“It’s a sprite!” he heard someone shout. He turned and saw a flash of blue momentarily, then the sprite disappeared. A second later there was a noise behind him and he turned as he felt the sprite stuff two arrows into his quiver, while the elves around him began to shout.
The sprite disappeared once again, as Kestrel whirled around in a full circle, confused by the noise and commotion that surrounded him. He looked in all directions trying to spot the sprite — he’d only had a momentary glimpse of the small blue body, but he had no doubt that it had to be Dewberry, who for some reason had tracked him to the elven festival.
There was no sign of the sprite any longer amid the chaos in the field. With a shove of his shoulder, Kestrel broke through the crowd that surrounded him and ran in a beeline towards the field where the consolation contest was about to begin. The number of competitors was numbing, he admitted to himself as he arrived and took a spot along the line of archers. Only one winner would be taken from the whole field, he realized, knowing that he had to achieve his best effort in order to capture this second chance.
He began looking through his quiver, examining the two arrows that Dewberry had hastily deposited there. They were the exact two arrows he had wanted to buy from the bigoted arrow vendor, beautifully straight shafts that promised to fly through air on a true and reliable line to the target. Together with his other good shafts he now had seven good arrows, enough to let him be competitive in the upcoming challenge.
There were directions being shouted by a proctor at the far end of the line, but Kestrel couldn’t understand the words that floated down to his group of competitors, many of whom were busily chatting with each other, ignoring the proctor.
“What is he saying?” Kestrel asked the woman next to him in line.
“The usuaclass="underline" ten arrows, top score wins,” the woman replied.
“Thanks,” Kestrel replied, worrying anew at the realization that the greater number of arrows negated the sprite’s kind deed. He knew he would still have to rely on faulty arrows to succeed in this win-or-go-home competition.
A loud drum sounded, and a dozen arrows flew at the target. Kestrel calmly aimed his first arrow and let it fly, scoring a solid center score, then he took one of the shafts that Dewberry had given him and shot it as well. The sound of its flight was a silent whisper that was pure pleasure, and it flew in a straight trajectory that ended in the center of Kestrel’s target. He shot two more bolts from his stock of good arrows, and both went comfortably into the center. So far he had taken four shots and scored four direct hits in the center; looking down the line he saw only two others who had done so well.
He pulled out the other shaft that the sprite had pilfered on his behalf, and sent it directly at the center of the target as well, landing so close to his first shot that the shafts touched one another. He fired his last two reliable shafts as well, and then stopped to evaluate his position.
Kestrel had scored seven out of seven in the center of the target; he saw no one else with more than six center hits. That gave him an advantage, but the advantage would disappear once he had to start trying to adjust and anticipate the unpredictable behavior of his secondary shafts.
“There! Him! He’s the one. The ugly one that looks like a human stole my arrows,” a raucous voice shouted nearby.
Kestrel turned to see the vendor from the arrow table stalking towards him, with a pair of local constables.
All the contestants nearby stopped their shots to watch the unfolding drama.
“He sent the sprite to steal my arrows,” the vendor said as the trio reached Kestrel’s position.
“I did not send a sprite to steal any arrows,” Kestrel replied.
“Really? You dragged us over here to accuse someone of directing a sprite-based criminal ring?” the senior constable asked the vendor in an ominously low voice.
“Do you want to have her put in the cells for demeaning your name?” the other constable turned to Kestrel and asked.
“You can’t be serious!” the vendor screeched. “You can’t let a human half-breed get away with this thievery!”
“Lady, put a wad of leaves in your mouth and stop interrupting this match,” the first constable spoke sternly. “We apologize to all of you for bothering your competition,” he said as he began to drag the arrow seller away.
Rattled and relieved, Kestrel turned and faced the target, his face blushing a bright red. He kept his head down, aware of the scrutiny that was centered on him. He selected the best arrow he had left, then rose and tried to focus on the target.
His shot flew wildly towards the target before it finally hit the outer ring weakly.
There was a murmur from people behind him, and he realized that he was once again the last contestant left to finish. A number of targets had already been taken down from archers who were out of the running, leaving only four targets standing. Kestrel looked at them, and realized that he needed to get one more arrow in the center to tie, and both of his last two in the center to win outright.
The yellow shaft came out of the bag next. He had anticipated its drop in flight correctly in the last round of the competition, and he was sure it was still the right way to aim the arrow. He corrected slightly, moving his aim just slightly lower, and a hair to the right, then released the shot. It flew in virtually the same path it had used before, and stuck securely in the center of the target.
He was at least in a tie! There was a slight stirring behind him, but no applause, suggesting that his audience was primarily the other participants he was competing with.
He pulled out another slightly bent shaft, the one that had flown to the left last time. He gently rubbed the wood, then gave it a slight bend, hoping to improve it. He held it up for inspection, and felt the eyes of the other archers examining it closely. He placed in on his string, then gave it one more adjustment. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then opened them and aimed at the right edge of the center, and calmly released his hold on the string and the arrow, and let his hopes fly through the air.
The arrow started straight, then began to drift left, as he had expected. He watched the ongoing sideways motion as the bolt flew towards the target, and by the time it arrived it was only slightly left of the center of the center portion of the target, scoring a victory for him, and first eliciting a sound of groans, and then a slight smattering of polite applause, except for one enthusiastic pair of hands clapping loudly.
“That’s my partner!” Vinetia told anyone who was listening. “What are you doing here in the consolation flight when you’re shooting like that?” she pointed at the thick cluster of arrows in the center of his target.
“Not that you even needed to be here, since I qualified cleanly in my flight,” she told him, walking with him to the target to retrieve his arrows. “Let’s get to the linden tree and meet the rest of the squad; we’ve got time before the next round.” Together they walked away from the field where the green-striped flag was being taken down from the pole.
“Did you hear about the failure who got kicked out of the field?” one of the other squad members was saying as they walked up to the small group minutes later. “Some arrow seller said a sprite was stealing arrows from her and giving them to a human!” There was a moment of uneasy silence, and then heads turned to look at Kestrel.
“For my next trick, I’ll have the sprite steal some jewels!” he said hurriedly, hoping to deflect scrutiny with laughter.
Vinetia slapped his back hard, and the squad laughed.
“There were a couple of witnesses who claimed they saw a sprite too,” someone else added.
“I’ll make my sprite wear a mask so she can’t be identified,” Kestrel responded, and the group laughed loudly.