From the beginning he could draw the heaviest bow, and after only a month, his accuracy approached ordinary for novices. While he matched almost any of the veterans in the number of practice arrows shot successfully into a target area in a given time—timed by a small sand glass. When the target area was at extreme ranges, he was almost unmatched.
At the end of four weeks, he was promoted to the youth level. However, on two additional evenings he was required to continue his weapons training under a hardbitten, partially disabled sergeant whose usual job was to coach and browbeat those who needed extra sessions.
By late winter—the end of Two-Month—Macurdy showed substantially higher skill with both spear and sword than anyone else at the youth level, and his accuracy with the bow was quite good. As for tactics, he’d already seen improvements that could be made, but diplomatically kept them to himself. His reaction time and concentration became notorious, yet no one showed resentment, for there was no vanity or arrogance in him, only good nature.
Arbel had given Hauser the use of a large, heavy-bladed knife to cut branches of shrubs and trees whose leaves or buds, flowers or inner bark, had medicinal value. At Macurdy’s request, Hauser loaned it to him in the evenings, and Macurdy practiced throwing it at a log shed for ten or fifteen minutes in the dark. Always, as Hauser told Arbel, returning it razor sharp. Although the knife was not at all balanced for throwing, Macurdy was soon able to stick it reliably and deeply into an area the size of a man’s torso, at distances out to twenty feet.
While at his lunchtime in the forest, he almost always spent a few minutes throwing the axe at some large-boled tree. And like any Ozian woodcutter or Hoosier logger, carried a file and stone to remove nicks and dullness. By winter’s end, he could reliably sink this unorthodox weapon deeply into the wood at the height of a man’s chest.
He felt good about it all. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d been brought up to, certainly not by his mother. The Macurdies didn’t much hold with violence, except in games. Or self defense, and the need was rare, given the Macurdy reputation for size, strength, and quickness.
But this wasn’t Washington County.
In fact, he found himself exhilarated by his emerging skills. He had no doubt at all that when summer came, he’d leave Wolf Springs. Run away, travel eastward to the Kingdom of the Silver Mountain, and take Varia away from Idri or whoever had her. He was a warrior now, and if someone tried to stop him, too bad for them.
Once they were back on Farside, there’d be time enough for peace. Peace and love and children. But first, he told himself, he’d have to bring it about. Earn it.
With the last new moon at hand before the spring equinox, Captain Isherhohm took him aside. “Macurdy,” he said (as a slave, it was all the name Macurdy had there), “we’re sending you to Oztown. It’s where the Chief has his house and farm. He also has a company of Heroes; a hundred, more or less. Only the best from the districts are chosen for it, and Wolf Springs already has more than any other in its ranks.”
Macurdy’s brows rose. He’d heard the Heroes talked about, but hadn’t thought a slave could be chosen. And they were cavalry. Though trained to ride to battle, then dismount and fight, they were also trained to fight in the saddle. This was an opportunity to expand and improve his warrior skills.
“Both Friisok and myself were Heroes in our youth,” Isherhohm went on. “You serve for six years, then usually return to your village. Heroes have no other duties than to train, and to serve the chief as his personal troops. You can bring credit to Wolf Springs, and when you return, you’ll be a free man. Given a good farm with oxen and good saddle horses, and slave girls to father children on. If you bring home a spear maiden, it’ll be a large farm, with slaves enough, you won’t have to lift a hand in labor.”