CLANG!
Hermi cast the 'standard' blade aside. The metal struck the stone with a resounding crash. She collapsed onto the ground, her movements weighed down by exhaustion.
"Urgh, this is torture," Hermi groaned. "I'll never be fast enough to kill anything with it."
In the early morning, the volcanic stone had been bitingly cold with overnight mist, but now, under the noon sun, the ground had grown unnaturally warm. The heat it radiated pressed upward through the soles of Hermi's boots. Her joints throbbed, and the bone-deep fatigue in the arches of her feet had become an annoying thrum.
Marco offered a strained smile, searching for a way to mitigate her frustration. "Your Majesty, the path to mastery is always paved with such… physical burdens. The weight will eventually feel like a part of you."
Hermi wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. "There has to be something else I can do against monsters, other than swinging this thing until my arms fall off."
After days of training, she could finally manage a full swing of the vexingly heavy blade, but it was an ugly process. Each strike nearly dragged her off balance, and her wrists trembled whenever she tried to center the steel.
With the constant, dragging pull of the Atmospheric Sickness on top of it, every training session was less about skill, and more about whether her legs would collapse before the sun went down.
WHOOSH!
The sound of metal tearing through the air made Hermi turn. At the far end of the grounds, where the Inner Yard lay, a line of knights stood like statues.
Their heavy war bows looked carved from the same dark wood as the fortress gates. They stood with shoulders locked, pulling the thick strings back to their ears with an effortless strength Hermi currently envied.
The arrows took flight with a hiss. A split second later, they thudded into the straw targets, buried deep enough to kill.
Turning to Marco, Hermi asked, "Why haven't I seen the archers practicing these past few days?"
"They've been away from the fortress, Your Majesty," Marco explained. "A swarm of Mummy Bats moved into the volcanic caves at the mountain's base. It's a specialized hunt. Archers are the only ones who can pin them to the cavern walls before they get too close."
Hermi recognized the name. Mummy Bats were notorious for their needle-like proboscises. With a single bite, they injected a drying agent that desiccates a victim's muscles in seconds, leaving them paralyzed and as shriveled as an actual mummy.
Given such a threat, archery was the only logical choice. If the bats reached close range, it was already too late for a sword.
"Are archers more effective against the monsters here than swordsmen?" Hermi pressed.
"In the open, yes," Marco said. "Steel is fine for close-quarters, but many creatures in Ferramonte are too fast or too toxic to touch. It's better to pin a threat to the stone than let it within arm's reach."
Hermi nearly smacked herself. Had the archers returned sooner, she could have skipped days of pointless struggle with the blade. It had been so long since she last held a bow, but at least she could hold one without the struggle with a sword.
Back in Veneggio the Second, her now-burned village, Lucian used to hunt game for extra coin for the weekend fairs. After the fairs, he'd take her to his village, Veneggio the First. They used to stop in the woods between the two, where he taught her to shoot at the trees.
Lucian would stand behind her, correcting the slant of her shoulders. He would touch the small of her back, his focus lingering more on her hips than the targets themselves. Hermi would land a few hits, then a few misses, before Lucian turned her around and pressed his lips to hers.
Those days had ended years ago. Ever since Lucian joined the Aurellanza Army, she had never touched a bow again. His career was also rather short-lived. It effectively ended the moment he was captured as leverage to force her into this Ferramonte marriage.
Was Lucian still alive, or dead? Hermi wondered. Had Queen Constantia and her father truly kept their word?
Seeing Hermi's face darken as she sat on the ground watching the archers, Marco crouched beside her. "Your Majesty? Are you alright?"
Snapped clean from her thoughts, Hermi replied, "I'm fine. Something just came to mind."
She rose to her feet, brushed the dust from her trousers, saying, "I've got to go over there a bit, Commander."
Then, she strolled across the Outer Yard and toward the group of archers at the Inner Yard. She'd had enough of pretending the giant metal slab they called a sword was a practical life choice.
"Wait, Your Majesty! Where are you going?" Marco scrambled to his feet, hurrying to catch up with her.
"I just want to try what would probably suit me better," Hermi said as they approached the archery lanes.
The group of archers halted when they saw Hermi and Marco approach. They gathered into formation, then offered a perfunctory bow.
While a few wore wary expressions, others made no effort to hide their scrutiny, checking the new Queen from head to toe with blatant skepticism. To them, she was likely just a decorative porcelain doll dropped into a rock quarry.
One man stepped forward. He looked the oldest among the archers, his white hair a sharp contrast against the dark of his armor. He stood towering and broad-shouldered, his skin the color of weathered flint.
"Your Majesty," he said, "it is unusual to see you in this part of the fortress."
Meeting his guarded gaze, Hermi asked, "What is your name?"
"It is Otho, Your Majesty," the man replied. "I heard from the swordsmen that you've expressed interest in joining the raids."
Marco exchanged a salute with Otho, then quickly added, "Commander Otho leads our Archery Division."
Hermi nodded in acknowledgment, her gaze shifting toward the targets at the far end of the shooting lanes. "Commander Otho, may I give it a try?"
Otho stiffened. He glanced at Marco, clearly looking for a sign that the Queen was joking. Marco looked pained, his concern evident, but eventually he gave a reluctant answer.
"Go ahead, Commander Otho. Let Her Majesty try a shot."
Otho unslung the massive war bow from across his chest. He handed it over with both hands, though his head remained lowered in a way that suggested he expected her to drop it immediately.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Otho said. "It is… quite a heavy draw."
Hermi paid his hesitation no heed. She accepted the bow, its weight surprising her, but thankfully not unbearable.
The weapon was reinforced with horn and bone, making it twice the weight of the supple yew bow Lucian had once used. Even the arrows were different. The shafts were thicker, the fletching made of stiff crow feathers, and the heads were jagged obsidian instead of simple flint. It was apparently a weapon meant for killing monsters, not rabbits or deers.
Marco stepped closer. "Your Majesty, perhaps I should check the tension for you? It's quite a specialized piece of equipment."
"No need, Commander," Hermi said with a small smile. "I know the way of it."
Reluctantly, Marco stepped back, watching her with bated breath as if she were holding a live explosive.
Hermi inspected the string and the nock with hesitant hands at first. By the time she adjusted her grip, the bow had felt familiar in her palms.
She wasn't alone through it all. The ghost of Lucian's fingers seemed to brush over hers. His hands were warm and gentle, guiding her hand back to a position they hadn't held in years.
Hermi stepped into the shooting lane, her eyes narrowing at the target standing sixty paces away. The center was marked with a fading red circle, already bristling with the archers' arrows.
She notched an arrow, then settled into her stance, planting her feet firmly against the sun-warmed stone. She drew the string back, the tension singing through her shoulders.
When she aimed, the world around her narrowed, until there was only the target and the memory of Lucian's voice.
THWIP—CRACK!
The sound of splintering wood echoed across the Inner Yard. The archers stood frozen, mouths hanging open in varying states of shock.
Hermi's arrow had not merely hit the mark. It struck the tail of an existing arrow, splitting the shaft clean in half before burying itself in the bullseye.
Marco's face went pale. "Your… Your Majesty…" he stammered, "that was an incredible shot!"
Otho's expression barely shifted, yet his eyes gleamed with a new light. When he spoke again, the corners of his lips curved into a smile, though only faintly. The hostility from before had entirely vanished from his voice.
"Your Majesty, you should seriously consider joining the archers instead of the infantry. We could use a hand like yours."
Hermi blinked, startled by the sudden thaw in Otho's cold demeanor. What surprised her more was her own shot. She had not even expected to hit the center, let alone split another arrow clean in two.
Before Hermi could respond, the archers behind Otho suddenly snapped into a disciplined line. They bowed in unison toward a figure standing at her back.
The air in the Inner Yard seemed to chill at once. When Hermi turned, she found herself pinned by a pair of garnet eyes. Cassian was staring at her, his expression a volatile mixture of deep confusion and genuine shock.