The trio of knights clapped each other on the backs, exuberant in victory, thrilled for tomorrow’s archery event.
The enticing aromas emanating from the cooks’ fire were too tempting for Tristan to resist.
“Come on, let’s grab something to eat. I’m starved!”
The roast boar was salty and sweet, dripping with honey. Tristan devoured the baked beans and roasted corn, soaking up every drop on his plate with his loaf of crusty fresh bread, courtesy of the castle kitchens. The yeasty flavor melted in his mouth, the delightful taste lingering on his palate.
Now that his stomach was full, and he’d rested a bit with Vaughan and Connor, the thought of tomorrow’s archery competition brought a renewed rush of adrenaline.
“We have a couple hours before dark,” he said to his two friends, lazing in the grass a few feet from the campfire. “We can shoot a few arrows to practice for tomorrow. Sound good?”
Connor and Vaughan exchanged glances. Vaughan nodded and stood, stretching his back by reaching his arms high over his head. The three friends headed back to the tent to retrieve their bowstrings and quivers of arrows, spending the rest of the afternoon in the designated area where targets had been set up for practice.
Later that evening, Tristan sat near the campfire with Vaughan and Connor, eating the roast venison and vegetable stew that the cooks had prepared. He took a hearty pull from his goblet of ale, gazing into the fire as he listened to descriptions of the day’s jousts, sharing the excitement of qualifying for tomorrow’s event.
Indulf was seated among them. His blond hair was tied back, revealing his pockmarked face. A long, curved nose gave him the appearance of a hawk. As the third son of the Count of Hame in eastern Cornwall, Indulf would never inherit a title of nobility. Tristan suspected that Indulf hated him for being the nephew and presumptive heir to King Marke’s throne. He sensed the jealous stare of the knight who had tried to disqualify him in the morning joust.
Tossing a twig into the fire, Indulf taunted Tristan.
“You were very nearly thrown from your horse in the first run, Tristan. How fortunate that you hit the center circle on your second, else you would not have qualified. The Goddess herself smiled upon you today,” he smirked, glaring at Vaughan.
“The Goddess, and my ring,” Tristan mused, eyeing the blackchoughwith the gleaming blue topaz eye. He held it up for Indulf to see.
“A gift for luck, from my uncle Marke. Seems it brought me good fortune today, wouldn’t you say?” Tristan shot Indulf a lupine grin.
“Indeed,” the knight huffed, rising from his seat near the fire.
“We’ll see if you are so fortunate tomorrow,” he scoffed, slithering off to his tent. Tristan watched Indulf’s retreating form, his face contorted with disgust.
The other competitors rose, wished one another good luck in the morning’s event, and headed off to their respective tents. Tristan, Vaughan, and Connor returned to theirs.
Lying on his bedroll, Tristan imagined facing Indulf in the final event. The battle of swords. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. When elusive sleep finally found him, he slept fitfully, dreaming of revenge.
The morning dawned cool and bright, with just a hint of the warmth that summer would soon bring. Tristan, Vaughan, and Connor finished their breakfast of porridge, meat, and ale, returning to their tent to fetch their weapons for the archery competition.
Tristan was a fine archer, but he knew his best event would be tomorrow’s challenge of the sword. It was essential for him to place today, for only the top twenty would advance to the final day’s competition in the Tournament of Champions.
The archery competition was divided into two areas with three targets spaced at increasing distances of thirty, fifty and seventy yards. An arrow landing in the outermost circle would earn one point, with three for the inner ring and five for the bull’s eye in the dead center. One arrow would be fired at each target.
The competitors were lined up, awaiting their turn, with Tristan, Vaughan, and Connor in the queue. Among the three, Vaughan was by far the most skilled, having grown up hunting with his father in the woods of the Kennall Vale in western Cornwall.
“All right, lads, watch how it’s done!” he boasted as he approached the first target. Nocking his arrow, drawing his bow tightly, Vaughan released a bull’s eye at each of the three targetsfor a total score of fifteen points. He was sure to place among the top twenty qualifiers to advance in the competition.
Vaughan removed his arrows from the three targets and returned to his companions’ side, grinning ear to ear. Tristan approached the starting point and positioned himself before the first target.
His first arrow hit the inner circle. Three points. His second shot scored three more. It might be enough, but he had to be sure. This last shot was crucial. His legs shook with adrenaline.
At the seventy-yard target, he positioned his feet, nocked his arrow, and drew the bow tightly. Just as he was about to shoot, a loud cough startled him, shattering his concentration.
Tristan turned to see Indulf grinning. Of course.The bastard!
Tristan rolled his shoulders. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face. His stomach clenched in fear at the thought of losing. The humiliation of facing his uncle in shame. No, he refused to let Indulf rattle him. He needed to focus. To concentrate. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.
He stared into the eye of the sea raven. He kissed the blue topaz stone, praying the Goddess would guide his arrow straight and sure.
He positioned himself perpendicular to the target. Lowered his bow and nocked the arrow. Raised the bow and drew the string tightly back as he took aim. His uncle’s words came back to him.Make me proud, Tristan.
All the summers hunting in Kennall Vale, all of Vaughan’s lessons, the first buck he’d taken so many years ago. Tristan channeled it all into a perfect release, watching with bated breath as his arrow thwacked the dead center of the target. Bull’s eye. Five points. A total score of eleven. He prayed it would be enough to advance to tomorrow’s final event.
