“Well make it speedy, because we need to get back to the next round of competition,” Lucretia replied. They began to walk out of the armory. And so Kestrel began to tell his story, as Lucretia listened, fully absorbed, neither of them paying any attention to anything around them until they found themselves at the competition fields once again, though the story was only halfway finished.
“There’s the squad,” Lucretia pointed as they arrived at the linden tree.
“Don’t tell anyone about this Lucretia, please,” Kestrel begged. “I have enough trouble fitting in with these human features; if people start calling me a sprite-friend I’ll never be treated fair.”
“If you promise to go to dinner with me and finish the story tonight,” I’ll keep your secret,” Lucretia agreed.
“Where have you two been and what are you so buddy-buddy about?” Vinetia asked suspiciously. “I specifically sent Lucretia with you because I knew she’d be too cool to be your pal,” a statement that drew a stare of disbelief from Lucretia.
“Now, get to your competition; your flight starts in five minutes over under the red and yellow flag,” she directed Kestrel.
“Where are you going to compete?” he asked in return.
“I’ll be over there, under the blue flag,” she replied. “I start a half hour after you. Come see me after you win your competition.”
“I will,” Kestrel promised, as he started to walk away. He bumped through a cluster of people, then turned and saw Vinetia and Lucretia with their heads together, conversing intently.
A few minutes later he arrived at his competition field, wondering what had passed between Lucretia and Vinetia, and also thinking of Cheryl, strangely enough, comparing her features to Lucretia’s.
“Take your marks, competitors,” the proctor for his match called. Kestrel stepped up to the line and looked to both sides. There appeared to be about twenty marksmen arranged to compete. “This is a twelve arrow competition, and the top three will move on to tonight’s qualifying round,” the proctor announced. Kestrel heard him clearly; this group of competitors was serious about their archery, not inclined to chatter or socialize.
“Commence!” the proctor called, and a drum sounded loudly. The competition was on.
Kestrel took an arrow and faced his target. The targets were at a greater distance than they had been in the morning, which would play to his strength, he knew. The arrow he held was one of the two that Dewberry had given him, and he aimed it carefully before he released it. His human strength propelled his arrow on a flat, true trajectory the full length of the field to an easy mark in the right half of the center portion of his target.
He adjusted his next shot slightly left, then released the arrow, which flew a true line as well, scoring another center shot. Thereafter it was just a matter of mechanical repetition, as he selected arrows, drew his string, and fired. He shot twelve good arrows that all scored in the center except one that strayed slightly low. After his shooting finished, he broke his focus, and looked to his left and his right, noting the targets of the other shooters; none were finished yet, as they labored to make the long shots that were more challenging for them, and none had less than two arrows outside the center.
Kestrel felt a modest smile crease his face, as he finally achieved an easy round of competition. He stood patiently and waited until the rest of the competitors were determined and the three winners announced. He asked a proctor for instruction on when his next match would be, then walked over to the blue flag competition where he saw Vinetia shooting competitively, but scoring just behind the top three archers in her field while she had three arrows left. Kestrel waited patiently as Vinetia took her time lining up her final three shots, which were good, but not high-scoring enough to raise her to the next stage of competition. She stood with her head bowed, leaning on her bow for a long pause after her last shot, then turned and saw Kestrel standing behind her.
“How’d we do?” she asked, walking back towards him.
“We’ve moving forward,” he replied, as they turned and went out onto the field to retrieve her arrows. “There’s another match this afternoon.”
“That will be the last one for today,” Vinetia confirmed. “Congratulations on the victory, by the way,” she added.
“Thanks. Those extra arrows made it easy,” Kestrel said as they finished pulling the arrows from the target.
“No, I meant congratulations on securing a dinner with Lucretia,” Vinetia replied. “I didn’t have you pegged as the one who could charm her instantly. There’ll be some jealous bucks in the squad.” They began to walk back to the linden tree, where a few others were already gathered and discussing their successes and failures. Only one other team from the squad had qualified, and Kestrel was lauded for his prowess that reflected well on all of them. When Lucretia arrived she gave him a significant glance, but then went to talk to her partner, who had also qualified.
“Let’s head to the next competition,” Vinetia tugged on Kestrel’s sleeve a few minutes later.
“Are we on the same field this time?” he asked curiously.
“We are, and we will be next round too, then after that partners don’t count for reaching the finals,” Vinetia answered.
They walked across the now familiar field once again, Kestrel relaxed enough to pay attention to the vendors and entertainers who took advantage of the growing crowd of spectators at the competition to ply their wares. The goods and activities were much more elaborate than anything he had seen at Elmheng, reminding him anew that despite the comfort he was starting to feel, he was still nonetheless in a large city that was foreign to him.
“We’re here,” Vinetia told him as they approached another field. The targets were extended once again at a longer distance from the archers’ line. “Can you hit at that range?” Vinetia asked as she examined the field.
“Those are still in my range,” Kestrel replied.
“Okay; then I’m along for the entertainment value,” Vinetia answered.
Every other competitor’s spot filled up, and Kestrel looked up and down the line. The group of twenty was a collection of both male and female contestants, not all of them wearing guard uniforms. The average age appeared older than previous fields had; he realized he might be the youngest competitor in the group, but he felt no nervousness.
The proctor began to announce the rules — ten shots, four qualifiers to advance. The drum beat, and arrows began to fly.
Kestrel calmly fired his first shot, and watched as it struck the precise center of the target. He turned and selected a second shaft, then fired it as well. It drifted slightly to the right, and landed on the border between the center and first ring around it. He shook his head in frustration, then placed a third arrow on the bowstring, and took his time aiming, trying to imagine how much effect the slight breeze might have in pushing his shots. He added a tiny amount of extra tautness to the string to increase the force of his shot, then released the shot and was satisfied with another successful bullseye.
His fourth and fifth shots were also in the dark green center of the target. He looked at Vinetia’s target; she had two arrows planted in the center, and two others bracketing it on either side. She caught his eye and grinned. “You don’t worry about me; just keep muscling those shots of yours into your target,” she advised.
Kestrel shot three more arrows, and landed two of them in the center, one just outside. Six of his eight shots were center shots; he needed to continue to apply the maximum amount of force to his shots to maintain accuracy over the long distance to the target, he knew. He took his time with his ninth shot, as he felt some fatigue started to set into his arms, and hit the center for the seventh time. With his last shot, he once again pulled out a gift from Dewberry, took careful aim at the target, pulled his bow string as far as he could, then steadied a slight quiver in his arm and released the arrow. It flew so straight that its head shared a hole with his very first shot after it solidly thunked the target, and the two shafts rested against one another.
He lay his bow down, pleased with the results of the shot and the competitive round. Eight arrows were in the center, and the two misses were less than an inch away. He looked at the targets of the other competitors, and saw that all had missed at least three shots already, and most were still shooting.
After the atrocious beginning he had suffered in the morning, he had managed to recover and succeed to such a degree that he and Vinetia were guaranteed a chance to shoot again on the final day of competition. The success felt good.
There was a fuss raised nearby, just as Vinetia came to stand next to him, her own last shot taken. “There’s the Princess Elwean and the royal retinue!” she said excitedly, pointing to the center of the rising hubbub that was
