“Maybe it’s time we did have one,” Halt said. Pauline looked at him with absolute approval. How far her crusty, grim-faced, traditionally minded husband had come, she thought.
“But…” Gilan began. He was lost for words until he thought of an objection. “She’s small. How would she ever draw an eighty-pound bow? And that’s our principal weapon.”
“I’m small,” Halt said. “So’s Will.”
“But girls have a different muscle structure to boys,” Gilan said. He looked apologetically at Cassandra and Pauline. “I’m not being biased against girls here. It’s just a physical fact. In general, we’re more heavily muscled than you. And Maddie is a slightly built girl. She’d never build up the muscle mass that you need to shoot a longbow.”
“Well, we’ll just have to find a way around that,” Halt replied. “Maybe change our thinking a little. On the other hand, girls are lighter on their feet than boys. She’d be excellent at silent movement and camouflage. She’s agile. She’s nimble. And those are all qualities that a Ranger needs.”
He could see Gilan was struggling with the concept. He smiled to himself. It was actually an idea that he’d been nursing for some months. Not specifically concerning Maddie, but as a general concept. He had been aware that there was a current shortage of suitable apprentice candidates, as Gilan had mentioned. And he’d begun to think that the Corps was ignoring a potential source of such people. Half the fifteen-year-olds in the Kingdom were girls. Some of them had to be suitable candidates. There were no female Rangers simply because there never had been. That, in itself, was not a good reason. It might well be time to blow away the cobwebs and let in some new thinking.
And who better to sponsor such a new idea than Halt himself? After all, along with Crowley, he had reformed the Corps many years ago. Maybe it was time for a little more reforming.
As to Gilan’s main objection—the difficulty of finding a girl strong enough to pull a longbow—Maddie was ideally suited to demonstrate an alternative solution.
“I wonder could you release your daughter from her quarters for an hour or so?” he asked Cassandra and Horace. “I want her to show Gilan something.”
Eight
Halt, Gilan and Maddie stood in the weapons practice yard of the Araluen Battleschool. For the purposes of this demonstration, Halt had requested that Horace and Cassandra stay away. He knew there was friction between the girl and her parents and he didn’t want that to interfere with her concentration.
Maddie looked curiously at Halt. She wasn’t sure what was going on but she’d watched him set two old jousting helmets on posts about seventy metres from where they stood. He smiled at her.
“Gilan is interested in a potential new weapon for the Corps,” he told her. “I thought you might be the best person to demonstrate it.”
“You mean the sling?” she said, glancing down at the double leather thongs in her right hand. When he had arranged her temporary release from detention, Halt had asked her to bring her sling and a supply of the ammunition she used.
“Exactly. Now, Gilan, would you agree that this would seem to be the optimum range for shooting at an armoured man?”
Gilan nodded. The longbow could shoot much further than seventy metres, of course. But at this range, it would still have the power and hitting force to send an arrow smashing through an enemy’s steel helmet. And if the shooter missed, there would still be time for another shot.
Not that Rangers often missed—if ever.
“Then let’s see you do it,” Halt said to Gilan.
Gilan raised his bow and, with a smooth, automatic action that came from years of practice, brought an arrow from the quiver over his shoulder and laid it on the string. Without seeming to take aim, he drew back and shot.
They heard the resounding clang as the arrow hit the left-hand helmet, punching through the steel at what would be forehead level. The helmet leapt and spun off the post, transfixed by the arrow, and rolled in the dust of the practice yard.
“Slow,” said Halt.
Gilan turned a pained eye on him. “I’d like to see you do better,” he challenged.
Halt allowed himself a faint smile. “Unfortunately, I’ve left my bow in our apartment,” he said, and Gilan sniffed. Halt glanced at Maddie. “So we’ll leave the second target to you, young lady.”
Maddie slipped the loop at one end of the sling around the middle finger of her right hand, then gripped the plaited end of the other thong between her thumb and forefinger. As she did this, she took a lead shot from the pouch at her belt and fitted it into the leather patch in the middle of the sling. Halt noted with approval that she did so without looking. Her eyes, slightly narrowed, were focused on the helmet at the far end of the practice yard.
She turned side on, advancing her left leg towards the target, and let the shot dangle behind her body, at the end of the two thongs. She swung the sling in a slow pendulum motion several times, making sure the shot was firmly settled in its pouch. She pointed her left arm and hand towards the target, then whipped her right arm up in an overhand throwing action, her arm moving in a rapid arc about twenty degrees from the vertical and her body following through on the cast. As she reached the point of release, she let go the knotted end from between her thumb and forefinger. The shot flew out of the sling, the power of her throw magnified several times by the extra length and leverage that it added to the action.
CLANG!
The second helmet spun crazily on the pole, then came to rest on a drunken angle.
Gilan nodded, impressed. “Not bad.”
He led the way down the practice yard to examine the result of her throw. There was an enormous dent in the helmet, also at forehead height. Some traces of bright silver metal were sprayed across the steel.
“Didn’t penetrate,” he said, chewing his lip thoughtfully.
Halt touched the massive dent in the helmet. “No. But would you care to have your head inside that helmet when this happened?”
“It definitely wouldn’t do the wearer a lot of good,” Gilan conceded. He rubbed his finger on the splash of silver metal. “What are you using as ammunition?” he asked. Maddie took another projectile from the pouch at her belt and handed it to him. Gilan was momentarily surprised at the weight.
“Lead shot,” she said.
“That seems to do the trick.” He held out his hand and she passed him the sling. He examined it.
“So simple,” he said. “And so deadly.” He handed it back. “You use a different technique to your mother. I seem to recall that she spun it round and round, horizontally?” He demonstrated, waving his right hand above his head in a flat circle.
Maddie shrugged disparagingly. “Not a good technique,” she said. “I don’t know how she ever hit anything. It’s so hard to judge when you’re spinning it horizontally.”
“Oh, she hit plenty of things,” Halt told her. “But she had to practise for hours to get any sort of accuracy.”
“This is more efficient,” Maddie said. “And besides, if you stand up whirling the sling around your head two or three times, you’re making a target of yourself.”
“Good point,” Halt conceded. “How many shots can you get away in a minute?”
Maddie pushed out her bottom lip uncertainly. “I have no idea,” she said. “I’ve never timed myself.”
“Then let’s see, shall we?” Halt told her. He stopped and picked up the helmet Gilan had shot, pulling the arrow loose and returning it to the Ranger Commandant. Then he replaced the helmet on its post and gestured for Maddie to return to the shooting line.