Kestrel,
Silvan thanks you for delivering Lucretia to us. He believes that you have given us a great observer of the humans’ society, and he expects that she will provide valuable information about what is happening among the humans.
From what she has told us, I believe you are accomplishing exactly the integration into humanity that Silvan wants. Your abilities are extraordinary.
From what Lucretia has not told us, I worry about you Kestrel, and I worry for you. Do not take your mission so seriously that you cannot escape entanglement in the affairs of the humans. Do not wait until it is too late to escape from humanity – please come back to us safely.
We will heal her and save her for you.
I’ll be awaiting the night when Dewberrry drops you in my bedroom again. Please return soon,
Alicia
Kestrel folded the letter, then, after only a moment’s delay, he opened the other envelope and began to read. As he expected, it was from Lucretia.
Kestrel,
I’ll never be able to tell you how much I ha te you and love you for playing god with my life and returning me to Center Trunk. My soul had turned to ashes among the humans, until I saw you – you gave me hope for revenge and a future. And you took it away.
When we first met, you made me laugh and see hope for excitement, but now there is no laughter, nor any hope left for me. I want you to come back, safe and whole. But when I see you, I will slap you for what you have done to me.
Lucretia
He shook his head at the pain Lucretia felt, and the pain he knew she would carry with her until she saw him again, and could release her anguish upon him. With the letters clutched in his hand, he leaned back in the bed and fell asleep, an uneasy sleep of troubled dreams of Alicia and Lucretia, battling fiercely, one of them using his knife, the other using his staff, as he laid tied and trussed and surrounded by humans, all holding swords at his neck – Margo, Sleek, Creata, and Picco, each waiting to see the outcome of the battle between the two elves, to determine which of the humans would be the one to kill him.
Chapter 8– The Tournament Confrontation
Kestrel awoke late in the morning, the letters he had read before sleeping scattered on the floor. He groggily picked them up and folded them away inside his shirt, then went downstairs. Neither Philip or Margo were present, and the kitchen no longer had breakfast items available, but Kestrel persuaded the cook to give him a slice of bread and an apple, that he ate as he walked to the armory. He worked throughout the day, practicing swords with Mills and Clarce and others, then lifting weights, and finally practicing his staff alone, since no one else who used the armory considered the staff suitable for people of the privileged class to use. Neither Brace nor Sleek showed up at the armory while Kestrel was there, an absence for which he gave thanks.
The next four days settled into a regular routine. Kestrel went to bed early, and arose early. He saw Margo or Philip or both over breakfast, then worked long hours at the armory, and returned to spend the evenings with his friends, whether attending concerts, walking the promenade, or simply sitting quietly in the house. He went one day to a fletcher and ordered special arrows, with longer shafts than most humans used, and returned two days later to pick his purchases up.
Creata and Picco returned the following day, arriving at noon while Kestrel was at the armory. When he returned to the house he discovered curious undercurrents of reaction to the revelation that Lucretia had disappeared. Creata sharply questioned him about the elven girl’s disappearance. Kestrel’s host almost bordered on making accusations of complicity in her escape before he drew back, and his expressions alternately gave hints of relief and dissatisfaction that the elf was gone from his home.
The next day, when Kestrel returned from the armory, Picco was alone at her early afternoon breakfast, and insisted that he come sit to join her. “We must go this afternoon to pick up your shirt at the tailor, so that I can see what a dashing figure you cut,” the human girl perkily insisted. “Go upstairs and bathe, then come down and take me on an adventure!”
With grin and a shrug, Kestrel did as directed, thinking mostly about the new rumors he had heard at the armory, that a new boatload of hostages from Channelport would be arriving in the near future to be sent to the palace where the Hydrotaz hostages were held. He was soon walking with Picco, whose bright chatter about her mother’s estate soon drove the thoughts about the hostages far away.
Picco’s comments turned to Lucretia. “I think my brother is mostly relieved that your sleeping partner has disappeared, but he doesn’t know how to explain it to Sleek and Brace,” she commented.
“Why does he have to explain anything about her to them?”, Kestrel asked.
“They’re the ones who urged him to buy the girl in the first place; he never would have owned a slave otherwise,” Picco explained. “They expected to ‘borrow’ the slave, and he doesn’t want to have to tell them she ran away.”
“They’re filthy animals; I’ll cut their hearts out before I’m done here,” Kestrel muttered savagely.
“Kestrel!” Picco exclaimed. “Such passion! Did Margo do something to rouse our savage beast while I was gone?”
“I’m sorry,” Kestrel apologized as they reached the door of the tailor shop. “Philip and I had a contest with those two at the armory while you were gone. I just don’t think much of their scruples.”
“Margo told me you helped Philip out of a pickle. She also said you’ll enter the great tournament that starts tomorrow,” Picco spoke as they entered the shop.
They picked up the shirt, and began the walk back to their home.
“Do you plan to win the tournament?” Picco asked.
“I plan to try,” Kestrel replied.
“I think you’ll win – that’s my official prediction. And Margo expects you to win too,” the girl said. “You’ll be the toast of the town. And once the archery tournament is over, the other contests of the season will come along, one by one – dancing, sword-fighting, footraces. Why don’t you just plan to win them all in the next month, and become so popular you can become the prince of the land?” she laughed. “Then we can take you down south to meet mother. You’ll love seeing the seashore near our home.”
Picco’s chatter continued to touch upon frivolous topics and kept Kestrel amused as they walked, and didn’t end until they were back inside the front door. “I love how patiently you listen to me,” she laughed. “Creata would have covered his ears by now ten times over. You’ll come to the dance with us tomorrow night, of course?”
“Of course,” Kestrel agreed to the unexpected invitation.
Picco always had a dance or a party to go to every night; but she usually had an arranged companion for each one several days in advance.
“Margo will be delighted!” Picco said.
“Well, I’m not sure why, but I’m glad to know it,” Kestrel said in puzzlement.
“Come on Kestrel, don’t you know? This is the Reverse Ball – girls invite boys to come dancing after the tournament. Margo and I decided we’d invite you as our shared date,” Picco explained with a grin. “Oh, you didn’t know!” she laughed as she saw the expression on his face. “Well, since you don’t know the tradition, I’ll spell it out. No one goes to the ball unless they have tickets, and girls have to ask boys. You’ll be our date, and have to dance with us, but if other women ask you to dance, you’ll possibly have to accommodate them – except, Becinda, whoI’ve had a feud with for the past eight years, of course. We’ll pick you up at seven o’clock and go out to dinner at a nice restaurant. And then you’ll dance all night long!”
The next day Kestrel was up earlier, dressed and wearing his yeti-hide vest, carrying his staff and his knife along with his bow and quiver, on his way to the tournament with Philip. They arrived at the large field, where every entrant was assigned a number and a color and told to wait for a turn in the opening round. Only three contestants from each initial group of twenty would
advance to the second round in the afternoon, and two more rounds in the late afternoon and early evening would narrow the field to five finalists for the last round of competition.
Philip was in the very first group of contestants. Kestrel stood and watched as over twenty men and a pair of women displayed widely varied abilities while shooting their arrows, from those, like Philip, who hit near the center of the target every time, to some who struggled to hit the target at all with some shots. Philip was a winner in his round, the last of the three contestants to qualify for further competition.
Kestrel congratulated him heartily, then stood to watch the next group of contestants take their places and begin their efforts to achieve glory.
Kestrel thought back to the tournament in Center Trunk, where he had met Vinetia and Lucretia. That contest had put a premium on accuracy, with initial rounds of contests that covered no great distance, but emphasized the ability to make shots that landed in the center of the target. This human competition by contrast emphasized being able to hit a target from a distance. This first round of shots was over a distance that was further than the distance of the second round in the elven Center Trunk tournament, and Kestrel wondered how far the targets would be set by the time they reached the final round of the day’s contest. His human heritage had given him a strength advantage against elven competition, and now he wondered how he would fare against true humans.
The second group of contestants shot with the same wide range of abilities that Philip’s group had shown. Kestrel judged that if the first two groups were representative of the level of talent in the contest, then he could count on advancing to the afternoon sessions. He had to wait quite a while to find out, it happened.
He watched Sleek compete well in the seventh flight of qualifiers, and his own opportunity came in the next to last one, the ninth of ten.
His dozen arrows were all within the center ring or center circle, the best performance of anyone he’d seen, and he hadn’t focused on making every arrow count as his advantage became clear.
Philip and Kestrel and Clarce ate lunch together and commented on the winners and losers they had seen.
Clarce was astounded that three women made it through the qualifying round, but guessed that their arm strength would prevent them from competing effectively in the future rounds.
Kestrel agreed with his judgment about the increasing arm strength that would be needed to accurately hit the targets in succeeding rounds, as he thought of Vinetia and the other elven women who had competed so effectively in Center Trunk.
When the second round began, Philip and Clarce were both in the first group of competitors, but neither emerged as a victor.
When Kestrel stepped up in the second group, Sleek also took a spot on the line, just three paces away from Kestrel, and the two began a subtle competition to see who could shoot the better round.
Sleek would release an arrow, usually a well-shot one that landed close to the middle, performing better than any other competitor along the line, besides Kestrel.
Kestrel would wait a fraction of a second past the time of the completion of Sleek’s shot, then release his own carefully aimed shaft that would land closer to the center, and score better than Sleek had.
Kestrel could sense the frustration that was mounting in Sleek as the two silently carried on their personal competition within the greater competition; after they each completed their final shots, the last two to finish in their group,
Kestrel again bested the man with the close-cropped hair, and watched with satisfaction as Sleek threw his bow down in disgust.
Observers and other competitors crowded around Kestrel to congratulate him for the best performance anyone had achieved during the day, until he finally had to excuse himself and go retrieve his arrows from the target, to make way for the next set of archers to try to qualify further.
“Don’t go far, Kestrel. You’ll need to win the next round soon as well,” Clarce called loudly as Kestrel returned, within earshot of Sleek, who turned and glared venomously at both of them.
Kestrel found a large coterie gathered around him as he stood on the sidelines and watched the next set of competitors battle for their chance to continue.
Sleek stood on the far side of the tournament field and was joined by Brace, as the two kept their heads close together and spoke intently.
When the third group of qualifiers was finished, there were fifteen archers who would go to the first match of the semifinal round.
A short afternoon break took place to give everyone time to relax, and to allow more fans to arrive to watch the final two rounds.
Clarce and Philip and Kestrel walked away from the tournament grounds, to escape the growing number of fans who wanted to see or be seen with Kestrel.
Kestrel had an uneasy sense of being watched, but every direction he looked provided no evidence of anyone paying attention to his small group.
They sat at a café table and drank juice, as Clarce described the tournament to Kestrel, giving him a better understanding of what it entailed. “The tournament is a fundraiser for a charity, and the winner gets to pick the charity of his choice. All the entry fees are collected, and half goes to the winner for himself, while the rest go to the charity he announces when the prince comes to declare him the winner.”
“Do you have a charity in mind?” Philip asked.
“It’s a little early to think about that,” Kestrel replied. “There’s two more rounds of competition. Besides, I’m not from around here and I don’t know the charities or the needs.”
Clarce and Philip offered several suggestions of charities they knew, until the time came to return to the competition.
Kestrel sensed again the feeling that he was being watched, and asked his two friends about it.
“I don’t notice anything,” Philip replied as they reached the edge of the competition grounds.
And at that moment, Kestrel went flying forward, as an arrow struck him with great force in the middle of his back. He stumbled and fell to the ground, landing with his arms folded before him to cushion the fall, and he felt a searing pain in his elbow as he landed on the joint and bounced.
“Kestrel!” Philip shouted, as he knelt next to his friend.
Clarce picked up the arrow that had hit Kestrel’s vest and bounced backwards several feet, then looked in the direction it had come from. There were several buildings with rooftops and open windows nearby, but no sign of an assassin in sight.
“Is he alive?” Clarce asked, turning to his friends, as other began to gather around.
Philip turned Kestrel over, who blinked his eyes as he gathered his wits.
“What happened?” Kestrel asked.
“This arrow happened,” Clarce help the weapon up. “It hit your back, knocked you forward, and ricocheted into the ground behind you. How did you survive that?” he asked in amazement.
“This vest has special hide sewn into it to protect me,” Kestrel replied, sitting up. He flexed his arm and winced.
“What’s wrong?” Philip asked at the same time Clarce asked, “What kind of hide can turn an arrow away?”
“I’ll tell you about the hide some other time,” Kestrel replied.
He held up his left arm, and Clarce helped pull him to his feet.
“I landed badly on my elbow,” he told them, cradling his right arm against his body.
“You’ll be able to compete, won’t you?” Clarce asked.
“Somebody apparently doesn’t want me to,” Kestrel answered.
“Somebody apparently wants you dead,” Philip chimed in. “Who would do this?”
Kestrel’s eyes met Philip’s. “I can think of two possible suspects, but there’s no proof.
“Let’s get to the competition and see what I can do,” he suggested, as they heard a drum beat the call to arms.
When they arrived at the competition, they saw that the stands were half full with spectators
“There’s Margo and Pi
cco,” Clarce spotted the two girls. “They’re sitting with Creata, there,” he pointed them out to the others.
Kestrel waved lightly, and the three friends waved back cheerfully, unaware of the near disaster that had occurred.
Kestrel saw Sleek’s face change from an expression of disbelief to one of anger, as he recognized Kestrel taking his place along the contestants’ line, a confirmation of Kestrel’s suspicion that Sleek and Brace were behind the attempted murder.
He flexed his arm to test it. He could bend it and move it, but there was a weakness now that would have an effect on his shooting skills. He couldn’t pull the string as far as he wanted to, which was going to result in less energy in his shots, while the targets had moved farther away from the contestants.>
The drums beat another sequence, telling all the archers to prepare to begin.
Most bows simultaneously raised up, and as soon as the final sequence of drum beats rang out, fourteen arrows flew at the targets – everyone but Kestrel loosed their initial shots.
He took his time to pick a few blades of grass and toss them into the air, as others released their second shots, and he watched the grass blades float downward, slightly to his right.
He raised his bow as Sleek and others took their third shots.
Nowhere down the range did he see a single arrow in the bull’s-eye yet, he noted as he minutely adjusted his aim to his left, then released his first arrow.
His shot hit below the bulls-eye, but directly below, just six inches beneath where he wanted it to land. The weakness in his elbow was telling more dramatically than he had expected.
Some competitors released their fifth arrows, half way through the competition, as Kestrel took out his second shaft. He carefully took aim at the same spot he had aimed for previously, then raised his target several inches, and released his shot.
Despite the pain in his elbow, the shot felt true, and he watched with satisfaction as it traveled along the trajectory he had expected, and landed inside the bulls-eye, piercing the bright red circle, the first to be hit among the fifteen finalists.
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 02 - The Yellow Palace Page 14
