John Flanagan - Oakleaf bearers

"So," he said casually as he released two arrows at two widely varying targets in quick succession. "Where's Horace today?"

The arrows thudded, one after another, into their respective targets and he nodded to himself, turning ninety degrees to loose another at one of the targets set closer in.

Another hit. Another thud.

The girl shrugged. "I think you made him feel guilty," she replied. "He thought he'd better get some practice in. He's working out with some of the Skandians from Erak's crew."

"I see," replied Will, then paused to put an arrow into one of the farthest targets, watching it arc smoothly through the air before burying its point in the center ring.

"And why didn't you go along to watch him?" He felt a little pleased that Evanlyn had chosen, finally, to see how proficient he was becoming and hadn't bothered to watch her constant companion of the past few days. Her next words dashed that small glow of pleasure, however.

"I did," she replied. "But after you've seen two people whack at each other for several minutes, you develop a sense of deja vu. I thought I'd come and see if you'd improved since the other day."

"Oh, really?" Will replied, a little stiffly. "Well, I hope you don't feel you've wasted your time."

Evanlyn looked up at him. He was facing away from her, firing a sequence of shots at three targets-one at fifty meters, one at seventy-five and one at a hundred. She could hear the stiff tone in his voice and wondered what was bothering him. She decided not to answer the question. Instead, she commented on the three-shot sequence, as all three arrows found their marks.

"How do you do that?" she asked. Will stopped and turned toward her. There was a genuine note of inquiry in her voice.

"Do what?"

She gestured toward the three targets.

"How do you know how far to lift the bow for each distance?" she asked. For a moment the question left him nonplussed. Finally, he shrugged.

"I just:feel it," he replied uncertainly. Then, frowning, he tried to elaborate. "It's a matter of practice. When you do it over and over again, it becomes sort of:instinctive, I suppose."

"So, if I took the bow, could you tell me how high to hold it for that middle target, for instance?" she asked, and he cocked his head to one side, thinking the question through.

"Well:it's not just that. I suppose I could, but:there are other factors."

She leaned forward, her face querying, and he continued.

"Like your release:it has to be smooth. You can't snatch at it or the arrow goes off line. And your draw weight would probably vary."

"Draw weight?"

He indicated the tension on the bowstring as he pulled it back to full draw. "The longer your draw, the more weight you put behind the arrow. If you didn't draw exactly the same distance as I did, the result would vary."

She thought about the answer. It seemed logical. She pursed her lips pensively and nodded once or twice.

"I see," she said. There was a slight tone of disappointment in her voice.

"Is there some kind of problem?" Will asked, and she sighed deeply.

"I was kind of hoping that maybe you could show me how to shoot so that I could actually do something when the Temujai turn up here," she replied, a little downcast.

Will laughed. "Well, maybe I could-if we had a year to spare."

"I don't want to be an expert," she said. "I thought maybe you could just show me one or two basic things so I could:you know:" She tailed off uncertainly.

Will shook his head apologetically, regretting the fact that he'd laughed at her.

"I'm afraid the real secret is a whole lot of practice," he said. "Even if I showed you the basics, it's not something you can just learn in a week or two."

She shrugged again.

"I suppose not." She realized that her request had been unrealistic. She felt foolish now and seized the opportunity to change the subject. "Is that when Halt thinks they'll get here-a week or two?"

Will fired the last arrow in the set and laid his bow down.

"He said they could be here then. But he thinks they'll take a little longer. After all, they know the Skandians aren't going anywhere." He gestured to her to accompany him as he collected his arrows and they started across the practice field together.

"Did you hear his theory?" she asked him. "About attacking here because they want the Skandians' ships?"

Will nodded. "It makes sense when you think about it. They can overrun Teutlandt and Gallica almost as they choose. But they'd be leaving a dangerous enemy behind them. And the Skandians could raid them anywhere along the coast, hitting them where and when they choose."

"I can see that," Evanlyn replied, tugging one of the arrows from the fifty-meter target. "But don't you think his theory about invading Araluen is a little far-fetched?"

"Not at all," Will replied. "Hold them closer to the head as you pull them out," he said, indicating the next arrow as she reached for it. "Otherwise you'll break the shaft, or warp it. There's no reason why the Temujai should stop at the Gallican coast. But if they tried to transport their army by ship without taking care of the Skandians first, they could be in big trouble."

Evanlyn was silent for a few seconds. "I suppose so," she said eventually.

"It's only a theory, after all," Will replied. "Maybe they're just making sure their flanks are secure before they move into Teutlandt. But Halt says you should always plan for the worst-case scenario. Then you can't be disappointed."

"I guess he's right about that," she replied. "Where is he, anyway? I haven't seen him around for a few days."

Will nodded his head toward the southeast. "He and Erak have gone to scout the Temujai advance," he said. "I think he's looking for a way to slow them down."

He collected the last of his arrows and stowed them in his quiver. Then he stretched and flexed his arms and fingers.

"Well, I guess I'll shoot another set," he said. "Are you staying to watch?"

Evanlyn considered for a moment, then shook her head. "I might go see how Horace is doing," she said. "I'll try to spread the encouragement around." She smiled at him, waggled her fingers in farewell and strode off across the field, back toward the palisade. Will watched her slim, upright figure as she walked away.

"You do that," he muttered to himself. Once more, he felt a flutter of jealousy as he thought of her watching Horace. Then he shook the feeling off, as a duck shakes water away. Head down, he began to mooch back to the firing line.

"Women," he muttered to himself. "They're nothing but trouble."

A shadow fell across the ground beside him and he glanced up, thinking for a moment that Evanlyn might have changed her mind. After all, the prospect of watching two muscle-bound hulks whacking each other with practice weapons was a little boring, he thought. But it wasn't Evanlyn, it was Tyrelle-blond, pretty, fifteen years old and the niece of Svengal, Erak's first mate. She smiled shyly at him. Her eyes were amazingly blue, he realized.

"Can I carry your arrows back for you, Ranger?" she asked, and he shrugged magnanimously, unclipping the quiver and handing it to her.

"Why not?" he said, and her smile widened.

After all, he thought, it would have been churlish to refuse.

T HE PINE HAD FALLEN SEVERAL YEARS BACK, FINALLY DEFEATED by the weight of snow in its branches, the insidious rot at the heart of its massive trunk and one too many seasons of gale force winter winds. Even in death, however, its neighbors had tried to support it, keeping it from the ignominy of the ground, holding it in the grip of their tangled branches so that it lay at an angle of thirty degrees to the horizontal, seemingly supported between heaven and earth by its closely packed fellows.