‘You cannot ask this,’ said the judge. ‘The last shaft has been fired.’ The king moved through the crowd, and the judge explained what had happened. Skanda approached Kebra.
‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ he asked, his good humour vanished, his face hard and cold. ‘It makes no sense.’
‘I have been champion for fifteen years, sire. I have beaten every man who stood beside me at the line. I beat them with skill. The jeering was unpleasant, but a true champion rises above that. The dove, however, is a different matter. Such a sharp and flurried movement would have unsettled anyone. It was a deliberate act to sabotage the man’s chances. And it succeeded. I ask you, sire, to let him shoot again.’
Suddenly Skanda grinned, and for a moment he looked like the boy-king again. ‘Then let it be so,’ he said.
The king climbed to a fence rail and stood above the crowd. ‘The champion has requested that his opponent be allowed to shoot one more arrow,’ he bellowed. ‘And there will be silence when he does so.’ He leapt down and signalled Dirais.
The young Ventrian notched his shaft and sent it unerringly into the gold.
Kebra’s heart sank. Ventrian soldiers swarmed forward and hoisted Dirais into the air. Kebra stood by silently. The king approached him. ‘You are a fool, man,’ he whispered. ‘But the deed was not without merit.’
Skanda handed him the Silver Arrow, and Kebra waited until the celebrations had died down. The Ventrians lowered Dirais and the small archer stepped
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up and bowed deeply before Kebra. ‘This is a day I shall remember all my life,’ he said.
‘As shall I,’ Kebra told him, presenting the arrow. The little man bowed again.
‘I am sorry your eyes let you down.’ Kebra nodded and swung away.
No-one approached him as he stalked from the meadow.
Stunned and disbelieving Bison watched him go. ‘Why did he do that?’ he asked, dabbing at his wounded cheek with a blood-soaked cloth.
‘He is a man of honour,’ said Nogusta. ‘Come, it is time that wound was stitched.’
‘What has honour to do with paying my debts?’
‘I fear it would take too long to explain,’ the black man told him. Taking him by the arm he led the bewildered Bison to a medical tent. Nogusta borrowed a sickle shaped needle and a length of thread and carefully drew the folds of the cheek wound together. Altogether ten stitches were needed. Blood slowly seeped between them. The cuts above Bison’s eyes were shallow, and needed no stitches. Already scabs were forming there and the trickle of blood had ceased.
‘He really let me down,’ grumbled Bison. ‘He let us all down.’ Dagorian, who had stood by in silence moved alongside the giant.
‘You are not being fair on him,’ he said, softly. ‘It was an act of greatness. The Ventrian was being barracked and jeered. And someone did release that dove in order to throw his aim.’
‘Of course he did,’ said Bison. ‘I paid him to do it.’
Dagorian’s expression changed, becoming cold. ‘You make me ashamed to be a Drenai,’ he said. Turning away Dagorian left the two warriors.
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‘What’s wrong with him?’ enquired Bison. ‘Has the world gone mad?’
‘You are an idiot sometimes, my friend,’ said Nogusta. ‘Perhaps you should go back to the barracks and rest.’
‘No. I want to see Kalizkan’s magic. There might be a dragon.’
‘You could ask him,’ said Nogusta, pointing to a section of open lands between the tents. The silver garbed wizard was sitting on a bench, surrounded by children.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Bison, doubtfully. ‘I don’t like wizards much. I think I’ll collect my winnings and get drunk.’
‘What about your debts?’
Bison laughed. ‘We’re leaving next week. They’ll never follow me back to Drenan.’
‘Is the word honour just a sound to you?’ asked Nogusta. ‘You have built up credit on trust. You gave your word to repay. Now you will become a thief whose word cannot be trusted.’
‘What’s put you in such a foul mood?’ asked Bison.
‘You would not understand if I carved the answer on your simian forehead,’ snapped the black man. ‘Go and get drunk. A man should always stick to what he does best.’ Leaving Bison he walked across the meadow, threading his way through the crowd.