Forsaken Magic- Witch of the Thorn by Chris Turner

Author:Chris Turner [Turner, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Innersky Books
Published: 2018-05-21T22:00:00+00:00

2: The Magic Arrow

After a hurried breakfast of hot meal and oatcakes, Kevil hustled Risgan and his gang off to the fringes of the village. “Where are we going?” Risgan asked.

“You’ll see. Hetman’s orders.” The dawn’s pearly light filtered through the trees to pierce the mist and glaze the trampled grass a washed-out silver. On cresting a small rise, Risgan stared with some awe upon a tall palisade with stout, close-set poles—a gigantic corral, about three hundred feet long. It was shaped in the form of a long oval of sand, mud and grass clumps. Several complicated walkways, towers and observation platforms formed parts of the wall. Evidently the villagers had the craft of clever builders.

Within, several animals, horses and riders milled about. Also of note were stacked bales, targets for archery practice and what appeared to be a track and obstacle course for training purposes.

At the gate, a watchman beckoned the newcomers in. Risgan gave a cheerful smile and Kahel shoved past him with a surly grunt.

A variety of weapons hung from the inner palisade: swords, axes and shields. A dozen young hunters spurred their wild-eyed mounts forth, amidst much clamour and gesticulating. In the high-spirited tumult, they whipped lassoes over their head to take down young stags, in preparation for live hunts, capturing either young deer or horses for breeding and training purposes. Others drew their bows and fired arrows from their mounts at the targets. Others stood at a hundred paces and aimed at smaller or larger targets depending on their marksmanship. A group to the side wrestled with each other or sparred with mixed weaponry—sword and staff. Risgan’s crew stood about, watching with curiosity and amusement, along with several others who had gathered to watch.

A mixture of male and female hunters of both bands, young and old, participated. The clansfolk, it seemed, gave no preference to gender or age.

Kahel sauntered over to examine a trio of young hunters aiming longbows at targets about fifty feet distant. With steely-eyed inspection, he sized up a blond-haired youth wearing red cap and green jerkin who consistently kept missing his target.

“Let me see that bow,” Kahel grunted. The boy obliged. “Your bow’s of good quality but you’re holding it wrong.”

“What do you mean?” The boy looked up at him blankly.

“Watch.” He raised his brows. “You don’t believe me? Try it.” He positioned himself behind the boy and placing hands on his, guided his fingers along the smooth curve of the wood. “Grip the middle hard, boy. Yes, like a sword! Squint with your one eye, straight along the shaft as close as you can. No, aim a little higher, yes, that’s it, you were shooting too low.”

As a team, Kahel and the youth aimed and the bow twanged.

The arrow struck the edge of the target high to the right with the fletch quivering like a peacock’s fan before it fell to the ground.

The boy blinked in surprise. “Wow, did I do that?”

“Of course. Your turn. Try it solo.”

The boy bit his lip and squinted in deep concentration.

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