hands—a crossbow, Jirkar called it—and ran a finger along the smooth grain of the wooden stock. Weapon training may not have been what she’d originally hoped to gain from Jirkar, but after her experience with the sword last night, she was eager to learn more. With a good weapon in her fist and the skill to wield it, she wouldn’t have to answer to anyone ever again.

“Still asleep, miss?” Jirkar tapped her on the shoulder. “Come on, now, stirrup and crank.”

“Yes, sorry.” Fingers fumbling at the unfamiliar tasks, she followed the dwarf’s commands.

“Good. Now drop the bolt into the groove.”

Bolt—another unknown word. The groove was fairly easy to spot running down the length of the stock, but she had no idea what the bolt was. Perhaps another lever? She flipped the crossbow over.

“No, no, not there.” Jirkar plucked the crossbow from her hands. “By Turning, miss, you don’t know overmuch about weapons, do you? The bolts are sitting at your feet.”

“At my feet?” She glanced down. A quiver full of arrows lay on the ground, but she saw no sign of the mysterious bolts. “Where?”

Jirkar sighed and nudged the quiver with his toe. “There.”

“But I thought those were arrows?”

“No, miss, a crossbow shoots bolts—they’re a bit shorter and heavier than arrows. So take a bolt, drop it in the groove”—he demonstrated each action as he described it—“lift the bow and set the stock firmly against your shoulder. Put your other hand beneath the lathe—that’s the bow part right here—to stabilize the crossbow. Look down the bolt, take a deep breath, and when you feel good and steady, squeeze the lever to release the bolt.”

The string snapped forward, a blur of motion, and the bolt thunked into the trunk of a zoar tree fifty feet away.

“Like so. The crossbow’s fairly easy to learn. You just point and shoot. Now,” he dropped the weapon into her hands, “your turn.”

Birdie took a deep breath, and running through the steps in her mind, reloaded the crossbow. She raised it to her shoulder—it was heavier than she expected—and bent her head over it. Her cheek tingled at the coldness of the wooden stock.

She aimed at the zoar tree, but her arm trembled beneath the strain, and the tip of the bow bobbed up and down. That was no good. How could she hope to hit her target if she couldn’t even hold still?

She tensed, muscles tightening in her back and shoulders, and pulled the lever. It resisted, so she tugged harder. The crossbow jerked, and the bolt shot wide of her target and plunged into a thicket of dragon’s tongue.

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