FOURTEEN
With every limping step, Vasco reminded himself how much he hated archery. This hadn't always been the case, of course, for archery practice had been a required part of his training. He'd even been good at it once. Now, though...he hadn't been able to bring himself to fire an arrow at the enemy since he'd been wounded. Shooting someone from a distance was cowardly, especially if you couldn't give them a clean death. If they fell before you and you had a sword or an axe, it was a simple matter to deliver another blow if the first hadn't killed them. With arrows, though, it was much harder to hit someone who'd fallen. And no man, friend or foe, deserved to live with the constant pain he did. Wounds either healed or they killed you. They weren't supposed to torment you for the rest
