“Um… Always off somewhere, that one. Busy life, being a leader, I suppose,” Daric mused before continuing his drinking.
“You should slow down, my friend… and I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” Laughed Grady.
Daric turned to him, laughing. “You’re right. I’ll stick to water after this.”
The evening continued in such a festive manner for a further two hours. All talked, laughed, and toasted each other; the travellers did indeed feel welcomed. Ealian joined in as though he had once again returned to his old self. Elspeth was glad of that.
Wine was had, food eaten, even a song or two recited by a slightly drunken Daric—with Grady attempting harmonies. All being said, it was a good night. Presently, one by one, wolf, Rukin, and Surabhan alike retired to their beds. Elspeth decided to go, too. And left Daric and Grady to their singing—if you could call it that.
CHAPTER 18
The Song of Fael
Elspeth woke late. She lay on her back, snug, with the soft-wool blanket tucked under her chin. Her self-imposed pledge to beat the others to breakfast hadn’t lasted long. In fact, her resolution never made it out of the Am’bieth marsh. But if she felt guilty, the comfort of her bed made up for it. Indeed, late as it was, she could have stayed another hour or two.
A faint trickle of light from the grates in the wall—there were no windows in her room, just a few bricks of latticed fretwork—gave little indication of the time. The light breeze that filtered through was more than enough to gauge the heat, though. It was going to be another hot day. I cannot remember a spring this hot. Summer is going to be torture if this keeps up.
With an effort, she threw the blanket back and spun her feet over the side of the bed. While her attempt at early rising had failed, some of her habits—her morning routine, archery practice, arguing with her brother—were more resilient. Her morning routine was one of a scant few rituals that her mother had managed to instil. She fumbled around her bedside table for the Tup-sticks and lit the small lamp that hung above the iron brassier. After her stretching, she made her way to the washstand. Peering half-heartedly into the small round mirror, she gave a sigh at the state of her dishevelled hair. She picked up her brush and began her fifty strokes. Grabbing the blue-and-white jug of what was now tepid water, she filled the matching bowl to halfway. Still brushing her hair, she picked up her toothbrush and dipped it in the small dish of soda, left there for her by one of those Rukin women. There she stood, stretching her ankles, counting her brushstrokes—one hand working on her hair, the other cleaning her teeth—like every other morning.
A knock rattled the door. “Morning, miss. Can I come in? It is only me, Lanay.”
Lanay was one of the kitchen staff, one of the wonderful Rukin women who had brought their robes and fed them the previous morning. “Yes, Lanay, I’m up… just. Come in.” Elspeth straightened the nightdress she had borrowed and wiped soda bubbles from her chin.
Lanay, a large, motherly looking woman of an age with Elspeth’s own mother, popped her head around the door. “Good morning, miss. Excuse me for disturbing you. I heard you moving about. I’ve run a bath for you, if you’re interested? It’s down the hall.” She nodded her head in the direction of the bathroom and smiled knowingly.
“I’m more than interested, Lanay. Thank you. I will come now.” Elspeth spun around looking for a towel and a clean robe while juggling her brushes.
As though reading her mind, Lanay put in, “There’s a robe and towel in the room, miss. Everything is ready.”
Elspeth smiled. “Then lead on, please.”
Following Lanay out into the hall, she peered up and down, very much aware that she was still in her nightdress. “Is anyone else awake?”
“They’re up and out, miss. Mr. Re’adh and his lad are off about the village. Mr. Daleman is with Aleban, looking over the farm. Mr. O’lamb and Mr. Arfael are reading, I think. I don’t know where your brother has gone. Chasing a girl, maybe?” She smiled and gave a wink. “You know what young men are like. I have two his age, myself.”
“As long as he isn’t getting himself into any trouble, that boy could test a monk’s patience.”
Lanay laughed. “Yes, boys that age, they are all the same. Here we are, miss,” she said, pushing open a door to a steam-filled room.
Elspeth could barely see the large copper bath, filled almost to the brim with steaming water. It was one of a row of three, and her tub was at the far end. The aroma of rose oil filled her head with its sweat scent; she couldn’t help but breathe it in. The blast of warm steam clung to her face and her hair was already damp by the time she reached the centre of the room.
“You go and have your bath, miss,” Lanay said. “I will bring some breakfast to your room when you’re done. There is a latch on the door, no need to worry about anyone disturbing you. Oh, and if you could open the grates when you’re finished. It can get damp in here if not careful.” Lanay gave a shallow curtsy.
Elspeth wondered if the men had food brought to their room. A pang of guilt fluttered in her belly. She decided to ignore it. “Thank you, Lanay. This is going to be so relaxing.”
Lanay nodded before leaving and Elspeth drew the latch on the door.
She sank up to her ears in the hot water. Breathing deeply of the rose-scented vapour, she drifted into a restful trance and very nearly fell asleep again. “Relaxing was no exaggeration—a comfortable bed, and now a hot bath—how was she going to manage for the next four weeks?
“This is no good.” She laughed, mumbling to herself. “Get yourself washed and sorted, Elspeth. You can’t stay here all day.” The small stand next to the bath had two—two!—different types of soap. And this is the Hall of Wolves? I wonder how many the inn has. She chose the lemon.
After thoroughly washing from head to foot, she looked in horror at the thick layer of dirt floating on top of the bath water. Begrudgingly, she pulled herself up. While the bath drained, she rinsed off with one of the jugs of clean water and used the other one to swill the bath. I cannot leave it in this state. What will they think? She dried off and wrapped herself in the clean robe. Opening the door a crack, she checked the hallway was clear before scurrying back to her room.
After cleaning her brushes, she inspected the pile of clothes folded neatly on the small table at the foot of her bed, and gave a nod of satisfaction. No silly robes today; all her own clothes were clean and smelled of lemon.
She barely had time to dress before another knock rattled the door.
“It’s me again, miss.”
“Come in, Lanay.”
Lanay entered carrying a covered tray. “Aye, you look fit for the ball, miss. I’ll bet that feels better.”
Elspeth blushed. “Yes, you have no idea, Lanay. But I don’t know about a ball.” Elspeth fussed with her breeches and straightened her hair.
“Pretty girls like you don’t need dresses, miss. Now come on, let’s have some hot food down you, too.” She placed the tray on the bedside table. “I didn’t know what you might like; miss, so I went with the porridge. Everybody likes my porridge,” she said, while nodding assertively. “There are prunes and a little bit of honey in it. The tea is fresh and so is the bread roll.”
“Thank you, Lanay. This is has all been very kind of you. I hardly want this morning to end.”
“You are welcome, miss.”
Lanay took a long stare at Elspeth’s bow, which lay unstrung on the spare bed. “Skirmish bow? Unusual for a young woman. I would have thought…” She waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind. Listen to me, chatting away when you want to eat.” She curtsied and was about to leave…
“No, please. What were you going to saying? I’m very interested in archery.”
“Very well, miss.” Lanay seemed eager to continue. Archery must have been a preferred subject amongst the Rukin. “Skirmish bows are usually favoured by close combatants, soldiers who expect to be in the thick of it, so to speak. They’re thick, and can be used as a
club. Most of our women favour the long bow. Supporting the soldiers and killing at a distance is a woman’s job.”
Elspeth felt her eyes widened. Gods, she sounds so serious. “I—I never thought of it that way.” It seemed that living with wolves wasn’t the only unusual arrangement in Illeas’den. Women—not soldiers, just ordinary women—fighting in battles! If the town council back home heard of that….
Lanay continued. “Toban is teaching some of the young boys and girls over at the range this morning—most mornings, actually. You should go and watch. They are very good, so I hear. I don’t get much spare time, myself, or I would be up there, too.”
“Toban is teaching archery? How?”
“Oh, miss. You know shooting a straight arrow is more about the mind than the body. And Toban has a very good mind.”
“Of course. Yes. Yes, I think I will go and watch.”
“Good. Once you have eaten up all your breakfast, I will point you in the right direction. Just come through to the kitchen when you’re done.” Lanay bobbed a curtsy and left Elspeth to finish her breakfast, pulling the door closed behind her.
The porridge was surprisingly nice. Elspeth had always considered it a boring meal. Then again, her mother had never put prunes in it or laced it with honey. For that matter, her mother had never drawn her rose-scented baths, either.
Lanay was busy washing up when Elspeth took the tray through. After checking the bowl was empty, the motherly woman gave directions to the archery range.
Elspeth followed the path northwards to the edge of Illeas’den, until reaching the Red Barn, then turned right along the track for another hundred paces and left at the fallen oak. She could hear the cheering from there. Maybe somebody had hit the bull’s-eye.
Turning into the field, she was surprised to see at least a dozen young children—very young, some could not have been more than nine or ten—and how far away the targets were set. The teacher—at least Elspeth thought he was the teacher: a tall, older man she had seen with Toban the previous evening—had to kneel on the ground to correct the stance of one young girl. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought my bow. By the gods, how can those children even shoot that far? Never mind aim!
“Good morning, Elspeth.” Toban bowed as he greeted her.
“Good morning to you, Mr. Toban.” Elspeth pretended a curtsy.
Toban coughed a laugh. “Please, Elspeth, ‘Toban’ will do. I have enough of titles at the village meetings.”
Elspeth smiled. “I understand. My father is an emissary. I don’t much like being called ‘lady,’ either.”
“At least that is short. We would get much more done if the village council kept to first names.” Toban sniggered and shook his head slowly. “I see you have your bow. Did you want to practice?”
“I was thinking about it until I saw what I might be up against. These children are incredible. They must be born with a bow in their hands.”
“We start them at five and practice an hour every morning. More than anything else, it is discipline they are learning, not just how to hit a target. Come; let us see your technique. Maybe you can teach us something.”
The targets were made of woven straw, and the shortest distance was a good twenty paces. The one Elspeth chose to aim at was hanging from the branch of an old oak tree. A red circle had been painted in the centre, a larger red circle than on the others. Maybe it was the beginner’s target.
She nocked the arrow and took her usual stance. Her heart thumped in her chest, as it appeared the children had decided to stop what they were doing and watch the new girl. She drew the bow, held for her usual count to three, and loosed the arrow midway through an exhaled breath—just as she was taught, right to the letter. She felt a smile of relief crease her lips when the arrow hit dead centre. With a triumphant nod, she turned to Toban for approval. He hadn’t even looked at the target.
“Not bad, Elspeth. You are halfway there. A week or two should fix that problem.”
“What problem? I—I hit the centre!” Elspeth wiggled her outstretched finger at the target.
“Yes, Elspeth, but with that force, you wouldn’t have broken the skin, never mind piercing armour.”
“But… uh… I don’t—”
“That bow is wrong for you. Arlec!” Toban shouted the other teacher over. “The bow you have is for a man a good hand taller than you are. Arlec here will fix it.”
Arlec pulled up from his run. “You bellowed, Toban.”
“Yes, Arlec. Measure Elspeth for a bow please, and see if we have something more suitable for her.”
“No need for that, Toban.” The old man looked Elspeth up and down. “She is of a size with Lorne. Lorne!”
The young girl ran over. “Yes, sir.” She curtsied.
“If you don’t mind, let young Elspeth here borrow your bow for ten minutes?” the old man asked.
“Of course not, sir.” Lorne smiled and curtsied, too, before handing over her bow. The longbow, ironically, was a good hand shorter than Elspeth’s old one.
Toban thanked the young girl before turning his attentions back to Elspeth. “Now, try again with that one.”
Elspeth did so. She did everything the same and missed, terribly.
“It’s all in the loosing, Elspeth,” Toban said. “That bow fits your size better and so is harder to draw than the longer one you were using. You must compensate by thrusting your elbow back harder on your release. Try again.”
Elspeth huffed. This is never going to work. Reluctantly, she followed Toban’s instruction. And to her surprise, not only did she hit the dead centre of the target, but also the hanging circle of straw all but flipped over on itself. “Gods, that was good. I mean… Thank you, Toban. I cannot believe I have gone all this time with the wrong bow.”
“Well, it was not wrong, exactly. Just not as right as it could be, a common mistake.”
“And now I have to get a new bow.” Elspeth sighed after handing the longbow back to Lorne.
“Don’t fret, child. We will have an unused one that size. I would put money on it,” Arlec said. “I’m sure we can spare one for you.”
“Really! That is very kind of you, sir.” Elspeth smiled. All the children gathered round to congratulate her. Seems she was one of them now.
Daric turned the corner into the archer’s field, with Grady, Gialyn, and her brother in tow. “Excellent shooting, Elspeth,” Daric said. “I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of that.”
“Yes, very good.” Grady echoed the sentiment, and Gialyn gave a strong nod while clapping his hands.
Elspeth beamed at their compliments. She took in a deep, satisfied breath and showed her teeth in a huge smile for the smaller children.
“Still not a moving target, though, is it, Elspeth?” Ealian scowled as he took a pace away from the others. “I mean, it’s not like an assassin is going to hold still while you count to three.”
Elspeth’s shoulders slumped. The children went silent.
“Everything in its place, Ealian,” Daric said. He wasn’t being defensive. It sounded like a fact, at least as far as he was concerned. “Moving target practice is hard to do on your own. You need a thrower at the least.”
Elspeth was grateful to put Ealian’s snide remarks behind her. “What’s the best way to do that, Mr. Re’adh?”
“Well, in the guards, we liked melon heads.” He laughed, and Grady joined in. “If you don’t have any melons, a small sack full of dirt is just as good.” Daric folded his arms; a sober look came over him. “Like anything else… it is time, time and consistency. It can take a hundred hours to get used to a new bow, a thousand to perfect a new technique. There are no shortcuts to any skill.”
“I know that, Mr. Re’adh. I have spent two hours a day for the past three years practicing.” Elspeth felt a pang of irritation. Talking to her like she was a child was always a good way to annoy her. “Would you care to demonstrate?” That will teach him to get high and mighty with me.
“Not w
ith that bow. Have you got a dark yew, Eastern Kalidhain, or something similar?”
Arlec’s eyebrows rose. “We don’t practice with black yew bows. The wood is too rare around here. You can use mine. It is good hickory.”
Daric nodded at Grady, who filled the small lunch sack he was carrying with dirt before running thirty paces down the range. “Unless your enemy is running in a straight line directly towards you, and there are a lot of them, it is pointless aiming at a moving target more than fifty paces away. It would just be blind luck were you to hit it, unless of course you are actually aiming for the horse.”
Elspeth shuddered. “Who would aim for the poor horse?”
“You will if those are your orders.” Daric barked his reply. Seemed his mind had entered that of a soldier once again. It was strange, and little bit frightening, how he could do that so readily and so effortlessly.
Daric nocked the arrow, took his stance, and nodded at Grady to throw the “head.” Raising the bow swiftly, he aimed and loosed the arrow in a heartbeat. The arrow flew true. The “head” spun as the tip sliced into the dirt-filled bag. The force of the blow pushed it back another five paces. The children gathered around fell silent as Grady ran to pick up the target and then erupted into cheers and excited clapping as he lifted the skewered bag above his head.
Elspeth closed her mouth and blinked. She must have looked as shocked as the small children, all wide-eyed and gawping at the arrow as Grady brought back the “head.” “Gods, Mr. Re’adh. That was very… impressive.”
“He wasn’t the Captain of the Guards because of his winning personality,” Grady said. He dropped the “head” at Daric’s feet. “Not bad, old man. You’re a bit off centre, though.”
“Why didn’t you enter the archery competition back home? You would have won easily,” Elspeth asked.
Daric seemed to have relaxed back into his normal self. “I have entered a few competitions in my time, Elspeth, but I would usually come second.”
The Call of the Crown (Book 1) Page 23
