by Aldrea Alien
“I would have thought the favoured one would go first.”
“Once the others ken who he would prefer to win?” Gordon asked, joining them at the line with the boys. “Some may be accused of not performing at their best.”
“Which is how they’re expected to compete,” Hamish added. He knelt before his nephews. “How do you lads feel about a little extra competition?”
“It isnae against you, is it?” Bruce asked, narrowing eyes almost as deep a green as his mother’s at Hamish. “Because you always win.”
“Even Uncle Gordon cannae best you,” Mac piped up.
“Well,” Gordon drawled, scratching at his neck. “I have done just that in the past. Back when your uncle was a wee lad and barely able to draw a bow, mind you,” he finished with a wink in Hamish’s direction. “But what I think your Uncle ‘Mish is alluding to is a bit of friendly competition for our ambassador to gauge himself against.”
“That I am,” Hamish added with a bob of his head. He pulled out the arrows that were already in the tree and paced out the distance the trial’s target would be placed at. “Here should be a good starting line.”
Ethan gave a low whistle. “That’s a fair distance for a novice. Are you sure you dinnae want us to start closer?”
Hamish shook his head. “If you think this’ll test you lads, then maybe we’ve been going too easy on you.” The distance was no greater than the length of the castle’s archery range and the older boys could hit those with a substantial degree of success.
Bruce scoffed. “Nae hard for us. Right lads?” He stood in silence as his brothers shook their heads and exclaimed a similar opinion. “I’m more concerned for our competition.” He arched a brow at Darshan, his lips twisting in an echo of his father’s smirk. “I saw him trying. I dinnae think he has the strength to fully use his bow never mind send an arrow that far.”
“You’ve a keen eye, lad,” Gordon murmured. “Your dad would be proud.”
Hamish glanced at the boy. Usually, mention of their long-dead father would elicit a stillness through the whole trio. Not this time. Bruce’s face might’ve darkened slightly in embarrassment, but his chest was puffed out with pride.
The light seemed to dim as Hamish nocked an arrow, the air stilling like that morning outside the tent. Just a wee bit of cloud cover is all. There were no bears in this part of the forest. The boys would’ve cried out at the first whisper. His brother would’ve alerted them.
His bow trembled. Even knowing the true source of his accuracy, he hadn’t actually managed a successful hit since that one in the castle range. Back when everything had started to go wrong.
Lifting his focus to the little circle carved into the tree trunk, Hamish breathed deep. It was hard to see how magic came into play. He barely needed to think on it. Was that part of the wonder in Darshan’s voice over his skill? The effortlessness of it all?
He drew and loosed his arrow. The point hit precisely where he had focused. Dead centre.
“There’s your target,” he said, shouldering his bow. “Show us how close you can get. You too, Dar,” he added with a jerk of his head.
The boys, ever ones for showing off, drew themselves to their full heights. It gave the added effect of adjusting their stances to be in line with their target.
Darshan stood beside them. He watched the boys’ actions with what Hamish hoped was renewed confidence, even going so far as to mimic the way they stood. At least, to an extent.
Mindful not to pull too much attention to himself and let his nephews lose their concentration, Hamish sidled over to his lover. “Let them go first,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Then we’ll work on your form.”
Darshan arched one brow in his direction, but gave no further indication of agreement.
One by one, the boys loosed their arrows. Whilst each one hit the tree trunk, only Bruce’s managed to make it near the target.
“Good job, lads,” Gordon said, clapping his hands. “Stay put,” he added as they took a step towards the tree. “We’re nae finished with this round. We dinnae want one of you scamps getting some extra ventilation.” His brother rubbed at his face as if that somehow erased his poorly-concealed humour. He nodded at Hamish. “When you’re ready.”
Hamish laid his hands on Darshan’s hips, intending on shifting his lover into a more suitable position. He froze as the body beneath his fingertips tensed. “Is something wrong?”
Darshan shook his head. “Unexpected is all. I assume you mean to criticise my stance?”
“Improve,” he stressed. “You’re capable in the draw, but this is a little different to hunting. You’ve time, for one. And your whole body…” Gently coaxing Darshan around, he lined his lover up with the tree. It was harder to imagine the distance without a properly marked point, but having Darshan train in shooting beyond the needed distance wouldn’t be the worst thing. “You should nae be square on with your target.”
“Understood.”
“Your feet are best kept a shoulder-width apart.” Rather than clumsily force Darshan to move, Hamish waited until his lover had shuffled into the appropriate position. “Keep your knees supple, that’s also important for stability. You dinnae want them to lock.” Out of habit, he bounced on the balls of his feet in the same manner his father had first taught him all those years ago. “The torso… you want it to stay centred and your back should remain straight. Like this.” He stood beside Darshan and mimed holding his bow at full draw. “Arch in any direction and you’ve lost balance alongside power.”
“I believe I grasp the concept.”
“Good.” If they could hammer in the basics swiftly, they’d have more time to hone Darshan’s aiming abilities. “Now, aim for the tree and loose. Dinnae fash if you cannae make it. We’ll come to that in a moment.”
Pursing his lips, Darshan did as instructed. The arrow struck the tree low, just embedding itself into the tree roots. His lover winced.
“Nae bad,” Hamish said.
Gordon scoffed. “It’s bloody better than your first attempt. You couldnae hit the east side of the castle unless you were in a rage. Threw some good tantrums back in the day, too.”
Heat took Hamish’s face as he caught the tail end of Darshan’s snicker. He glared at his brother, the promise of a slow death flashing hotly in his mind. “With the stories I’ve heard of your training, you were nae much better. At least me improvement came a wee bit faster than yours.” Darshan would likely say the cause there was a product of this wisp of magic he possessed, but he fancied practice had a larger say in the act.
Gordon stuck out his tongue at Hamish before grinning broadly. “Let’s see if he can do it again.” He squeezed the shoulder of their closest nephew, who happened to be Mac. “You lot, too. There’s nae such thing as too much practice. Now go fetch your arrows whilst you can.” Ruffling Mac’s hair, Gordon gave the boy a little encouragement in heading to the tree.
Grumbling, the other two boys followed their younger brother. They plucked the arrows free, including the one in the ground, and returned to their positions.
The four continued their attempts to match Hamish’s mark. He went down the line, adjusting stances or grip as need be. Gordon joined in, focusing more on the boys and leaving Darshan’s schooling entirely up to Hamish.
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 r
eadjusting 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,” Ethan protested before Darshan could utter anything either way. He fixed the man with a piercing glare. “Because then, it wouldnae have been fair.”
“Cheating against children,” Bruce murmured, sounding suitably aghast. The boy tut-tutted as though he were a man thrice his eleven years.
“Aye,” Ethan added. “That’s a low blow.”
Mac stuck out his tongue and blew a long flatulent noise. “If I had magic, I would use it all the time. You would, too. Dinnae deny it. You’re just sore you lost to him.”
Hamish frowned. After Darshan had proved he had told the truth about magic running through Hamish’s bloodline, his lover hadn’t said a word about whether the rest of Hamish’s family were spellsters or Nulled Ones. Any one of them could harbour a spark that would see them sent straight to the cloister. Or worse, be unable to be saved from illness or injury by some magical fix.
“Lads,” Gordon sharply cut in. “Dinnae badger.” The reprimand had barely left his lips before a chorus of apologies bubbled from the boys.
Hamish leant back against the yew tree they sat under. His mind sluggishly mulling over the trials.
Using his unique ability wouldn’t come without its own risks. Here, he had relatively few distractions and no sudden gusts to compete with. Fortunately, he would be standing amongst the competitors to aim the arrow they must beat, so his presence there wouldn’t be suspicious. Would they think it strange if he stood directly behind one? Would he need to mimic the move for each archer?
He gnawed on a thumbnail. He already planned to gift the ruby heart to Darshan. Surely showing concern over the possibility of the one who had gained his favour failing would be a natural one. Hadn’t Nora been practically beside herself at the notion of Calder failing? Aye. Hamish might’ve been quite young when Gordon had married, but he’d a vague recollection of his brother being the same.
Ethan sat back, eyeing the yew tree. He’d been slowly chewing for some time, like a cow with its cud, and only now finally swallowed what had to be paste. “Do you think—since we’re here—we could do the forest run?”
Mac bounced on the spot. “Can we?” Half-chewed crumbs of bread flicked out his mouth as he spoke. “Please. We havenae done it in ages.”
“I would very much like to see it,” Darshan murmured, delicately brushing off the crumbs the boy had managed to spray onto his trousers. “Where does it begin?”
Gordon patted the yew trunk. “Right here,” he replied around a mouthful of bread and cheese. “It’d be a bit hollow for you lads to attempt it without anyone aiming at you, but I dinnae see why not.”
“We could play root ‘em out,” Mac said, still bouncing. His brothers perked up at the suggestion. “Us against you three.”
By the gleam in Gordon’s eyes and the slight lift if his mouth, Hamish knew his brother already agreed to the idea. Still, he made a show of mulling it over, stroking his beard and humming. “I suppose that would be a good way to test your aptitude for stealth. A
little better than sneaking into the kitchens at night,” he added with a conspiratorial wink. “We’ll give you lads to the count of—” He jiggled his hands as if comparing weights. “Let’s say to twenty. That should be plenty of time for you scamps to make yourselves scarce.”
“One,” Hamish began, standing. “Two…”
Like a warren of flushed rabbits, his nephews scrambled to their feet and raced into the forest.
Darshan stood alongside Hamish. “It shall be safe for us to wander through? Are they not preparing it for tomorrow? Will they not notice our presence?”
Hamish shook his head. “Naebody comes here.” Not often, at least.
“Nae until tomorrow,” Gordon added. “Then everybody will.” He swallowed the last of his meal and took a generous swig from the water skin. “The trial consists of a run through the forests along the hills just beyond those trees.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Make it from here to a specified line on the other side without being hit and it’s through to the final round.”
Darshan peered at the forest, one brow cocked. “Hit by what?”
“It’s nae dangerous,” Gordon insisted. “Dinnae be concerned about that. I reckon if you keep that shield of yours handy, they’ll nae be able to touch you. And you’ll nae need to fash over being the first, either. You just need to make it through unscathed before noon.”
“Your confidence in me is staggering.”
“Except he’ll need to remain inconspicuous,” Hamish interjected. “Or the other competitors will ken there’s a spellster in their midst. Do you think you’ll be able to find your way without your glasses?” he enquired of his lover. “If you’ve been there before?”
A faint frown briefly touched Darshan’s forehead. He lowered the lenses enough to peer over the tops. “Maybe.”
“Maybe will have to do,” Gordon rumbled. “I reckon that’s long enough for the lads. Let’s go flush them out.”
The section of forest lying beyond the two yews wasn’t terribly difficult to navigate, if the runner was used to foliage and rough terrain. The task was more evading the men and women who would be hiding up in the treetops tomorrow. Others would line the crude rails on either side so that competitors couldn’t completely skirt the area. All would be armed with small packets full of dye. Anyone who came out the other end marked was eliminated.
