The prowess of delkin archers is often exaggerated. To hear the folk tell it, every delkin is born with a bow and learns to shoot before they can walk. I have known many delkin, and none of them were particularly good shots. That being said, it is true that almost all of the greatest archers in recorded history have been delkin. So, whether delkin are truly possessed of some natural talent, or they just teach archery better in the del than anywhere else, the rumours are not entirely baseless.
* Many Peoples, One World.
Sal and Sarina rode grimly through Salitos. The usual friendly banter was gone between them and a tension hung in the air. The plan had been for Sarina to be paid out of the delivery fee for the Dagger. Sal hadn’t gotten paid, so Sarina hadn’t gotten paid. This had inevitably led to an argument between the two. Sarina was of the opinion that as her job was that of bodyguard, and she had indeed guarded Sal’s body, she was owed her pay. Sal was of the (in his view much more reasonable) opinion that as her job was to ensure the handover went smoothly and it did not, she wasn’t entitled to her full pay and besides he couldn’t afford it without the fee from the Dagger anyway. This had led to the compromise that Sal would give Sarina the details of the new job he had mentioned before, a rented horse to get there, and pay for her drinks throughout, and Sarina wouldn’t murder Sal in his sleep.
Neither one of them were exactly excited about the arrangement and it was souring the journey north. Though the fact that Salitos was a fractured country full of corruption and bandits wasn’t helping either. Salitos had always been too cold and too full of people who thought every meal involved a dead animal for Sal’s liking. But, since the death of the Good King, the place had dived straight down the long drop. They had seen precious little in the way of trade caravans on the roads, but they had seen more than one small group of men carrying heavy objects and looking prone to violence. Sarina’s bow seemed to have dissuaded them from trying anything, but still, they were doing nothing to improve the atmosphere of the journey.
And this was, relatively speaking, the safe part of Salitos. The pair were taking a circuitous route to Cadersville to avoid the worst parts of the country and it was slowing their pace significantly
“What do you think this new job will be?” Sarina asked.
“Don’t know,” Sal replied grumpily, pulling his cloak tighter around him with one hand. The northern autumn wasn’t doing anything to improve his mood and he wondered how Sarina could bear it in only her leathers.
After a moment to consider the question he felt a fool. Sarina was probably only asking in order to break the tension between them, and it would be a lot more pleasant talking with a friend than riding in sullen silence with a stiffed business partner. He might well be reborn as an ass, but that didn’t mean he had to be one now.
“It’s for a brothel owner and financed by a mysterious skard,” he said in a decidedly more speculative and less grumpy tone. “It could be anything really. Ancient relic, priceless artwork, records book, even a big pile of gold. What do you think?”
“I think that this client is likely to be untrustworthy.”
“Well that’s what you’re there for. I trust everyone a lot more when you’ve got a bow trained on them.”
Sarina nodded. “A sensible policy. Do your employers know my skill set?”
“Unclear. You were referred to as my delkin friend. That could mean they haven’t heard of you, or that having the muscle along might be helpful, but isn’t necessary to success.”
Sarina made a thinking noise and drummed her fingers against her horse’s bridle. “I wonder if I should be offended that you are well known, and I am not.”
“I think that’s mostly because there are people looking to find me and cut off my head. If you want that kind of fame, you could always punch a king. Or sleep with his wife I guess.”
“Why would I want to sleep with his wife? And why would that draw his anger?”
Sal shot her a sidelong glance, but she was continuing with her main point, so he didn’t pursue whether she got what he meant.
“Still, many think of you as a great thief—”
“Which I am.”
“—but only a few know of my excellent skills in the guarding of lives. Perhaps if they did, I could maintain more respectable customers. Why do you think word of my prowess has not spread?”
“Well you don’t want your association with my crimes known,” Sal pointed out. “That cuts out a lot of your best guarding.”
Sarina sniffed. “Even so. My skills are very impressive. You would think more people would want to hire me. Perhaps a line of petitioners following me around.”
Sal shrugged, “Not everyone wants a woman as a bodyguard.”
“And why not?”
“Human women don’t tend to be as physically strong as men,” Sal said.
“As if all it takes to guard someone is large biceps.” Sarina made a rude noise. “And that should hardly matter, delkin don’t share your strange sexual differences.”
“In Lhint, they say that those with warrior’s souls aren’t reborn as women.”
Sarina narrowed her eyes at Sal. “And what do you say?”
Sal smiled sadly at a memory he kept to himself. “On this point, I know the monks are wrong.”
Sarina showed then that she wasn’t half as blind to social cues as she pretended and asked him no further questions on the topic.
Sal and Sarina arrived in Fairwater, a little fishing town by one of several lakes in Salitos. Sal couldn’t remember the name of this one and he didn’t much care. The buildings were simple and the people much the same. And, like most fishing towns, it stank. The air was permeated by the smell of dead and dying fish and Sal grimaced as the chill wind slapped him in the face with the reek.
There seemed to be some sort of event going on as they rode in, as groups of people were walking into the centre of town. Sal asked a man what was happening.
“Archery contest,” the man said. “Baron is putting up a prize of ten brightmarks for first place.”
Sal thanked the man and rode closer to Sarina so they could talk without being overheard.
“Feel like winning an archery contest?” he asked.
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“For ten brightmarks?” Sarina asked. “That will barely cover the drinking I plan to do in the local tavern.”
“True, but that is only a fraction of the money we can make in betting on you. Events like this are bound to draw the local criminal element. There’ll be someone there making book, you can guarantee it.”
“Okay,” Sarina said with a smirk. “But what if I lose?”
Sal laughed at that.
A few hours later, Sarina was losing the archery contest. She had done well enough, scoring well during the distance and sharpshooting rounds, but she had made a mediocre showing in the moving targets round and now she was coming in fourth. Sal was watching all this from where he stood with a group of disreputable-looking characters, handing over money on lost bets with the expression of a man who hates to lose, and hates to part with money even more.
The contest had apparently drawn people in from neighboring towns, there was even another delkin who was a fairly impressive archer too. Things seemed not to be going according to plan, and the scumbags Sal was handing all his money over to seemed to be able to tell.
Only one round left, speed shooting. The competitors had to hit multiple targets as quickly as possible. There were points available for accuracy as well as speed, but it seemed like Sarina’s only practical chance was for the three people in front of her to screw up.
The competitors shot in order of their current score. The first to shoot was a young man with dark hair wearing what looked like a ranger’s tunic. He stepped up to the starting line in front of the target first from the left, waited for the countdown from an official and then started shooting. He shot well, hitting the target in the inner ring. Then he stepped to the side, reloaded his bow, took a breath and shot again. Another inner ring. He hit the third target dead centre for maximum accuracy points, but then fumbled the fourth shot and hit it in the outer ring. He pulled it back for the fifth target and got another inner ring then hit what’s known as the mid ring, between the inner and outer rings, on his final shot. It was reasonably quick, and fairly accurate, but it was worse than his previous performances.
Next to shoot was a young man in expensive-looking clothes. Probably a nobleman’s brat or something. He shot well enough though, capitalizing on the first man’s mistake and taking a slim lead. After that was the delkin, a tall green man wearing leathers and holding a short bow. He had obviously been holding back for gambling purposes or possibly just for dramatic effect. He shot incredibly quickly, never getting less than an inner ring and scoring two centre shots. He turned to the crowd and bowed low, a wide smile on his face.
The crowd erupted into applause. A lot of them were rubes and they probably thought they were seeing a legendary elvish archer at work. Sal just groaned and handed over more money to the bookies.
Sarina stepped up to take her turn to shoot. The other delkin was still showboating. She said something to him and made a wrap-it-up gesture. He looked affronted but then she indicated her bow. He took a look at it, having apparently not bothered to until now, and decided it was better to be elsewhere. She made the odd choice to stand in the middle of the six targets. She waited while the official counted her in.
Three.
Sal made a few desperate, last-minute side bets with the last of his money.
Two.
A broad smile stretched across Sal’s face.
One.
Sarina finally stopped holding back.
The crowd went mad. The scorekeeper literally fell out of his chair. The other delkin came over to Sarina and gave a low bow with one hand behind his back and the other out to the side. She dismissed him with a wave.
The bookies Sal was standing with weren’t happy, but they paid up. A lot of other customers were around, and they didn’t want to get a reputation for not paying their debts.
Sal collected every brightmark he was owed and set off to meet Sarina at a local tavern.
Later, they sat at a table by the fire in a tavern called the Bull’s Head. It was nice enough, though the town wasn’t literate enough to bother with a written sign so they had painted a big bull’s head above the door instead and whoever had done it wasn’t any kind of artist. Come to think of it, Sal figured they probably didn’t know much about possessive apostrophe’s here in Fairwater, so if it did have a sign, it would probably say the Bulls Head. He explained this to Sarina.
“Probably,” she agreed, knocking back something dark and strong.
“So,” Sal continued. “Does that mean the actual name of the bar is the Bull’s head, like the head of a bull, or the Bulls Head, like the way that bulls are going. How much credence should we give the hypothetical sign?” He finished his whiskey and signalled the bartender for another. He had been drinking with Sarina for a couple of hours now, and though he was making no attempt to keep up with her, he was still on his way to being well and truly sloshed.
“Your grammatical conventions are very odd,” Sarina said, also calling for more booze. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, humans are always doing odd things.”
“Speaking of odd things. What was with the bowing that other delkin was doing? I’ve never seen that before.”
“It is a gesture of sincerest apology,” Sarina said. “You have not seen it because much of your experience with delkin is with me and I am rarely ever wrong.”
Sal snorted. “What was he apologizing for?”
“He had come from the Del to prove he was just as good as those who have trained in the fada-thal and the fada-uhk. I demonstrated that he is not. He was apologizing for not showing me the respect I deserve.”
“You haven’t talked about those before. You studied fada-sur right?”
Sarina shook her head. “You don’t study fada-sur, you are fada-sur. And I am. It means someone who has mastered both schools of the bow.”
“Are there many fada-sur?” Sal asked, genuinely interested. He and Sarina had worked together on almost a dozen jobs now, and he considered her a friend, but he didn’t know that much about her. He was curious.
“Very few,” Sarina said. "It takes much time and more skill to master one of the schools. And there is intense rivalry between them. To master both is a rare thing indeed.”
That checked out. Sarina’s skills were greater than any Sal had heard of.
“That’s why you showed that guy your bow?” Sal guessed. “You get a surbow if you’re fada-sur?”
Sarina nodded, accepted another drink from a serving girl who had brought their next round and took a hearty gulp.
“So you’re pretty highly regarded in the Del then?” Sal asked.
Sarina grunted. “Other things are prized amongst my people beyond skill with the bow.”
The way she spoke made Sal think he had touched on a sore point for Sarina, so he didn’t ask any further questions on the matter and drank some of his whiskey instead.
“You cheated us,” a drunk said loudly, sauntering up to their table with several of his drunk buddies. “You made like you weren’t good and so we all bet against you. Now we want our money back.”
“You got hustled,” Sal said. “It happens. If you don’t want to lose your money, don’t bet.”
“Now don’t get mouthy about it,” the same drunk said. “I lost twenty bright. Just pay up and we’ll be square.”
The others standing behind him muttered about how much they had lost too. Paying them back, even all of them, would still leave them with a healthy profit from the day’s dealings, even after the drinks. But it was the principle of the thing. It’s not like Sal had stolen their money. He hadn’t even cheated them. All he had done was a little light hustling, he certainly wasn’t giving them their money back for that. He told them so.
They didn’t take it well.
“We don’t wanna get violent with ya here,” the lead drunk said.
“I should think not,” Sarina said. “I doubt it would go well for you.”
“You don’t have your bow now,” another drunk pointed out. He was right. Sarina had unstrung her bow and left it in one of the rooms they had rented before they got to drinking.
“And there’s five of us and only two of you,” a third drunk pointed out.
“There’s six of us,” another said. “You forgot Benny.”
“Yeah. You forgot me,” said a man whose name was presumably Benny.
“Sorry Benny.”
“Are these men trying to fight us,” Sarina asked.
“I think so,” Sal said. “Most bar fights I’ve been in don’t have this much talking.”
That pissed off one of the drunks enough that he threw a punch at Sal.
Sal released a little force and directed the man’s hand away from him. Or, at least, that’s what he tried to do. He was quite a bit drunker than he normally was when he did that particular trick and he used a little more force than he meant to. The result was that the drunk flipped over backwards onto the floor.
Sal leapt out of his chair, ready to defend himself, and felt like he might be sick. He may have done too much drinking.
Sarina laughed at the drunk’s unintentional acrobatics. In her defense, it was pretty funny. Apparently, the other drunks didn’t think so though and things kicked off.
Later that night they were battered and bloodied and leaving town before anyone decided the authorities should get involved. They had won the fight, though not without taking more than a few hits themselves. Sal didn’t particularly like fighting at the best of times, and certainly didn’t like it when he was deep into his drink. He was feeling sorry for himself as a result.
Sarina, on the other hand, looked to have had a grand old time. Though that might have been something to do with the fact that she had been punched in the face a lot less than Sal.
It was going to be a long ride to Cadersville.