The Call of the Crown (Book 1) (27 page)

“Well, it was not
wrong
, exactly. Just not as
right
as it could be, a common mistake.”

“And now I have to get a new bow.” Elspeth sighed after handing the longbow back to Lorne.

“Don’t fret, child. We will have an unused one that size. I would put money on it,” Arlec said. “I’m sure we can spare one for you.”

“Really! That is very kind of you, sir.” Elspeth smiled. All the children gathered round to congratulate her. Seems she was one of them now.

Daric turned the corner into the archer’s field, with Grady, Gialyn, and her brother in tow. “Excellent shooting, Elspeth,” Daric said. “I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of that.”

“Yes, very good.” Grady echoed the sentiment, and Gialyn gave a strong nod while clapping his hands.

Elspeth beamed at their compliments. She took in a deep, satisfied breath and showed her teeth in a huge smile for the smaller children.

“Still not a moving target, though, is it, Elspeth?” Ealian scowled as he took a pace away from the others. “I mean, it’s not like an assassin is going to hold still while you count to three.”

Elspeth’s shoulders slumped. The children went silent.

“Everything in its place, Ealian,” Daric said. He wasn
’t being defensive. It sounded like a fact, at least as far as he was concerned. “Moving target practice is hard to do on your own. You need a thrower at the least.”

Elspeth was grateful to put Ealian’s snide remarks behind her. “What’s the best way to do that, Mr. Re’adh?”

“Well, in the guards, we liked melon heads.” He laughed, and Grady joined in. “If you don’t have any melons, a small sack full of dirt is just as good.” Daric folded his arms; a sober look came over him. “Like anything else… it is time, time and consistency. It can take a hundred hours to get used to a new bow, a thousand to perfect a new technique. There are no shortcuts to any skill.”

“I know that, Mr. Re’adh. I have spent two hours a day for the past three years practicing.” Elspeth felt a pang of irritation
. Talking to her like she was a child was always a good way to annoy her. “Would you care to demonstrate?”
That will teach him to get high and mighty with me.

“Not with that bow. Have you got a dark yew, Eastern Kalidhain, or something similar?”

Arlec’s eyebrows rose. “We don’t practice with black yew bows. The wood is too rare around here. You can use mine. It is good hickory.”

Daric nodded at Grady, who filled the small lunch sack he was carrying with dirt before running thirty paces down the range. “Unless your enemy is running in a straight line directly towards you, and there are a lot of them, it is pointless aiming at a moving target more than fifty paces away. It would just be blind luck were you to hit it, unless of course you are actually
aiming
for the horse.”

Elspeth shuddered. “Who would
aim
for the poor horse?”

“You will if those are your orders.” Daric barked his reply. Seem
ed his mind had entered that of a soldier once again. It was strange, and little bit frightening, how he could do that so readily and so effortlessly.

Daric nocked the arrow, took his stance, and nodded at Grady to throw the “head.” Raising the bow swiftly, he aimed and loosed the arrow in a heartbeat. The arrow flew true. The “head” spun as the tip sliced into the dirt-filled bag. The force of the blow pushed it back another five paces. The children gathered around fell silent as Grady ran to pick up the target and then erupted into cheers and excited clapping as he lifted the skewered bag above his head.

Elspeth closed her mouth and blinked. She must have looked as shocked as the small children, all wide-eyed and gawping at the arrow as Grady brought back the “head.” “Gods, Mr. Re’adh. That was very… impressive.”

“He wasn’t the Captain of the Guards because of his winning personality,” Grady said. He dropped the “head” at Daric’s feet. “Not bad, old man. You’re a bit off centre, though.”

“Why didn’t you enter the archery competition back home? You would have won easily,” Elspeth asked.

Daric seemed to have relaxed back into his normal self. “I have entered a few competitions in my time, Elspeth, but I would usually come second.”

Again, Elspeth was stunned. “I would like to meet the man who could beat you… or rather, I wouldn’t, not if he was an enemy, at least.”

Daric laughed. “He is stood beside you, Elspeth.”

Grady bowed as Elspeth turned to him.

“Unbelievable! Nobody had the faintest idea. Why keep it secret?”

“Showing off isn’t the best way to avoid trouble, Elspeth. We have both had our fill of fighting. Chest beating is a young man’s game,” Grady said.

“Of course, archery is not a guardsman’s first defence, Elspeth. A guardsman’s, or woman’s, job is to combat the unexpected, the lone assassin. If the archers are called for, things have already gone beyond simple guard work. You should practice your unarmed combat, too.”

“So I’ve wasted my time practicing the bow?”

“No, of course not
. A guard has to be top of their game with all weapons. But guardsmen favour the knife and the short sword over all else.” Daric grabbed Gialyn by the shoulder and pulled him to the front. “Give him two of your knives.”

Gialyn demonstrated. “No, Father, I’d rather not.”

Daric laughed. “Come on, boy, this is a lesson for our Elspeth. You can help.”

“As you wish, Father.” Gialyn sighed as he took the blades.

Elspeth felt very puzzled by it all.
What is he going to do? He has no talent for weapons.

“So let’s pretend, for a moment, that we are on the battlements.” Daric ushered Gialyn to his right, in the pretence of walking the ramparts. “And there, twenty paces away, an assassin is sneaking into the royal chambers.” Daric nodded to Grady. “Would you be our sneaking assassin, friend?”

Grady raised a nervous brow. “As you say, Daric, but don’t aim for me. I’ll come out from behind that tree, but you bloody well aim at the target, not me!”

“Of course he will. Do not be silly.” Daric gave a wry grin. “And put those knives in your belt, Gialyn. No cheating.”

Grady ran to the tree and hid behind—the one with the hanging target. “Ready when you are,” Grady shouted.

Daric and Gialyn stood side by side, maybe fifteen paces from the target. Daric continued. “Now, imagine we are on guard duty, minding our own business, just talking to each other about som—”

Suddenly, Gialyn crouched. He took a knife in each hand, and in one smooth movement, he spun on the spot and flicked the blades away.”

Elspeth—and half the children—jumped back. They quickly turned their heads to the target. It was swaying back and forth, with Elspeth’s blades stuck firmly in the dead centre.

“You see!” Daric said. “I didn’t even get my arrow nocked. The queen, gods bless her, would be dead if I had relied on my bow.”

Elspeth couldn’t speak. Her mouth moved, but for the moment, she couldn’t make any words. Gialyn laughed as his cheeks reddened. Elspeth gulped and coughed away her speechlessness. “Why are you embarrassed? That is the most incredible thing I
’ve ever seen. How…?”

Gialyn sighed. “You have to be good with a knife to live in Bailryn. Even if you never use it,
they
have to know you can.”

Elspeth bit her lip. She hesitated a moment before speaking. “Who are
they
?”

“Anyone who thinks you might be an easy mark. Thieves are cowards
. They won’t bother you if they think there is half a chance they might get a knife in the leg.”

“Leg? Why the leg?”

“Killing is killing. Even in Bailryn. Legs and arms are fair play to a magistrate. Killing brings too many questions—if you’re honest enough to care one way or the other, of course.”

And that was the second time Gialyn had utterly surprised Elspeth with his worldly wisdom. Maybe she should stop thinking of him as just another simple country boy.

Toban coughed. “Let us not talk about killing in front of the children. It is nearly dinnertime, anyway.”

“Of course, sorry, Toban.” Gialyn bowed.

“No harm done, I’m sure. To be honest, I’m quite interested in your tales of city living. Maybe we could all have an hour or two later at the inn. I hear Lanay is cooking tonight. She is very good.”

“Yes, that sounds good, Toban,” Daric said. Everybody nodded.

“Good, I’ll look forward to it,” Toban said. “Come on, you lot, let’s get tidied up. You’ve got school in half an hour.”

Elspeth heard the moans of the children as she followed Daric and the others back towards the village. “Thank you again for you help, Mr. Toban, and you Mr. Arlec,” she said over her shoulder.

The wolf shook his head. “It’s
Toban
, and you’re welcome,” he said, and Arlec nodded.

*  *  *

The Haingar, Illeas’den’s inn, was a round building of bleached white stone and one of the only buildings in Illeas’den with a slate roof. The three-story building was second only to the Hall of Wolves for size. Its grounds incorporated the stables and blacksmiths, too. The common room was unlike any other Gialyn had ever seen. Which, of course, didn’t mean much; he hadn’t been in many inns. Even so, he was certain the needs of a wolf were never part of the design of those he had visited before.

Deep covered alcoves wrapped around every outer wall, high enough for the wolves to
lie and still be eye to eye with those sat at the many chairs and stools surrounding the long tables. The ceiling was no less remarkable—thick oak beams winged around a central bar like spokes on a wheel. The common room took up half of the ground space, a full semi-circle, while private dining rooms and kitchens made up the rest of the downstairs. As for the upstairs, Gialyn couldn’t imagine who rented what must have been at least ten rooms, if not more.

The room was bright and the atmosphere seemed friendly enough, even if Gialyn had to endure stares from every other customer. The staff were certainly friendly, anyway. Clem, the landlord, was a huge man—hugely round, at any rate, with pink cheeks and a shiny head, with only a whisker of a grey fringe. He was what Gialyn imagined every landlord should look like, a permanent smile on his face and friendly banter, too
—a perfect landlord.

The serving girls, thankfully, were nothing like as big. Most were pretty in their dark linen skirts and white blouses, with hair tied up to show their faces. All but one had a ready smile for Gialyn. That one was the oldest, probably Clem’s daughter
. She took her job far too seriously for a hired hand. She seemed to revel in ordering the others back and forth.

Grady was already perched on a stool when Gialyn finally made it to the bar.

“Evening, lad. You took your time. Making yourself pretty for the ladies?” Grady asked.

“No. I was waiting for Father. He is still talking to one of the Rukin about something or other. Not sure, but I think he’s asking if there are any merchant trains due that could take us with them to Cul’taris, or maybe even all the way to Bailryn.”

“Makes sense. It’s not like we can afford horses, not that the Rukin have any to spare. I’ve only seen three, and two of them were tall horses.”

Grady squinted around the bar, taking in the many customers who were stood about drinking and laughing. A minstrel of sorts—or a local man with a talent for the harp—was setting himself up on a shallow dais. Another man with a flute made his way through the throng towards him.

“Looks like they are putting a show on for us, lad. Might be dancing.” He gave Gialyn a wink and a grin.

Gialyn’s cheeks coloured. He turned to the barman and made a show of waiting. Clem acknowledged
with a wave and began to lumber over. “It’s week end. Maybe it is just a regular sing-a-long,” Gialyn said. “You know what the Lesgar is like on a Saturday.”

Grady laughed. “Lad, you’re never going to get a girl if you keep running.” He shook his head and buried his nose in his beer.

Clem brought his smile and stood in front of Gialyn. “Evening, young master. Now, you will not mind me asking, but you do be over sixteen, do you not? If not, it will be lemon water, I’m afraid.”

“I’m eighteen, sir. But I will take the lemon just the same, please.”

Clem’s eyes widened and Grady laughed. “Gods, there is no hope for you, boy. You act older than your father sometimes.” He shook his head at Clem, who whaled a throaty laugh at the comment.

“I’ll not be telling a man what to drink,” Clem said, “but it’s a might peculiar and no mistake. Most times round here, a lad can’t wait to buy a draft, or a young lady for that matter.” He poured out a large mug of sugared lemon water. “There you go, young master, and you can have that one on the house for being such a polite chap. Nice to see polite young folk.”

“Thank you, sir.” Gialyn made the best job of a short bow. He took a sip of his drink and surreptitiously peered over the rim of his mug. Even then, people caught his eye. He found himself nodding to more than one while the mug was still at his lips. He continued to investigate until he caught sight of Elspeth sat in the “corner” between Olam and Arfael. Actually, he saw Arfael first. Elspeth sat with her back to the bar.