(Ivan)
Ivan watched as Lin and William raced up the staircase and disappeared behind the archway. He liked the no-nonsense approach that Lin exuded. His brother could benefit by being around more people like her.
“Lin isn’t as stern and scary as she appears,” Toby remarked. “You know, if you pay attention, she actually has a caring side. She has been quite helpful to my sister Claire. Still, she’s hard to read. Sometimes she glares at me for no reason and at other times she’s surprisingly nice.” He scratched his head. “Who am I trying to fool. The truth is, I don’t understand girls. They’re like the labyrinth under the Temple of Cea’Nia. Hidden dangers lurk everywhere.”
“Yeah, she reminds me of a seasoned dicer,” Ivan agreed. “Last night at dinner, she kept a straight face the whole time. I had no idea what she was thinking. I can already tell that she holds her cards close to her chest.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me… Oh!” Toby waved at someone. “There is Lady Calla. Let me go tell her about the tragon. I’ll be right back.”
Ivan watched as Toby dashed toward one of the teachers. He spoke with her briefly before racing back.
“Lady Calla is gonna send a guilder to examine the tragon.”
“Great.” Ivan nodded.
Toby pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket and handed it to Ivan. “We’ve got the same schedule. Our first class is archery and that’s my favorite. The practice range is on the other side of school. I’ll race you.”
Toby dashed ahead. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”
Ivan sprinted after him. As they rounded the school building, the archery range appeared in the distance. Toby glanced over his shoulder and Ivan saw surprise on his face. Puffing hard, Toby leaned forward and raced on.
Ivan kept pace. Ahead of them, he saw about fifty students milling around.
“You’re fast!” Toby bent over and gasped for breath as they reached the archery range. “Naturally, I could’ve won. But today is your first day at school and I didn’t want you to feel bad.” He grinned and they both laughed.
Ivan noticed that some of the students were watching them. He heard murmuring and one of the boys pointed at him. That drew in even more stares. He tried to ignore them. He had gotten used to people scrutinizing him at the sword fighting tournaments in Pike.
“Hey, shifty-eyes,” a tall muscular boy shouted. A few of his buddies snickered. “Who’s the new kid?”
“That’s Bay Valks,” Toby whispered to Ivan. “Just ignore him. He’s a jerk. He thinks that he’s a big deal since his dad is Seth Valks, the former Lord of Resan.”
“Hey, I’m talking to you, crazy eyes." Bay moved in next to them. “You know that school orientation is only done by girls, right?” That elicited even more laughter.
“Yeah, but your mom wasn’t available,” Toby retorted.
“Ooooooh!” some of the boys and girls jeered.
Bay’s face reddened. He growled and shoved Toby backwards. He cocked his arm back to take a swing at Toby.
Ivan moved quickly. He jumped in and deflected the punch. Bay followed up by throwing a right hook at him. Ivan dodged it and Bay’s momentum carried him forward, causing him to stumble.
“That’s enough!” a raspy voice bellowed behind them. “If you want to fight, you’ll have that opportunity soon enough. War is at our doorsteps.”
The students moved quickly to line up. As Bay passed, he shouldered Ivan and whispered, “You just made a big mistake, bonehead. You’re going to regret that.”
Ivan had plenty of experience with threats. It was part of every sword fighting tournament. As far as the insult, he had heard much worse.
The key was to anticipate your opponent’s next move, be prepared, and ignore the banter.
I’ll have to watch out for that one.
He had considered that he might become a target at school, being a new student and all. Life was easier when you planned for the possibilities, and you were ready to meet them.
Ivan turned his attention to the teacher.
The man in front of them was of medium height with black hair and stern walnut eyes. He had the typical appearance of a Scaran. The mold for the folks under the mountain was fair skin with dark hair. Ivan noticed that Toby was staring reverently at the instructor’s bow. The weapon was made of a layered white bone and covered with intricate patterns.
“My name is Hark Bolt and I’ll be your substitute teacher for the next few weeks.” The name drew some whispers. Ivan looked at Toby and saw that his jaw was agape. “Your regular instructor will be back after that. Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let’s get down to business. You might find yourself on the battlefield in a matter of weeks, if not sooner, and that doesn’t give us much time. My goal is to sharpen your skills with the bow and teach you how to stay alive. A few of you might eventually make it to the elite archery division. The rest will show an aptitude for other combat disciplines. Still, even if you’re assigned as a healer, you’ll need to gain proficiency with the common weapons. Your life and the lives of your countrymen may depend on that one day.”
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Hark surveyed the class. “I see that some of you are looking at my Wyvern Bow. Let me give you some information about it, so you’re not distracted. After all, one of you may wield it in the future.” He held the weapon out in front of him.
“The legend behind this bow is that it was crafted from the ribcage of a mythical wyvern. The truth is that we’re not sure how old this bow is. We do know that it perfectly matches the description of the weapon in the Book of Carnage.”
Hark twisted his arm and rotated the bow. Light glinted off its polished white surface. “It’s a magnificent weapon!” A shadow crossed Hark’s face, and he fell silent for a moment. “It’s the ultimate instrument of death.” He looked up.
“The names of the previous thirty-six owners have been documented and there have been others. I won this bow from Hortensia Lavos when I was a little older than you. She was the keeper of the bow for twenty-one years. The rules of succession for the Wyvern Bow are simple. First, you need to win three informal competitions against the current keeper. Next, you must win three out of five ceremonial competitions.”
Hark scanned the crowd, seeming to make eye contact with every boy there. “Every practice here on the archery range with me is considered an informal competition. As such, you’ll get an opportunity to compete for the Wyvern Bow, which will also allow me to assess your skills.”
The boys buzzed with excitement. Some of them boasted about their superior archery skills and therefore their inevitable succession of the Wyvern Bow. They lined up on the archery range. A few dozen scarecrow targets, and piles of hay stood at the end of a long field. The closest target was about fifty yards away and the furthest was barely visible at five hundred yards. The target attestant assigned to the class headed up the field. Her job was to help the teacher and verify the accuracy of every shot. She wore an enchanted Vest of Protection and held two different colored flags.
Hark raised his voice to quiet down the excitement. “Today, we’ll be practicing Common Archery. Common Archery involves shooting stationary, unarmored targets. The attestant will raise a yellow flag if you hit a scarecrow and she’ll raise the red flag if your arrow strikes a kill zone. Next week, we’ll start with Combat Archery drills. The kill zones on the scarecrows are painted red.” Hark released an arrow toward the nearest target and skewered it through the neck, right in a kill zone.
Once the teacher was done with the instructions, everyone lined up.
Bay Valks and his cronies pushed their way to the front of the line. Bay confidently picked up one of the practice bows and loaded an arrow. His first attempt was a perfect lung shot at the nearest scarecrow. His friends immediately reacted with approval. His second shot missed the seventy-five-yard target, his arrow veered slightly to the left. Bay cursed under his breath.
“Try not to overcompensate for the wind,” Hark suggested. “The breeze from the air vents won’t affect the arrows flight at this distance.”
Bay grunted in response and released his last arrow. This time, he hit the shoulder of the second target. With a single fluid motion Hark released an arrow toward the one-hundred-yard target, hitting it straight in the heart.
“Overall, your mechanics are good,” Hark said with approval. “You need to work on follow-through with your draw hand. The rest of it is more practice.”
Ivan and Toby were at the end of the line. They watched as their classmates took turns on the archery range. Hark evaluated each student and provided feedback on their technique. One of the boys landed a kill shot on the one-hundred-and-fifty-yard target. Hark turned toward the boy and said, “Nicely done!” Hark then took aim and pierced the heart of the two-hundred-yard target.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to go last,” Toby whispered to Ivan when they were the only two left.
“Sure.”
Ivan stepped forward and picked up one of the practice bows. His first attempt was a lung shot on the one-hundred-yard target. He grazed the side of the one-hundred-and-fifty-yard target with his next shot. His last arrow was a kill shot on the one-hundred-and-fifty-yard scarecrow. In the distance, the attestant raised a red flag to confirm the hit.
“Not bad!” Hark clapped him on the shoulder. “Your stance is a bit unorthodox. The classic stance with knees unbent will give you a more stable base, which will improve accuracy.”
Ivan nodded and stepped back into the crowd.
(Toby)
The class became excited once Toby stepped forward and even the students that were practicing on the side came over to watch. There were whispers among the boys and Toby heard words of encouragement. Most of them had seen him in action. On more than one occasion, he had been able to best even their regular archery instructor.
“It’s an honor to meet you.” Toby’s voice cracked.
“Toby Clearwater, I know who you are,” replied Hark. “I’ve seen you staying late and practicing at the archery range after school.”
Toby was astonished. The legendary Hark Bolt knew his name. It took him a moment to recover and remember his strategy. “If…uh… if…uh… you don’t mind, I would like to go after you,” he stammered.
“That sounds good. Let’s aim at the two-hundred, three-hundred, and four-hundred-yard targets.” Toby was unnerved by how casually Hark mentioned the four-hundred-yard target.
I hope I don’t embarrass myself.
He paid close attention to Hark’s every movement, even the way he nocked his arrow. Hark’s first attempt was a headshot on the two-hundred-yard target. It was even more impressive because he had called it out first. Hark then called out a jugular shot on the three-hundred-yard target. The attestant confirmed the hit. Hark targeted the lungs for his final shot. The red flag confirmed yet another hit.
The class went wild, and Toby was awestruck.
Toby picked up a practice bow, and his anxiety evaporated. He was in a familiar place and the bow was like an extension of his arm. His first arrow hit the two-hundred-yard target. He remained completely oblivious to the cheers in the background, even after his second arrow hit its mark.
Looking at the last target, he realized his hands were getting sweaty. He leaned down, scooped some dirt, and rubbed his palms together. The four-hundred-yard target was barely within his range. He took his time going through the motions. The bow limbs protested as he pulled the string toward the side of his face. With a snap, the arrow disappeared toward the tiny target in the distance. The attestant made her way toward the target and appeared to be closely scrutinizing the shot. She did not raise any flags but instead ran toward the group.
“You’re not going to believe it,” she cried out. “Your arrow was just a finger’s width away from hitting the lungs.”
Behind him, Toby heard shouts of delight, howls of disappointment, and outcries of disbelief. Some of the students even ran toward the target to see for themselves.
“Nicely done!” Hark commended and clapped his shoulder. “I can already tell that you’re going to be one of the frontrunners for the Wyvern Bow.”
Hark assigned Toby as his assistant for the rest of the class.