His lover was improving, but there still lingered a great deal of uncertainty of the task ahead of them. Hamish could see it in the tension of his shoulders and the wooden movements of his arms. Clearly, Darshan considered achieving their goal with nowhere near the amount of confidence he’d had at the beginning.
Maybe if they had more time. Why hadn’t Gordon attempted archery training on top of sparring? His brother must’ve realised what task Hamish would choose for the final trial.
Hamish wasn’t entirely sure if this was going to work. Darshan was right in that practice would only get him so far. If there was just a way for his lover to aim without seeing the target.
He stepped back after readjusting Darshan’s grip to watch the four of them take their turns, idly tracking each arrow from bow to tree. A simple arc. This wasn’t like hunting. The target didn’t dart about. If his lover were to merely lift his bow that smidgen more, then the arrow’s curve would do much of the work.
On the other hand, Darshan could need to adjust for the wind during the trial and there could be other arrow shafts in the way, maybe more than there was now. In which case, the arrow’s direction would need to be adjusted so as to—
His lover gave a disapproving hiss and lowered the bow to glare at him. “You dare to try and wrest it from my grip?”
“How can I do…?” The question trailed off. Did he mean magic? He can’t have been attempting anything there. Or had he? Nae. At least, he hadn’t done so intentionally. “Could you feel it?” He bent closer and whispered, “Me magic?”
“Your influence on the arrow? Yes, I felt it vibrate through the fletching.” A spark of hope ignited in his eyes. “Are you able to direct the arrow of another archer?”
“I’m nae sure. I havenae tried.” He thought back to all the times he had helped his nephews train. They all seemed to improve a lot faster under his tuition than when he wasn’t involved. “At least, I dinnae think I have.”
“Let us see then.” With a fresh surge of confidence squaring his shoulders, Darshan lifted his bow. “You aim. I shall loose on the count of three.”
Hamish stood just behind Darshan. What the man suggested had merit and there was little harm in making the attempt.
The arrow tip gleamed on the edge of his vision as he focused on the tree over the man’s shoulder. If he squinted, he could almost see a line trailing along the passage his mind envisioned.
“One…” Darshan pulled back on the bowstring and something deep inside Hamish drew taut.
Two… Hamish flexed his fingers. His own bow sat alongside their packs, but he could’ve sworn it was in his hands.
“Three,” his lover whispered, releasing the arrow.
The point slammed into the trunk.
Again, his lover winced as if he had personally taken the shot. Then, Darshan seemed to become aware of what they’d done. “Yes!” he yelled in Udynean. He jigged on the spot, startling the others who likely had no idea what the man was saying.
The boys especially eyed his antics with a measure of alarm.
Having the arrow reach the tree wasn’t an entirely new development as Darshan had managed it a number of times without assistance, just not consistently. That the shaft was nestled snugly against the arrow Hamish had loosed at the beginning was a whole other matter.
“I don’t need to see,” Darshan murmured, still in his native tongue. He whirled on Hamish, clasping his arm. “You can be my eyes.” Those hazel eyes seemed to enlarge as fresh hope gleamed from behind the man’s lenses.
Hamish’s gaze flicked from the arrows to his lover and back. He scratched at his chin. “It could’ve been a fluke.”
Grinning, Darshan nocked another arrow. “Then see if you can do it again.”
They practised further. Every time he turned his focus away from the arrow, it missed. Not terribly, but enough to put the idea of Darshan winning the final trial on his own in doubt. When he did envision the path, the arrow always hit precisely where he aimed.
There were limits. He needed to stand behind the man for it to look natural. And, unlike when he was the one with the bow, he had to remain completely focused or the arrow wavered.
Before long, sweat started to soak his clothes. It wasn’t overly hot, despite the lack of wind, but the trickle of moisture down his back and the beading across his forehead was undeniable. Was it a magic thing? Did this overheating happen to all spellsters? Or was it some sign that he was pushing too hard? Perhaps it would be better if he backed off for now.
Darshan glanced at him, his brow twisted in concern. The strain must’ve been obvious, for his lover merely nodded and continued to attempt the distance on his own.
Only when the entire contents of four quivers adorned the tree did they pause to consume the bread, meat and cheese Gordon had procured from the castle kitchens. His brother spoke little, although he would occasionally shoot a puzzled frown at Darshan.
The boys weren’t so generous with their silence. They continued to talk, even whilst cramming more food into their mouths than Hamish had thought possible.
“I thought you hadnae handled a bow before?” Bruce queried, his voice tight with the strain of keeping the disappointment peeking through his otherwise blank expression.
Darshan, hastily swallowing a mouthful of water, opened his mouth. “Actually, I—”
“Was it magic?” Mac blurted. “I bet it was magic.”
Hamish stiffened. Whilst the boy was correct, and they were likely to peg Darshan as the culprit, he wasn’t sure if they had jumped to the conclusion because of the man’s dismal first attempts or because it was obvious that magic that guided his arrows.
“It couldnae have been magic,”
