by Andrew Rowe
When the order to fire was given, Terras and Lysen didn’t pick up their bows – apparently Taelien had started a trend.
Terras lifted her hands, pressing her forefingers and thumbs together and creating a triangular shape. After several seconds of no apparent effect, a bolt of lightning arced from the cloudless sky and smashed into her target, melting the armor to slag and setting the dummy ablaze.
To add to the effect, she launched each of her arrows into the flaming wreckage. She didn’t miss a single shot.
Lysen, conversely, pressed his palms together, his fingers crossing each other and making a “V” shape. Mist rose from below his dummy, growing thicker with every passing moment. By the time the other archers had ceased firing, his dummy was completely obscured.
He launched a single arrow into the mist, and then discarded his remaining arrows as Keldyn had.
As the mists lifted, the audience saw the remains of his dummy – frozen solid and shattered into pieces by his arrow.
More cheering for Terras and Lysen. Velas joined half-heartedly, feeling more nervous by the minute.
The remainder of the round passed largely uneventfully – there wasn’t even enough left of Terras and Lysen’s targets for them to bother continuing to fire. While several of the archers in this group were talented, none of them directly attracted Velas’ attention.
And then it was her turn.
Velas and Landen moved to the staging grounds, where they lined up with the twenty-three other applicants who would be going at the same time they were. Velas recognized Bertram Colt, one of the somewhat suspicious applicants from Selyr, among her group.
Landen brightened as soon as they walked into the arena – he loved a crowd, regardless of the odds. She let his enthusiasm wash over her, and the pair of them waved as they approached the archery stands.
We’ve beaten worse odds together in the arena before.
Wait. Together.
I’m an idiot.
“Archers, bows at the ready!”
She grabbed Landen’s arm as he was preparing to raise his bow. “Don’t fire yet.”
Landen blinked at her. “Okay?”
“Archers, fire when ready!”
Landen lowered his arm, raising an eyebrow at Velas.
Velas gestured at the quiver. “Arrows aren’t going to hit hard enough to guarantee we win this. And, let’s be serious here – I can’t shoot for shit.”
“No need to be so hard on yourself, Vel.” He glanced from side to side. Some of the other archers were watching them, but most were already firing.
“I’m not being hard on myself. I’m being realistic. Hand me your first arrow.”
Landen reached into his quiver and retrieved an arrow, handing it to her gingerly.
She tapped a finger on the tip. You’re not the only one who can play this game, Sal.
“Don’t touch the tip. Be very careful. Go ahead and fire it.”
The swordsman took the arrow from her carefully, still looking dubious, and assumed a firing stance. Then, after a few moments of aiming, he loosed the arrow.
The resulting explosion of concussive force rippled across the barrier, putting visible cracks in the shield and shattering the ground around the dummy.
“Ooh, nice. Let’s do that again.”
The next arrow shattered the remains of the barrier.
The third slammed into the dummy’s center, bursting through the mail and embedding in the straw man’s chest.
The fourth hit the post that was holding the dummy, the explosion shattering the post and knocking the dummy to the ground.
The fifth hit the fallen dummy and carried it back another dozen yards, tossing it like a doll.
Velas didn’t use sorcery for the rest – Landen just shot his remaining arrows at the fallen target.
Then, the pair moved to where Velas’ bow and arrows awaited – and again, Landen raised the bow.
Velas smirked. “Let’s repeat that, shall we?”
Landen’s arrows each struck true, the first two shattering the barrier and the third piecing the dummy’s shoulder. The fourth shattered the post, sending the dummy to the arena floor. After that, Landen laughed and handed her the bow. She only managed to hit the fallen target once, but the crowd laughed and cheered when she did.
“Contestants, retrieve your arrows!”
After the arrows were retrieved, the paladins moved Velas and Landen’s fallen dummies back into line with the others. Since the posts that held them up were shattered, they simply left the targets on the ground, but once again reinforced them with protective sorcery.
Landen walked over to her this time while the other archers opened fire. “Okay, Vel, that was fun. Any clever ideas for this round?”
Nothing that wouldn’t give away more of my abilities than I want to demonstrate this early.
“Not really. If I thought we could throw our swords accurately, I’d put the same kind of effect on our blades, but…”
“Yeah, I don’t think we can get that kind of distance, either. And you can’t control a throw that well with your sorcery, right?”
She shook her head. “I can try to shoot something straight ahead, but I wouldn’t even be confident about hitting my target with that while it was standing. Now that it’s on the ground…”
“Guess I could just fire off each of our quivers and hope to land a few more hits, then. I think our targets are probably in bad shape at this point, but a little more damage wouldn’t hurt.”
She chuckled at his terrible joke, offering him an arrow. “After you, then.”
Landen launched another dozen arrows at each target, but with the dummies on the ground, not many of them hit any particularly vulnerable spots. He did manage to put a couple arrows into the area just underneath the breastplates for each dummy, but Velas doubted those were worth many points.
As they retrieved their arrows for the last time, Velas glanced at the other targets. One target had been incinerated by a flame sorcerer, and a pair of skilled archers had reduced their targets to pincushions. Bertram, it seemed, was not one of them. His dummy was all but unscratched and his expression was of shame. Velas felt for him – if she hadn’t had Landen with her, she might have been in the same situation.
And, she considered, we still might not have done enough. Landen hit the chest on his dummy, which probably counts as a kill – but mine is still relatively intact.
Landen seemed confident – this time he started firing as soon as the order was given, successfully planting a few more arrows in his fallen target. None of them hit vital spots, but she was convinced the judges would consider his target killed from attrition, if nothing else.
When he turned to her, however, she shook her head.
“I’ve got this one.”
He grinned warmly at her, giving her an old Queensguard salute with his left hand.
This is going to be really embarrassing if it doesn’t work, she considered, snatching her arrows from her quiver. But here I go.
Velas stepped back away from the line, further and further, keeping her quiver of arrows in her left hand. Then, with her right hand, she drew her sword – and charged.
She heard gasps from the crowd – and she grinned. Just before she reached the chalk line, she jumped.
Surge.
She focused the burst of motion into launching her further into the air, carrying her higher and further – but it wasn’t enough. So, as she began to descend, she did it again.
Surge!
The essence slammed into her legs, carrying her back upward before she touched the ground, sending her in a soaring arc toward her target – and in a trajectory that would carry her over it.
Fuckthisisgoinghurt.
Surge.
Velas called the last blast of force to push down on her, smashing her downward, her sword pointing downward. As she plummeted, she called on the Dominion of Motion to slowly apply upward force to control the speed of her descent.
/> She landed with a crushing impact, plunging her sword into the dummy’s neck as she fell. The force of the fall threw her off her feet, sending her tumbling to the ground in a roll, never losing her grip on the sword.
As the crowd cheered, she shuddered on the arena floor, pulling the dummy closer to her by tugging on her sword. When the straw man rolled close enough, she plunged all dozen arrows into its face.
And, with the dummy slain, she wobbled slowly back to her feet.
***
After Velas’ scrapes and bruises from her encounter with the arena floor had been patched up, she returned to the stands to observe the remaining teams. Taelien was sitting next to Landen. He had stolen her seat.
She sighed and sat on Landen’s lap. He grinned and affectionately tousled her hair.
“That was pretty impressive back there, Vel.” Taelien nudged her arm. “I mean, not as impressive as what I –”
“Oh, shut it, Sal.” Velas folded her arms, leaning back against Landen. “Not everyone has metal sorcery and sorcerous swords to lean on.”
“I told you, this one isn’t dominion bonded, it’s just –”
“Yeah, yeah, a ridiculously rare metal that happens to perfectly compliment your already extraordinarily useful skill set.”
“Yeah, you both did all right. I mean, it would have been better if you had tried some archery in the archery contest.” Landen chuckled, and Velas stood up, walking to the edge of the stands in front of them and turning around.
“Oh, sure, keep teasing. See if you get anyone else sitting on your lap.”
“I’m pretty sure I could get Sal to sit on my lap.” Landen nudged the swordsman sitting next to him.
Taelien sighed. “You can have my seat, Vel.”
Velas put her hand to her forehead. “It was my seat in the first place. But fine.”
Taelien stood up, making a sweeping gesture of benevolence with his arm. “Please, my lady. Forgive me for presuming upon your property.”
“Gods, I leave you two alone together for five minutes and suddenly you’re both impossible.”
Nevertheless, she sat back down in her old chair. The ministrations of the medics had helped with her scratches and bruises, but they could do nothing for the shooting pain in her ankles from landing too hard, or the creeping ache in her shoulders from overusing her motion sorcery.
Still, the crowd had cheered for her. Everything had been worth it.
Taelien walked over to the railing to lean against it, staring into the arena below. Velas caught the source of his staring almost immediately – a woman with brilliant purple plumage rather than hair.
Asphodel, she remembered. The Delaren.
Like her description in the files had indicated, she looked young – maybe a few years younger than they were. Unlike most of the files, Asphodel’s hadn’t given many specifics about her age or background. She had no prior connections with the Paladins of Tae’os, and the Delaren were notoriously secretive and xenophobic – Velas hadn’t even heard of any Delaren applying to join the paladins in the past.
If the legends are true, her abilities involve changing her shape – but I don’t think she’d bother doing that for a little contest like this. The alterations are supposed to be semi-permanent. It’ll be interesting to see what else she could do.
The answer to that proved to be remarkably simple. Asphodel closed her eyes each time she knocked an arrow, and each time, the arrow hit perfectly on target.
By the end of the first round, her target had two arrows where its eyes should have been. Six more were in the neck, and another two in the shoulders – and the remainder had been used to break the barrier.
She’s even more accurate than Landen or that Terras girl. Air sorcery when she closes her eyes, maybe? It wouldn’t be impossible.
Two more rounds of a dozen arrows left Asphodel’s target thoroughly torn apart. No other applicants in her round showed similar promise.
The next round, however, was far more intriguing.
On the far left side of the group was Jonathan Sterling, the bright-haired “Haven Knight”. He still wore a dueling sword on his left hip. As he approached his shooting position, he scanned the crowd. Velas thought his gaze slowed for a moment when it passed over her, but she couldn’t be certain.
Toward the middle of the group was Susan Crimson, the former Thornguard from Selyr. Given Bertram’s performance, Velas didn’t have particularly high expectations for Susan, but the House Crimson woman was wearing a belt with a pair of throwing knives and half a dozen small pouches. That offered her some options.
Sterling’s first round of arrows was accurate, but uninspiring. His archery skills seemed similar to Landen’s, with several hits landing on target, but without any sorcery to augment the strikes he only managed to pierce the target twice. One of those hits was to the neck, however, which Velas judged to be likely to count as a kill.
Crimson removed her first arrow from her quiver before lifting her bow, reaching into a pouch and retrieving a vial. She unstoppered the vial, pouring a few drops on the tip of the arrow, and then replaced the cap.
Poison? Really? In a competition to join a paladin order?
Velas shook her head, continuing to watch. Crimson’s first arrow flew true – and never encountered a barrier.
It sunk directly into the target’s face.
There was a brief murmur from the crowd. Susan grinned, applied a few drops to the next arrow, and repeated the process. Of her twelve arrows, seven hit the target, and none of them suffered any interference from the sorcerous shield.
After a paladin visibly checked the target and renewed the barrier, the crowd watched in anticipation for her next volley.
She didn’t apply the liquid this time – and the barrier stopped her first four arrows.
That’s a very, very dangerous trick. I’m going to need to figure out how to copy it.
Sterling put another few arrows in his target, but Velas barely noticed. Susan had all her attention now. What’s she keeping in those other pouches? How many interesting tricks does she have?
The House Crimson woman didn’t open any of her other pouches in the final round, nor did she throw her throwing daggers. Throwing daggers that distance would be difficult, but not as hard as throwing a sword – and she had been somewhat hoping that Crimson would try it.
Nevertheless, as she watched the young woman leave the arena, Velas raised a hand to her lips. I’m going to have to keep two eyes on that one.
Other rounds came and went, with none offering the spectacle that the first few had. Velas suspected that the local candidates were deliberately sorted into the first four rounds, most likely to give them a better chance at higher scores – she suspected the judges would get progressively harsher with later candidates.
Of course, she considered the possibility of the opposite – later applicants would have the chance to observe the earlier rounds and learn any tricks that others used. That advantage diminished rapidly after the first few rounds, however, and she suspected the judges would be more lenient with people they were already familiar with.
Only two contestants were disqualified outright – one for running across the line early, and the second for damaging his dummy deliberately while he was retrieving his arrows. One candidate doused his target in alcohol while retrieving his arrows – which was allowed, apparently – and then set one of his arrows on fire and succeeded in setting his target ablaze.
By the time of the final round, the audience seemed to have lost most of its enthusiasm. Resetting the targets for each contest was a time consuming process and the dawnfire was quickly retreating from the horizon.
As the last group approached, Velas only recognized one person among them – the monstrously tall man who called himself “The Wandering War”. He was still wearing his hood and cloak, which Velas was starting to suspect was more than just pretentiousness. If those documents are accurate, he’s not human – and probably not Rethri, e
ither. Esharen, maybe? Would the paladins allow an Esharen candidate?
“And – open fire!”
Velas watched as The Wandering War lifted his bow, drawing back the string. An aura of orange light formed at the arrowhead, twisting and swirling as it grew. He released the arrow.
The streak of orange flashed forward across the arena, ripping not only through the barrier, but all the way through the target. It continued to fly until reaching the outer wall of the arena, smashing into the stone and triggering a flicker of blue and orange sparks – the marks of the arrow striking a powerful defensive spell on the arena itself.
The hole in the center of the straw man was larger than Velas’ fist, and irregular in shape, like a massive screw had been drilled into the dummy’s chest.
As the other archers finished firing their arrows, The Wandering War raised his hands – and each and every arrow tore free from the other targets, soaring through the air toward his. His own eleven arrows rose, seemingly of their own volition, and joined other arrows in flight, burying themselves in the dummy. Fallen arrows that had missed their targets initially rose again, each striking The Wandering War’s target from another angle.
When the round ended, all three hundred arrows had pierced The Wandering War’s target.
The audience sat in silence.
Chapter VIII – Taelien II – Probable Suicide
Taelien stood at parade rest in the second row of paladin candidates. His position in the group had been determined based on his arrival time at the meeting grounds, not on any sort of merit. Velas was positioned to his right, and Landen to his left, since the three of them had arrived together. With great effort, Taelien restrained himself from making any nervous movements.
The meeting ground was a grassless oval field large enough to fit hundreds of people. Taelien had been there twice before to observe large scale tactical exercises, but he had never participated in any activities there himself.
Most rows consisted of twelve candidates, and there were two rows behind Taelien. Oddly, the final row had a thirteenth member. The candidates had stood in their positions for several minutes while a group of three paladins – some of whom Taelien had seen, but none of whom he precisely recognized – spoke several yards in front of them. Eventually, the discussions ceased, and the three paladins turned to face their audience.
