He resheathed it with a snap.
A few of the men were selecting bows, and he joined them.
“Do you know how to choose a bow?”he asked.
Their eyes bore into him, fear warring with fervid hope.They shook their heads.He gave the nearest man an encouraging smile and picked up a bow.
Angling so they could see what he was doing, Bastion strung it and then drew it to the anchor point on his chin.He inhaled deeply.His back and shoulder muscles protested the movement.
“Test the draw.If you can’t comfortably hold it for a count of thirty, it’s too much.”He handed his bow to the questioner.“You try.”
The man took it and mimicked Bastion’s inhales as he pulled the string.He counted to thirty under his breath.When he relaxed, Bastion smiled.
“Good, right?Now do that a few more times.If you strain too much, you’ll tire easily and lose accuracy.”
The guard at the door scoffed, his chainmail clinking as he shifted.
Bastion turned sharply and leveled a hard look at him.He recognized the type from the way his chin jutted out and the way he looked down his nose.“Something to add?”
The guard rolled his eyes.“It don’t matter if they know how to draw a bow.Won’t do ‘em any good.”
Annoyance crept into Bastion’s voice.“You don’t want them to be prepared?”
“Somebody shoulda thought o’ that before leaving us with an unblooded commander,” the guard sneered.
Bastion’s sword was in his hand before he could cross the room.
The guard jumped, fumbling for his own blade.He failed to free it before Bastion’s hit the stone beside his ear.The room stilled.
“Watch your mouth.”Bastion didn’t raise his voice, but he leaned in, letting every fiber of his fury show.
The guard shrank, all the bravado leaving his posture.Every platoon had a few men like this.They talked a big talk, but the instant they were challenged by someone with more mettle, they cowed.The last thing Bastion needed was someone sowing discord through the ranks.
A mumbled apology fell from his lips.“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir.”
Bastion eased off, resheathing his sword.Then, he clapped the man on the shoulder, nodded to the others, and left in search of Nesrin.
The walk helped shake off his anger, and it didn’t take him long to find a set of narrow stone steps that deposited him onto the ramparts.Moonwatch perched over the bay like a tortoise, stubbornly clinging to the cliffs with a perpetually grouchy eye on the sea.It lacked the flourished turrets and ornate windows of some of the other keeps he’d spent time in.Instead, two stout watchtowers, one to the north and one to the south, rose above the practical angles of the fortified walls.
Bastion looked out over the empty sea as he walked.The sky had cleared, leaving the air cold and damp–a harsh contrast to bright sunlight casting bold shadows across the headland jutting out to the south.
Sheltered within that arm of land, the bay spread before him, eerily empty.It should have assuaged some of his fears, but the sight chilled him.It felt too convenient.
Or well-planned.
He continued on, silently tallying the guards stationed along the ramparts and in the central courtyard below.His heart sank as he passed the southern watchtower.
Eventually, he came upon Nesrin on the east side of the keep, her eyes trained across the bluffs.A man spoke quietly beside her.
They both turned as Bastion approached.
“Captain Hywell,” Nesrin said, “may I present Sir Bastion.”
She may as well have sucker-punched him.
Hywell bowed, black braids falling over his shoulder.Full lips spread into a mirthless smile as he straightened.“Lady Nesrin’s second-in-command.I’ve heard so many stories, Sir Bastion.It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Bastion returned the bow.
