“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 accuracy 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.”