“Sshhh,” Kestrel held his hands out in front of him, waving them rapidly back and forth. “Lucretia, it’s not like that at all. She was just being friendly. I am not the master of any sprites!” he spoke loudly, hoping to alleviate any harm Lucretia’s comment might have caused if Dewberry had overheard and felt sensitive.
“I saw what I saw,” she said as they came together.
“There’s an explanation for this,” Kestrel said.
“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 ac
curacy 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 strolling through the competition grounds.
“You two come along,” a proctor said urgently, tapping them on their shoulders.
“What for?” Vinetia asked suspiciously.
“We’re going to present the winners from this round of competition to the royals,” he looked at Kestrel with barely concealed dismay, as another proctor brought a third archer alongside them. They hurried over into the path of the royal party, and waited humbly until the royal group stopped close by and an aisle opened in the crowd.
“Your majesty, may we present three of your subjects who have earned the honor of competing in tomorrow’s ongoing tournament? Their archery skills are a testament to the highest ideals of the elven nation,” a herald announced, then paused, and looked at Kestrel as a muted titter ran through the audience.
“All of us are pleased to see how widespread the reputation of our competition has spread,” the king said graciously, drawing a smattering of appreciative applause, “And we look forward to seeing who will win the honor of wearing the princess’s colors for the next year.” His motion towards his daughter drew all eyes towards the younger woman on his right side.
She was not a beautiful person, not the way Dewberry or Lucretia was, but there was an indefinable appearance that made it difficult for Kestrel to move his eyes away from her. And she wore a strange black ribbon on her arm, he noticed, as did the king as well.
The herald ushered them to the side, their moment of glory over, and the procession moved onward, as Kestrel continued to examine the princess’s profile, and then hastily averted his eyes when she turned her head and seemed to stare directly back at him.
“She’s royalty, she’s pure-blooded elf from the time of the first tree, she’s too old for you, she’s a young widow and will stay in mourning for at least another year, and you are going to have dinner with Lucretia, so don’t be stupid,” Vinetia whispered harshly in his ear.
“She looked right at me!” Kestrel said breathlessly.
“Because you’re so ugly! She’s embarrassed to think that you might wear her colors for a year,” Vinetia growled, but smiled to relieve the sting of her words, which nonetheless resonated with Kestrel.
“Why did she and the king have those black strips on their sleeves?” he asked.
“That’s the royal way of showing mourning,” the female guard explained. “The king’s chamberlain died last week. They’ve had three people close to the king die in the past year, a lot of odd accidents.”
“Let’s go back to the linden tree and learn how the others did,” she added. They returned to their targets and retrieved their arrows, then walked across the field.
“You scored well enough to qualify on your own, didn’t you?” Kestrel asked as they walked. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” she said modestly. “But I wouldn’t have been in this round if you hadn’t carried our team through the last round.”
They reached the meeting spot a few minutes later, the first ones there, and unburdened themselves of their gear. Kestrel felt warm and sleepy in the late afternoon sun, so he sat down against the tree trunk with his eyes closed, and began to nap until he heard others arrive and talk to Vinetia. He opened his eyes and watched them chat until the last pair from their group arrived.
It turned out that Kestrel and Vinetia were the only ones to make it to the second day of competition, and it was considered a success for the squad to have anyone get that far; no one else had in the past several years. “He’s good enough to be guaranteed winning in the next round too,” Vinetia said proudly. “He’ll be in the finals, before the king and everyone, while the princess prays to Tamson that he not win and wear her colors!”
“Let’s go drop our things at the base and go out for dinner at the fair. What are we going to have tonight Lucretia?” asked a guard who Kestrel didn’t know.
“You can have whatever you want. I’ve already got plans tonight,” the blonde guard said with reserve, drawing hoots and questions from the others, but offering no clues.
When their trip across the city was finished, Vinetia pulled Kestrel aside. “Lucretia says that you are to meet her down in front of that leathermonger’s shop,” she pointed to her right down the road, “in an hour.”
Kestrel nodded his head, then impulsively grabbed her hand in his. “Thank you for taking me as your partner this morning, Vinetia. I know you’re good enough you could have gone with no partner at all.”
“You made it an interesting day, but don’t go soft on me now; we’ve still got tomorrow to get through,” she answered. “Have fun tonight, but not too much fun!” she warned, then they parted ways. Kestrel went to his room and put on his clean shirt, having sweated profusely throughout the afternoon competitions, then fidgeted for a while until he decided to walk down to the meeting place. As he went down one set of steps he heard several pairs of feet walking along his hallway, but he continued on and arrived at the appointed location several minutes early.
Lucretia arrived just a few minutes later, changed out of her uniform into a becoming outfit that Kestrel knew would make him the envy of every male elf who saw them together.
“I imagine you don’t want others to overhear the rest of your story,” Lucretia commented as she took his arm and led him into town, “so I thought we could go back to the fair, get some food from the vendors, then wander off to a secluded bower where we won’t be interrupted.”
Her plan made sense to Kestrel, so they began to stroll through the city again. “Where are you from?” Kestrel asked her as they walked.
“I’m from a village out in the far eastern frontier of the kingdom. There are a few elven villages further east than we are, but not many,” she replied.
“And what’s past that?” he asked.
“Woods. Trees, forest. Emptiness. No one knows how far it goes on. They say there’s a great lake on the other side, but it would take weeks and weeks to get there; there is a story that centaurs live on the other side of the lake; folks believe it — that’s why we don’t like to ride horses, you know. We certainly don’t have any humans around our part of the Eastern Forest,” she told him with a sidelong glance, “or sprites or water imps or gnomes or yetis. Just elves…boring elves.”
“Which is part of what makes you so interesting,” she added, glancing at him again. “How much human blood is in your veins? I’ve never seen anything but pictures of humans.”
“My grandfather was human, but I never met him,” Kestrel said. “I came close to humans when I looked at the forest fire remains about a week ago.”
“When was that?” Lucretia asked, as they arrived at the edge of the festive gathering.
“That’s when my whole adventure began. I was on my way to Center Trunk with the report abo
ut the fire, to give to Colonel Silvan, when I met Dewberry and you’ve heard that part of the story already,” he answered.
“You work for the spies?” she studied him with more than a sideways glance this time, and their stroll halted as they faced one another.
Kestrel remembered the reference the guide had made the night before. He too had known Silvan was a spy.
“I just carried a message to the colonel. I didn’t know he was a spy,” he answered.
They began to walk again. “He’s not just a spy; he’s the head of the spies. He reports directly to the king when he wants to,” Lucretia said, as they reached a vendor’s tent where baked potato skins were filled with minced venison and herbs. Kestrel stood in line and bought two, while Lucretia bought two skins of fruit juice.
“Follow me,” she spoke peremptorily, and began to dart through the crowd, then left the festival grounds and entered a seeming labyrinth of hedges and ornamental trees, until Lucretia ducked through a narrow gap between two bushes. Kestrel followed her in and found a cozy opening, about the size of a room, comfortably floored with a layer of soft, dry leaves, where Lucretia already sat, her legs extending off to one side as she patted a spot to indicate where he should sit next to her.
They exchanged foodstuffs and said nothing for a minute as they each began to eat their food.
“Okay,” Lucretia spoke first, “so you told me you were in your room when the sprite woke up and disappeared. What happened then?”
And so Kestrel resumed his tale, telling of Dewberry’s reappearances and the confusion they had created for the poor innkeeper. “So she granted you three wishes?” Lucretia asked.
“That’s sort of what she said,” Kestel agreed. He had finished his food, and lay comfortably on his back, and Lucretia lay on her stomach next to him. “But bringing the arrows to me today may have counted as one of those.”
“It shouldn’t, not if you didn’t specifically ask her for them,” the elf maiden said emphatically.
“What would you wish for if she could do anything you asked?” she asked.
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