Chapter 2: The Archer's Challenge

The first night in the barracks felt strangely foreign, like stepping into a world where I didn’t quite belong. I longed for the warmth of home, the noise of my sisters bickering over chores, and the comforting hum of my mother preparing the evening meal. But above all, I missed my father—the strength of his presence, his quiet wisdom that had always anchored me.

I was the first to arrive in our assigned chamber, claiming the higher of the two narrow cots. The bedding was hard and unfamiliar, and the air carried a chill that settled in my bones. Soon after, Maile entered, her eyes scanning the room before she made her way to the lower cot. She threw her small pack on the floor and sighed, settling her tired body onto the rough bedding.

“By the gods, we are bunkmates!” I said, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth as I offered a playful slap to her palm.

“Aye, it seems so,” she replied, a faint smile touching her lips, but there was something distant in her eyes—a heaviness I hadn’t noticed before.

I paused, my senses sharpening as the familiar warmth of Mingan’s presence filled my mind, her calm voice like a quiet growl in the back of my thoughts.

“Rahel, Maile is troubled. There is fear beneath her calm. Seek the cause, but do not frighten her further.”

I could feel it too—something deep within her that didn’t match the calm demeanor she tried to project. I took a slow breath, grounding myself. With a soft voice, I turned to Maile. “Why are you so sad?” I asked, the weight of Mingan’s warning in my mind.

Maile’s gaze flickered to mine, but she quickly looked away, her fingers picking at the frayed edge of her blanket. “It is nothing,” she muttered, her voice too low, too guarded.

I could feel the fear she was holding back, and I wasn’t convinced by her attempt to shrug it off. “Maile,” I said gently, taking a step closer, “you do not have to carry it alone.”

She looked up at me then, her eyes wide with unspoken fear, and the floodgates seemed to open all at once. “Rahel, I... I lack the strength to fight,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I fear I’ll fail—both in the trials and in sparring. What if I can’t protect myself... or the pack?” She drew a shaky breath. “What if I am sent home as weak? If I fail, they will see me as a burden. How can I defend them? How can I prove my worth if I can’t protect myself or the battalion? I fear they will cast me out.”

Her words hit me like a wave, and I could feel the depth of her uncertainty, the crushing weight of her self-doubt. My heart clenched, and I instinctively reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Hold, sister,” I said softly, my voice calm. “You do not know yet whether we will pass or fail. We still have time to prove ourselves. Even if we stumble, we will have a chance to improve. We will rise.”

Maile’s eyes darted to me, confusion flickering in them. “Did you just call me sister?” she asked, a frown furrowing her brow.

I gave a small, rueful smile. “Is that all you heard of what I said?”

“Steady, Rahel”, Mingan’s voice cautioned, “you are frightening her more.”

“I will handle it, Mingan,” I replied inwardly, turning back to Maile.

“Aye, I called you sister,” I said, my voice soft but sincere. “From the moment we were assigned together, we’ve stood by one another. We’re bunkmates, after all. I would count you as my sister. Does that sit well with you?”

Maile stared at me for a long moment, her eyes glistening with a mix of emotions, before she suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace. “Yes!” she cried, her voice muffled by my shoulder, “I would be honored to call you my sister.”

I held her close for a moment, my heart warming at the connection we were forming. Then, pulling back slightly, I offered a comforting smile. “All right then,” I said. “Now, let us talk about why you fear you will fail.”

For a long while, Maile opened up to me. Her upper body strength, she explained, was not enough for sparring. Her arms were not built for combat in the same way mine were. She had honed her skill in archery, where her marksmanship was unmatched. She could strike multiple targets from seventy paces away, always hitting her mark with deadly precision. She had trained to run long distances in human form, never missing a shot. But she confessed, her voice thick with uncertainty, that these were not the traits of a battle-ready warrior.

“I’m not like you, Rahel,” she said quietly. “I do not have your strength in hand-to-hand combat. I fear that if I can’t defend myself here, I will fail everyone.”

I listened, my heart aching for her. But I knew there was more to Maile than her doubts. She had strength in ways she didn’t see.

“Well, here’s what we will do,” I said firmly, my resolve settling in. “You’ll take the first turn in every trial. I’ll remain in the rear, observing your technique. This way, I can note where you can improve, and we will train together during our free time. Agreed?”

Maile’s face brightened, the shadows of doubt beginning to lift. “Aye, agreed!” she said, clapping her hands. Her spirit seemed to lift, the weight of her fear easing, if only slightly.

“Well done, Rahel,” Mingan’s voice rumbled in approval.

“I feel it, too,” I said with a smile, the tension in my chest easing. “We will rise together, Maile.”

Maile nodded, a look of determination spreading across her face. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with gratitude.

“Her wolf, Serafine, had shared with me how fragile Maile felt. But Serafine also told me how much Maile appreciated finding a true friend—a friend who accepted her as she was and was willing to help her find the courage she needed. In a way, she reminds me of Elyra, and I would do for Maile what I would do for my own blood: protect her, no matter what.”

“Say greetings to Serafine from me, will you?” Rahel’s voice was warm, full of affection for Maile’s wolf.

“Consider it done,” I thought, sending my greeting to Serafine.

“Well,” I said, drawing a long breath, “let us rest. Tomorrow marks the start of a new chapter in our lives as royal recruits.”

Maile smiled, her eyes a little lighter now. “Good night, Rahel,” she whispered, settling onto her cot.

“Good night, Maile,” I whispered back, already feeling the pull of sleep. Tomorrow was another day, and we would face it together.

Our company commander had yet to arrive, but Rahel stood at the end of the final row, her wink giving me the strength to face the trials ahead. As the company sergeant barked, “Company—Attention!” I straightened my back, preparing myself for the challenges that awaited us.

At the head of the formation, Captain Koyla stood tall, her gaze unyielding. “At ease!” she commanded, her voice sharp and cutting through the still morning air. “For those of you who have forgotten, I am Captain Koyla, and with me stands First Sergeant Stephi. We are the masters of this unit. You have all sworn to heed our commands and those of the King and Warden of the Royal Battalion.”

She paused, her sharp eyes sweeping over the gathered trainees, each glance feeling like a test. Her gaze swept across our faces, as though measuring each of us in a way that was far more personal than professional. “This morn, word has reached me from your platoon leaders and sergeants. All of you have passed your health and physical trials, as well as your one-on-one interviews. Well done on completing the first sprint of your training. Today, we begin Sprint 2, where we shall test your stamina and your prowess in combat, both in human and wolf form. May the gods be with you all. First Sergeant, begin the trials.”

The murmur of the trainees rippled through the courtyard, but it was quickly silenced by Captain Koyla’s steely stare.

Maile hesitated in the ring, her opponent’s taunts ringing louder than her own heartbeat. I could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes, and for a moment, it seemed as though she might retreat. But she stood her ground, taking a deep breath before she squared her shoulders and faced her opponent. Yet, I could tell she was struggling—her confidence wavering like a candle in a storm.

Her opponent—a burly, battle-worn warrior—towered over her, wielding his sword with ease. The crowd’s hushed whispers faded as he made his first move. He swung his blade with brutal force, aiming for Maile’s torso. She raised her arms to block, and her leather chestguard absorbed the brunt of the blow, its thick material offering some protection. But even that wasn’t enough to stop her from stumbling backward, the sheer weight of his strike sending her off balance. Her feet slipped beneath her, and she fell hard onto the ground, gasping as the air was knocked from her lungs.

Before she could recover, I saw the instructor, Warden Nathaniel, stepping forward, his eyes sharp and focused. His voice rang out like a command, steady and unyielding. "Get up, Maile! Protect yourself. If you fall, you rise." Maile’s breath came in short gasps as she looked up, her face flushed with a mix of frustration and determination

“I’m not cut out for this,” Maile muttered under her breath, her voice laced with frustration. She quickly averted her gaze, refusing to look at me. I could feel the sting of her words like a personal blow, but I remained silent, watching closely.

She was on the ground, but I could see the determination still burning in her eyes, refusing to let her opponent win, even though she doubted herself. I had seen this before, in the way she had trained, pushing herself even when it seemed impossible. This wasn’t the end. Not for her.

The crowd remained silent, waiting to see how she would respond. Her body was still trembling, her breath erratic, but I could see her gathering herself, pushing past the fear. Slowly, she rose to her feet, her knees shaking as she met her opponent's eyes. She moved with more caution now, her stance adjusted, but the hesitation lingered. It was clear that her strength did not lie in raw power; she had always relied on precision, on her agility.

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Maile’s opponent swung again, but this time, she dodged with surprising speed, her movements fluid as she retreated just out of reach. Her quick strikes were more accurate now, landing with controlled force, though she lacked the brute strength to land a final, decisive blow. The crowd began to murmur, sensing her change in strategy. She was fighting smart, not hard.

But it wasn’t enough. Her opponent, growing frustrated by her agility, moved in for the kill. Maile’s stance wavered again, and before I could blink, he landed another strike—a blow that knocked her off balance, sending her sprawling once more. This time, she didn’t move immediately.

The moment stretched on, my heart racing as I stood there, helpless, watching her falter. But then, Maile’s breath slowed, her chest rising and falling steadily as she collected herself. A subtle shift passed through her body, and I knew what was coming. Her muscles tightened, and I could see her preparing for the inevitable change. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation.

In a heartbeat, her body quivered and began to transform. The change was fluid, seamless, and in an instant, where Maile had stood, there was now a sleek, silver wolf.

Her opponent, taken aback by the sudden shift, hesitated for just a moment—a moment too long. With a low growl, Maile lunged, her wolf form graceful and swift. The agility she had lacked in human form was now her greatest asset. She darted in, her teeth flashing as she struck with precision, her opponent barely able to react in time.

The fight was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Maile, her fur glistening with exertion, stood victorious, her opponent lying stunned at her feet, barely able to comprehend the defeat.

I exhaled sharply, my breath catching in my chest. She had done it. Despite her earlier doubts, despite her fears, Maile had risen to the challenge—no longer the unsure woman who had hesitated in the ring, but a fierce warrior in her wolf form.

“Enough!” Captain Koyla’s sharp command broke the silence, and Maile shifted back into her human form, panting but proud. Her face flushed with a mix of exhaustion and triumph, but there was something else in her eyes now—confidence, as if she had finally begun to believe in herself.

As she stood there, her leather chestguard remained perfectly intact, a testament to the unique ability of their kind. When shifting between their human and wolf forms, their clothing and armor remained on their bodies, bound to them by a supernatural bond that prevented it from being destroyed during the transformation. It was a gift of the Moon Goddess, allowing them to retain vital protection even in the heat of battle, whether as human or wolf.

Rahel had seen the potential in Maile from the start. She had trained her relentlessly, urging her to overcome the weaknesses she had detected in Maile's trials—the moments of hesitation, the flickers of doubt that threatened to undo her. Together, they had worked through every challenge, honing Maile’s skills with care and precision. Rahel knew her charge was capable, yet no matter how hard Maile tried, it seemed never enough. The fear of failure clung to her, and in the heat of battle, it left her vulnerable. Despite all Rahel's efforts, the shadow of doubt continued to creep in, stealing Maile’s confidence when she needed it most.

Later that evening, Maile returned to the barracks, her head bowed, the weight of her thoughts heavy upon her. She had given all in the trial, but the lingering doubts were still there. As she entered the room, she collapsed onto her cot, her shoulders slumped in quiet despair.

“I have failed, Rahel,” she murmured, her voice thick with resignation. “They will cast me from the battalion.”

I moved to her side immediately, concern washing over me. “What reason did they give?” I asked gently, though I had a sinking feeling in my chest.

Maile let out a shaky breath, refusing to meet my gaze. “They say I fared well in all but one trial: hand-to-hand combat. I couldn’t defeat any of my opponents, not even the weakest among them. They believe I cannot hold my own in a battle, and they wish to send me back to my pack to spare my life.”

Her words hit me like a blow. I could feel her fear, her despair, and yet I also saw her pride—this wasn’t about the trial alone; it was about the image she had of herself, the failure she thought she had become.

I knelt beside her, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “Maile, you are more than just one trial,” I said, my voice firm. “You are stronger than you know. This isn't the end of your journey—It is only a setback. I know you, and I know what you are capable of. We will find another way. Together.”

She looked up at me then, her eyes filled with doubt, but also with a glimmer of something—hope. Maybe it was that hope that she hadn’t allowed herself to feel for so long. Maybe, just maybe, she was beginning to believe that I would never give up on her.

And I wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever.

I considered her words, a thought sparking in my mind. “Maile, tell me—was it difficult to learn the bow? Could you teach me its use?”

She looked up, startled by the question. “Aye, I could teach you,” she said slowly. “You would not become a master marksman in a week, but with practice, you could certainly strike a target.”

The thought took root, blooming into something more. “What if,” I began, “you did not need to engage in close combat at all? What if you fought from a distance—an archer striking down enemies from seventy paces or more?”

“What are you scheming, Rahel?” Mingan’s voice echoed in my mind, her tone curious.

“Well,” I replied inwardly, “if Maile cannot endure the melee, she could protect the battalion as a ranged fighter. She need not wrestle with foes when her arrows could fell them first.”

“Hmm, I see merit in this. But the Royal Battalion has no archers among its ranks.”

“That does not mean they cannot add one,” I said with a sly smile. “Besides, I saw the Quartermaster practicing with a bow late yesterday. I believe he may be of use to us.”

Maile’s eyes brightened with a spark of hope. “Come with me,” I urged, standing abruptly.

“Where are we going?” she asked, hesitantly. “I still need to pack my things.”

“Not yet,” I said firmly. “First, we visit the Quartermaster.”

WE APPROACHED THE SPRAWLING STOREHOUSE WHERE WEAPONS AND ARMOR WERE KEPT. THE QUARTERMASTER, A STOUT MAN WITH SHARP EYES, LOOKED UP AS WE ENTERED.

“Greetings, Quartermaster,” I began, inclining my head. “This is Maile, my close friend and sister. She is set to leave the battalion on the morrow, but I would spend her last day doing something she loves. Might we borrow your archery gear for a time of practice?”

He raised a brow, his lips twitching in amusement. “Ah, a fellow archer, is she? And how, pray, did you know I keep such tools?”

I smiled faintly. “A keen eye, sir.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No matter. It is no secret I indulge in the sport when time allows. Very well—how about a bit of friendly competition?”

Maile’s eyes lit up for the first time in days. “I would be honored!” she said with enthusiasm.

The Quartermaster retrieved two fine bows and quivers, leading us to a secluded training field behind the warehouse. Four targets stood in a neat line, already prepared for practice.

“This field is seldom used for formal drills,” he explained, handing Maile a bow. “I keep it for my use, to hone my aim in peace. Shall we begin?”

The two warmed up with simple exercises, testing their weapons and adjusting their stances. Soon, they each claimed two targets, readying themselves for the contest.

I stepped back, arms crossed, as Maile and the Quartermaster faced off. Their competition was nothing short of mesmerizing—a deadly dance of precision and skill. Neither glanced at the other, yet their movements mirrored one another. Each stood firm, balanced in a powerful stance, gripping their bows with steady, confident hands. With fluid grace, they loosed their arrows almost in unison, the shafts flying true to their targets.

When their quivers were emptied, they approached the targets, and I followed. The Quartermaster’s arrows struck the bullseye, but Maile’s landed perfectly dead center. One of hers even split the shaft of her previous shot.

“I have never seen such precision before,” the Quartermaster muttered, his eyes wide in disbelief as he gazed at Maile’s flawless shots. He blinked several times, trying to process what he’d just witnessed. “You must be blessed by the Moon Goddess herself.”

Maile stopped, her bow still raised as she glanced at the Quartermaster with a mix of surprise and skepticism. “What are you talking about?” she exclaimed, a hint of disbelief in her voice. “It is just a clean shot.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the interaction. “If we’re to persuade the company commander to keep Maile as an instructor and leader of a newly formed archers’ squad, we will need a more dramatic test.”

The Quartermaster turned to me, still in shock. “What do you speak of?” he echoed, clearly struggling to understand. “You want more than this?” "Do you have something in mind, or is this idle talk?"

I grinned, knowing exactly how to push them further. “Indeed. A test of speed and precision. Let’s see how quickly each of you can strike all four targets. I’ll count breaths—one breath between each shot.”

Maile shot me a knowing look, her lips curving into a playful smile. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“Always prepared,” I teased. “Shall we proceed?”

The Quartermaster’s eyes twinkled. “A fair proposal. How about we make this more engaging—a wager?”

Maile raised an eyebrow. “What kind of wager?”

“I would not suggest coin—gambling’s forbidden. But a promise, now, that I can accept.”

I inclined my head. “Very well. If you win, Maile promises to train you in her techniques for two months. If she wins, you’ll present her skills to Captain Koyla and Warden Nathaniel and advocate for the formation of an archers’ squad under her leadership.”

The Quartermaster hesitated, then agreed. “Let’s begin.”

The Quartermaster took his position, steady and deliberate. He loosed his arrows with practiced precision, each finding its mark.

“Thirty-five breaths,” I announced, nodding. “A commendable display.”

Maile stepped up, calm and poised. “Ready.”

“Begin!” I called.

Before I even reached “three,” the first arrow hit its target. By “six,” the last had flown home. I stopped mid-count, staring in disbelief.

“Six breaths,” I whispered.

The Quartermaster’s jaw dropped. “Impossible! I demand a rematch!”

Maile shrugged. “What do you propose?”

He gestured to the far end of the field. “The fastest and most precise three arrows, from seventy paces.”

Maile agreed, and we measured the distance. The Quartermaster went first, his arrows true, but none hit dead center.

“Fifteen breaths,” I called.

Maile stepped up next. Instead of standing still, she moved with fluid grace, running sideways as she loosed her arrows in rapid succession. Each found its mark with uncanny precision. I counted under my breath as the final arrow struck the target.

“Two and a half breaths,” I murmured, awestruck by her skill.

The Quartermaster stared at the targets, reddening. “This cannot be! Each is dead center—and one has split my arrow in two!”

Maile smiled, unshaken. “No divine gift, Quartermaster. Just the Saracens’ method of rapid archery. I fire three arrows in one movement, minimizing wasted motion.”

The Quartermaster blinked, impressed. “And you can teach others this technique?”

“Certainly,” Maile replied confidently.

I stepped forward. “As per the wager, Quartermaster, you must present Maile’s talents to Captain Koyla and Warden Nathaniel.”

The Quartermaster sighed. “You ask too much. I’m only the keeper of arms—what authority do I have to approach the Commander?”

Maile stepped forward, her tone calm but firm. “True, you are the Quartermaster, not the Commander. Yet, you are also a skilled archer and a senior soldier of the Royal Battalion. Surely, a man of honor such as yourself would not break a solemn promise made in the spirit of fair competition, would you?”

The Quartermaster narrowed his eyes, then sighed heavily, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “Goddess help me. I was outsmarted by two clever witches in disguise. But you have my word—I will do as promised. I shall request an audience with the Commander and recommend the Warden hear this proposal. However, this does not guarantee success. In the meantime, I will ask First Sergeant Stephi to delay your discharge.”

As we walked away from the field, a small smile tugged at my lips. Maile had done it—impressed even the Quartermaster. Now, all I had to do was ensure the others saw her potential the way I did.