by Amy Raby
Archer’s Sin
A Hearts and Thrones Novella
Amy Raby
Copyright © 2014 by Amy Raby.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the rights holder, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com
Archer’s Sin/ Amy Raby. -- 1st ed.
ISBN 978-1-940987-00-2
ALSO BY AMY RABY
The Hearts and Thrones series
Assassin’s Gambit
Spy’s Honor
Prince’s Fire
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One: Triferian
Chapter Two: Vagabond’s Day
Chapter Three: Sage’s Day
Chapter Four: Soldier’s Day
Chapter Five: After
Note from the Author
1 Triferian
Nalica wasn’t used to crowds.
In the eastern mountains where she’d grown up, the air was thin and the trees were sparse, and one could walk all day without seeing another soul. Here at the festival grounds in Riat, the air tasted as thick as porridge, and she’d seen more people in an hour than she normally saw all year.
More than one pair of eyes lit on her as she walked. Her height made her stand out; she towered above most southern Kjallans. But they also looked askance at her unpowdered face and at the leathers she wore in lieu of a syrtos. And at the longbow she carried on her back.
Somewhere on the grounds was the registration for the Triferian archery tournament. She’d come a long way to enter because this tournament offered an unusual prize: after three days of competition, the winner would be granted a position as a prefect in the Riat City Guard. Nalica would give anything for a steady job and an opportunity to use her skills. She wanted that job. She would enter the tournament, and she would win it.
She squinted at a sign with a bow and arrow on it. Unlike many eastern Kjallans, she did know her letters, but she’d learned them late, and only just enough to get through her education in magic. Painstakingly, she worked out the words. The sign said when and where the three rounds of competition would take place, but it didn’t say where to sign up. The only other sign in the area was one announcing a horse race.
The festival didn’t officially start until tomorrow, which meant the crowds would get worse between now and then. On her left, merchant families raised tents. On her right, a group of men measured out an open field, planting flags in the ground as markers.
There, just ahead—a longbow bounced through the crowd on the back of a tall, burly man. Surely that man was here for the tournament. She hurried after him in case he knew where he was going. If he didn’t, at least they’d be lost together.
She realized as she pushed her way toward him that he was very tall. It made him easy to follow, and she felt a certain kinship with him based solely on height.
The crowd thinned. She dodged around a few slow-moving people and was about to call out to him when he joined a group of men, all of them with longbows on their backs.
Well, this was fortunate. Someone here would know where to register for the tournament.
A black-haired archer with a sharp nose turned to greet the giant. The two clasped wrists and began to talk.
Nalica approached the group. “Sorry to jig in, but—”
“Jig in?” repeated the black-haired man.
Oops, that was an eastern phrase. What did southerners say? “Sorry to speak out of turn—”
“Is she speaking Kjallan, or is that some other language?” asked a man in a leather cap.
Nalica sighed inwardly. She had an accent, but it wasn’t strong—at least she didn’t think it was. She did tend to forget about those eastern phrases that weren’t used in the south.
“Pay him no mind,” the giant said to her. “He understands you perfectly well.”
She looked up at him—in itself a novel act; so rarely did she look up to anybody—and nearly gasped. He was eastern Kjallan, and she’d bet her last quintetral he was from the mountains of the province of Vereth, same as she. His height and size ought to have tipped her off, but now that she saw him up close, his beard clinched it. Southern Kjallans shaved; her people did not. The giant’s broad nose and features looked vaguely familiar. She might have seen him before, or more likely she’d met one of his family members. Clan identity was important in Vereth.
Southern Kjallans looked refined and fancy to her eyes, like toys rather than men. But this fellow was genuine, of true mountain stock. Her eyes traveled eagerly over his form. He wasn’t just tall, but broad. Some might call him fat, but they’d be mistaken. The weight he carried was all muscle.
“That your daddy’s bow?” asked the black-haired archer.
“No,” said Nalica, drawing herself to her full height.
Black Hair snorted. “That’s a six-foot longbow. You can’t even string it.”
“Do you think I’d carry a bow I couldn’t string?” In fact, she could string it with or without her war magic. Many war mage archers couldn’t handle their bows without calling upon their magically enhanced strength, but she could.
“Show me,” he said.
Her shoulder twitched, and she almost reached for the bow. But she resisted the temptation. If she strung her bow as an exhibition for this sneering twit, she would only worsen her standing among the group. Even if she succeeded in stringing it, which of course she would, she would have allowed him to order her around. He would have made her perform like a trained dog while appointing himself arbiter of her performance. “If you want to see me string this bow, you can wait for the tournament like everyone else.”
The other men chuckled—all but the giant, who regarded her gravely.
“I’ll bet she can string it,” said Leather Cap. “Look at those shoulders—you don’t get muscles like that scrubbing pots in a scullery.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised she wants to enter the tournament,” said Black Hair. “Justien, do all your eastern Kjallan females look like she-bears?”
Justien—that was the giant’s name. She ignored the insult from the black-haired man. She’d heard worse.
“Strong women bear strong sons,” said Justien. “It’s a lesson you should learn, Caellus. It’s not like you have much of value to pass on yourself.”
The giant had only the slightest hint of an accent. Probably he’d left the east a long time ago.
Caellus snorted. “I’ll stick to women who look like women. But Justien, you should propose marriage straight away. Who else but a walking she-bear could carry your child?”
Justien frowned.
Nalica had borne enough of this. Trading insults was not a skill she enjoyed or excelled at; she’d rather show these men up at the tournament. “Where’s the registration?”
“You’re wasting your time,” said Caellus. “The tournament is special this year. War mages only.”
“I savvy it,” said Nalica.
“You what?” said Caellus.
“Three gods, we don’t speak savage,” said Leather Cap.
“I mean, I know it,” said Nalica.
“So you’re not entering?” said Caellus.
His question
suggested he couldn’t process the obvious conclusion that she was a war mage. She waited in silence to see if the others would figure it out. She knew they’d begun to entertain the possibility when some of them glanced at her neck, looking for her riftstone. They wouldn’t be able to see it; the stone hung on a steel chain and was hidden beneath her shirt.
Caellus, apparently putting two and two together at last, turned to his fellows. “I hate it when people give top-tier riftstones to women. What a waste.”
Leather Cap nodded. “I’ve a friend whose parents couldn’t afford a stone.”
“What’s the real waste,” put in Justien, “is when they give them to talentless hacks. Right, Caellus?”
A few chuckles broke the tension.
“It’s not funny,” said Caellus. “We shoot the first day without magic. Do you think she can get even one arrow on the butts without the magic doing the work for her?”
Justien grinned. “If she gets anything on the butts, she’ll be shooting better than you.”
More laughter from the group. Caellus glowered.
Nalica addressed Justien directly, figuring he was the only one who might give her a straight answer. “Sir, do you know where the registration is?”
“Of course. I’ll show you the tent.” He took her arm and led her away from the group.
As they walked in silence across the outskirts of the fairgrounds, Nalica felt hotly aware of his hand on her arm, a sensation that drove out all others. If there was a crowd around them, she was oblivious. If her feet were sore from walking all day, she felt no pain. Her entire awareness had narrowed to Justien’s hand where it rested lightly on her flesh.
She was burning with questions she wanted to ask. What clan was he from? How long had he been away from eastern Kjall? Did he have family here? A wife? Probably no wife, given what Caellus had said. Never mind; she couldn’t ask Justien any of this. Curious as she was, those questions were too personal. She’d only just met the man.
“What’s your name?” asked Justien.
“Nalica,” she said. “Are you in the tournament yourself?”
“Yes,” said Justien. “Already registered. Allow me to warn you, Nalica, before you give the tournament director your money: I intend to win.”
She smiled at him thinly. “Intentions are not reality.”
“In this case, I think they will be.” There was not a trace of humor or smugness in his voice. He acted as if he were simply sharing information. “I can outshoot anyone here, including you. I need that job in the city guard, and I intend to have it.”
Nalica kept walking and said nothing. Justien had no idea how well she could shoot; he might well believe his claim that he was certain to win, but she knew it was an idle boast. She needed the city guard job too, probably more than he did. And she’d come to Riat for the sole purpose of winning it.
***
Justien took a somewhat roundabout route to the registration tent, knowing that when they reached it, he and this intriguing woman would have to part ways. He knew so little about her, but he was intensely curious. How rare it was to run into someone from his homeland! And a woman besides. He had to talk to her at least a little before he let her go.
“Is this your first Triferian?” he asked.
“My first in Riat.”
Of course; he should have known better than to ask such a silly question. It was celebrated everywhere, just not in so grandiose a fashion as it was here at the imperial seat. He was flustered and showing it. How personal a question could he ask? He was dying to know what clan she was from. She could only be the daughter of a lord. There was no other explanation for her bearing a topaz, the rare and valuable riftstone of a war mage.
He forced himself to be patient. They’d be in the tournament for three days together; he’d have plenty of opportunity to get to know her. “How do you like the city so far?”
She paused before replying, and he could tell she was thinking about her answer before she spoke.
“It’s different,” she said. “I’m not used to all the people and noise.”
“Riat’s not normally this crowded,” he said.
She smiled. “I suppose I threw myself into this head first, coming during the Triferian. Riat is a lot to take in, but it’s a beautiful city—a prosperous city. I feel a sense of optimism here that I haven’t felt in a decade.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” He’d left home long ago because there simply wasn’t anything left for him in the east. No jobs, no money. Only the remnants of his family.
Gods, that smile of hers. He couldn’t believe the other archers had jeered at her. Yes, she was a big woman, tall and strong. Yes, she looked out of place in southern Kjall. But a big, strong woman was no curiosity to him. He’d grown up around women just like her. Nalica was the first real woman he’d seen in a long time. And she was beautiful.
“You seem to have adapted well,” she said.
“I’ve been here ten years now—not just Riat, but all around the south and up as far as Riorca. Mostly lost my accent, but I kept this.” He touched his beard.
She rewarded him with that smile again.
“Nice bow you’ve got there,” he said. “It’s yew, isn’t it? Did you make it yourself?”
“Of course. What proper archer doesn’t make her own bow?”
“You’d be surprised. Lots of southern Kjallans think you’re better off finding a good bowyer.”
She shook her head. “The bow’s got to fit the archer, and only the archer herself knows exactly how she wants it. You made yours, didn’t you?”
“Certainly.” He was of the same mind. Bowyers were capable of fine work, but an expert archer needed a custom weapon with just the right width and draw strength and flexibility. For that, the archer had to make his own.
They’d arrived at the registration tent; he couldn’t delay her any longer. “The clerk’s in there.” He pointed. “See the guard insignia?”
“I savvy it. Thanks for your help.” She headed into the tent.
He wanted to follow her but forced himself to turn around and walk away. Much as he wanted to get to know her, she was competition. Probably not strong competition, but who knew? She hadn’t seemed intimidated by his claim that he was certain to win. Perhaps she was a better shot than he assumed. If so, all the more reason he should keep his distance. He needed that job in the city guard, and they could not both win. One of them or the other was going to be disappointed three days from now.
***
Inside the tent, Nalica found a thin-faced clerk sitting at a desk. He glanced at her and then returned to his paperwork.
She approached the desk. “I’m here to enter the archery tournament.”
He looked up again, brows raised, and gave a deprecating laugh. “Actually, there’s no need to register. The archery event is on Soldier’s Day, and all you have to do is show up. We provide the bows, the arrows, and the targets.” His eyes went to the bow that hung over her shoulder. “Or you can bring your own, I suppose.”
“That’s not the event I’m talking about,” she said. “I’m talking about the tournament that takes place over three days. There’s an entry fee of ten tetrals.”
“Oh, no,” said the clerk. “For that tournament, you have to be a war mage.”
“I am a war mage.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out her topaz on its steel chain.
The clerk stared, and his expression turned. He looked like a man who’d bitten into sour fruit.
Nalica leaned her six-foot longbow against her boot, stepped through, and bent the top half to effortlessly string it. “You need another demonstration?”
“No.” The clerk leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Miss, there’s something you don’t understand about this tournament. The prize is a position as an officer in the city guard.”
“I know. That’s why I’m entering.”
He looked at her as if she’d sprouted an extra head. “But you’re a woman. You
can’t be in the city guard.”
“Of course I can,” said Nalica. “I used to lead a mercenary troop.”
His nose wrinkled. “While that may be customary in the rural provinces, we do things differently in the imperial city.”
Three gods. She’d come all the way to Riat and taken an overpriced room at the inn. There was no way she was letting this snooty clerk shut her out of the tournament. “The rules say nothing about the entrant having to be a man, only that the entrant be a war mage. Which I am.”
“Yes, but...some things don’t need to be said. They’re implied.”
“I didn’t think it was implied that only men could enter,” said Nalica. “Nor did the archer who showed me the way here. He seemed to think it was quite ordinary I should participate.” She would not mention that the archer in question had also been eastern, from one of those rural provinces the clerk sneered at.
A man strolled in the door, dressed in the uniform of the Riat City Guard. His epaulettes indicated he was an officer. “Almost finished, Kaden?”
“Nearly,” said the clerk. “I’m just running this woman off.”
He turned and looked at Nalica. “Running her off, why?”
“She’s trying to sign up for the archery tournament.”
“Is she a war mage?”
“I am, sir,” said Nalica, annoyed at being talked about as if she weren’t there.
The officer turned to her. “Show me the stone.”
She pulled her topaz out from under her shirt.
The officer examined it and nodded. “Let her compete,” he said to the clerk. “You know it won’t make any difference. Meet me outside when you’re done.” He strolled out of the tent.
The infuriated clerk broke two pen nibs filling out her paperwork.
2 Vagabond’s Day
The first day of the Triferian was Vagabond’s Day, and it was the favorite of most Kjallans because it involved free whiskey. Nalica would not be able to indulge as much as she’d like to, not when she had the first round of the tournament that evening. She could afford to be neither drunk nor hung over, but a single drink in the morning would be fine. She’d brought her mug along for the purpose. At the first whiskey stand she came to, she filled it.
