Chapter Three
Kebra the bowman was relaxed, his mind focused, his emotions suppressed, all thoughts of Bison’s actions forgotten. Anger would not be an ally now. Archery required calm concentration and great timing.
He had entered the tourney in the fifth stage with only twenty archers left. The target, thirty paces away, was a straw man, with a round red heart pinned to the chest. Kebra had struck the heart ten times with ten shafts, giving him 100 points. The Ventrian bowman standing to his right had hit nine, and two other men had seven.
These four alone moved on to the sixth stage.
The crowd among the competitors was swelling now, and once again Kebra could feel the old excitement coursing through him. He had watched the other three competitors, and only the stocky Ventrian posed any real danger. But the man was being unsettled by the mainly Drenai crowd, who jeered and shouted as he took aim.
The next event was one of Kebra’s favourites. He had always enjoyed the Horse, for it was the closest the tourney could offer to combat shooting. Led by running soldiers four ponies bearing figures of straw tied to the saddle, would pass before the bowmen. Each archer was allowed three shafts. There was a larger element of luck in this event, as the horses would swerve, causing the straw figures to sway in the saddle. But the crowd loved it. And so did the Drenai champion.
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Kebra stood waiting, one shaft notched to the string, two others stuck in the ground before him. He glanced at the four ostlers, watching them eke out the guide ropes. A trumpet sounded. The men ran forward, exhorting the ponies to follow them. Three obeyed immediately, the fourth hanging back. Kebra drew back on the string, sighting carefully, allowing for the speed of the first horse. He loosed the shaft. Without waiting to see it strike home he ducked down and notched a second arrow. Coming up smoothly he shot again at the second target. An angry roar went up from the crowd. Kebra ignored the impulse to see what had caused it and brought his bow to bear. The last pony, an arrow jutting from its flank had reared up and was fighting the rope. It broke loose and galloped towards the king’s pavilion. Kebra loosed his last shaft, and watched as it arced towards the panic-stricken pony. The arrow punched home in the back of the straw man.
Angry jeers turned to a roar of applause at the strike. Several men ran out onto the meadow and gathered the wounded pony, which was led away. The man whose arrow caused the wound was disqualified.
Only then did Kebra have a chance to check his score. All three shafts had scored. Another thirty points.
The Ventrian archer, a small, chubby man, turned to him. ‘It is an honour to see you shoot,’ he said. He held out his hand. ‘I am Dirais.’ Kebra accepted the handshake. He glanced at the scoreboard, held aloft by a young cadet. The Ventrian was ten points behind him. The other archer, a slim, young Drenai, was a further twenty points adrift.
A dozen soldiers moved out onto the meadow, dragging a wheeled, triangular scaffold, 2.0 feet high, across the grass. As they were setting it into place Kebra
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saw the king and Malikada striding out from the pavilion, coming towards them.
Skanda gave a wide grin and clapped Kebra on the shoulder. ‘Good to see you, old lad,’ he said. ‘That last shot reminded me of the day you saved my life. A fine strike.’
‘Thank you, sire,’ said Kebra, with a bow. Malikada stepped forward.
‘Your legend is not exaggerated,’ he said. ‘Rarely have I seen better bowmanship.’ Kebra bowed again. Skanda shook the young Ventrian’s hand.
‘You are competing with the finest,’ he told Dirais. ‘And you are acquitting yourself well. Good luck to you.’ Dirais gave a deep bow.
Malikada leaned in close to the Ventrian. ‘Win,’ he said. ‘Make me proud.’
The king and his general moved back and the last three archers faced the Hanging Man.
A figure of straw was hung from the scaffold. A soldier dragged the figure back, then released it to swing like a pendulum between the supports. The young Drenai stepped up first. His first shaft struck the straw man dead centre, but his second hit a support pole and glanced away. His third missed the Hanging Man by a whisker.