“You okay?” Aven called, noticing that Relam was hunched over the target.
“Yeah,” Relam replied breathlessly. “Just . . . making sure it’s settled well. Wouldn’t want it to fall over.” He adjusted the circle of wood slightly, checked to make sure the prop in the back was sunk into the ground, then turned and began heading back to where Aven waited, the bow held loosely in his hands, the quiver over his right shoulder. The boy was so small that the arrows reached almost from shoulder to hip.
“Right,” Relam said as he joined Aven. “Ever shot a bow before?”
“Not one like this. I used a smaller bow once, when my father and I went hunting in the Midwood,” Aven said with a shrug.
“Same principle, more power,” Relam assured him. “Take a shot.”
Aven raised the bow then stopped. “Without an armguard?”
Relam mentally kicked himself. Obviously he would need an armguard for Aven. Otherwise the bowstring would sting like a whip, maybe even draw blood. “Wait here,” Relam said, moving back to the lean-to.
“If you don’t find one, you can just demonstrate and I’ll watch,” Aven said, grinning.
“Not on your life!” Relam shouted back, rummaging through the equipment.
Finally, after the prince had unearthed a worn but serviceable armguard, Aven stood back from the target with an arrow on the bowstring, quivering with excitement. The armguard was secured tightly to his left forearm, where the string would tend to slap him as it was released.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Relam said quietly, nodding to the younger boy.
Aven raised the bow, grinning, and drew back on the string. Or, at least, he tried to. The bowstring moved a few centimeters then stopped and slowly went back the other way as Aven released it. Frowning, the boy tried again, with slightly more success.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Aven said uncertainly, pulling back to half-draw, arms trembling with the effort.
“It takes practice, that’s all. Use all of your muscles,” Relam added.
Aven grunted and pulled the bowstring back a little further. Relam watched as the younger boy sighted, peering at the target, the arrow jerking up and down in spasmodic movements as Aven tried to hold the bow steady and stay at nearly full draw. Then, he released the string.
The arrow twisted skyward, executed a spectacular series of cartwheels and landed point first in the top of the target. Relam blinked, not exactly sure what he had just witnessed.
“Well . . .” Aven said mildly. “I hit the target.” He snorted with laughter and shook his head in disgust. “I’m not even strong enough for this, am I?”
“Maybe not right now. But you can be,” Relam replied encouragingly. “All it takes is practice.”
“Practice,” Aven muttered, raking a hand through his short hair and looking down at the bow. “That sounds painful.” Relam noticed that the boy’s arm muscles were twitching slightly.
“The reward will be worth it,” Relam promised. “A position in the guard, Aven!”
“Maybe. If they’ll take me.”
“They won’t take you if you just stand around bemoaning how hard this is,” Relam said sternly. “Try again. Try not to bounce the arrow so much this time though.”
Aven knocked another arrow and raised the bow, bringing the string to half draw, then struggling further and further until his thumb touched the corner of his mouth. Relam noticed that the bow was shaking a little less this time. But, when Aven released, the bow twisted in his grip and the arrow zipped to one side of the target, missing by at least a meter.
“At least I hit the target the first time,” Aven observed.
“You need to work on your control,” Relam told him. “Keep a steady aim, breathe evenly, hold the bow still without trembling so much.”
“Care to demonstrate?” Aven asked, holding the bow out.
Relam hesitated, then decided a demonstration couldn’t hurt. He took the bow from Aven, then the boy handed him an arrow with a flourish, stepping aside. Relam took his place at the line and raised the bow.
“See,” he said, glancing back at Aven. “Nice smooth drawing motion. Hold the bow steady. Not too long or you’ll start to tire. That’s when the trembling starts. And when you’re ready to fire-”
Relam stopped, frowning. When he had looked back, he had caught a strange glint in Aven’s eyes. Not of interest or curiosity, but of something more . . . mischievous.
“Don’t hold it too long,” Aven encouraged.
Relam slowly released the tension on the string and turned to face Aven.
“Arm guard,” he said imperiously, snapping his fingers for emphasis.
Relam saw the quick flash of disappointment, which was replaced almost immediately by an innocent expression of surprise. “Oh, yes, forgot all about that,” the boy said airily as he handed over the leather sleeve. Relam held his gaze a moment longer to let Aven know he wasn’t fooled, then went back to the task at hand. With the arm guard protecting his left forearm, Relam raised the bow, drew, sighted, and released.
The arrow split the air with a low hiss, then almost immediately smacked into the very center of the wooden target. The arrowhead vanished into the wood, leaving only the shaft and fletching sticking out.
Relam looked back at Aven, noting the boy’s wide-eyed expression. "Any questions?”
“No,” Aven replied meekly.
Relam nodded and returned the arm guard and bow. “Keep practicing. I’ll work out with my blade for a little longer. Remember, focus on control.”
As Relam drew his sword and moved a few paces away, he heard Aven draw another arrow. He glanced back as the boy released, saw the arrow fly wide, then looked away and began the first sequence of moves.
The next few hours passed in relative silence, save for Relam’s grunts
