Chapter Seventeen #2
The exultation of the crowd was amazing to hear.
Children were scampering around collecting the scattered arrows.
Tor had broken some of them, but others would be fine to use again.
Behind them, servants were setting up the targets for the second part of today’s challenge.
Tor couldn’t remember if it was Bavil or Forex who’d suggested this part, but they’d all agreed that if everyone was coming to watch, they wanted to give them more to see than just one bout between Pel and Tor.
Apparently, it was just Tor who could stare at Pel for hours no matter what he was doing, even if he was seventy yards away and tiny to look at. Tor was very enamored of pretty much every part of the man, which made it extra unfortunate that he wasn’t interested in Tor.
Still, they’d made a lot of progress from when Pel had thought he was just a rude, arrogant ass. You couldn’t always get everything you wanted from life, and Tor was delighted by the friendship they’d developed.
A friendship with a little bit of discreet ogling was still a solid friendship, right? Tor would just have to make sure he didn’t cross over the line of what the man noticed and found unacceptable. He could keep the inappropriate thoughts in his head and try not to think them too often.
And there’d surely be more moments like this, too, where it was all right to ogle—that’s what everyone was doing! (Though perhaps not in quite the same way as Tor.) Maybe he’d just have to organize periodic spectacles so that he would be free to look his fill.
The other archers all looked good, too, Tor supposed, but he didn’t pay them much mind. Pel was always dedicated and focused no matter what he was doing, but there was something about the hyper-focus with archery…
It made Tor want to kiss him all over and see if he could distract him, but that was neither here nor there.
Tor cleared his throat and looked out at the targets instead.
They were only twenty yards away to start.
Each contestant was disqualified if they didn’t hit the bull’s-eye marked in the target.
If they succeeded, the target was moved back, and they made it to the next round.
Finally, they were down to five contestants from the original three dozen or so who’d come out to compete.
Pel had wanted prizes for the top three placers, and he’d offered to fund them himself—and then the King had declared that of course he would fund the prize, and it was clear he didn’t want to appear ungenerous.
Tor had no doubt that Pel was going to be one of the winners, but that still meant there were two positions for which there was fierce competition.
As he watched the last five line up, Tor had a brilliant idea. He went to whisper to the King and Larexa. The King liked the showiness of it, of course, and Larexa had been working hard on her defense, so this would be a great opportunity for her to practice.
With a grin, he held up his hands and the crowd quieted.
“To make the finals a little more challenging, we’ve decided to add a little bit of magic to the occasion.” Larexa took her cue, and shields went up over each target. “Contestants need to shoot through the shield with Mantled arrows.” He grinned at everyone. “I’ll be helping out with that.”
He grinned at Pel. “What do you say?”
Pel offered him a grin that looked a little forced. “Well, I certainly can’t do it on my own.”
Tor hoped he wasn’t feeling too much pressure. This was definitely a huge spectacle.
Tor Mantled Pel’s arrows carefully, making sure each one was fully covered in the soft white glow of his magic.
Then he moved to the other four contestants.
Two of them were Illustrious, but even if they’d Mantled their own arrows, the magic would have collapsed once they were released, before the arrows could find their targets.
He was scrupulously careful to power each of the arrows with the same amount of magic, because he knew Pel would punch him in the face if he cheated.
“This first round will be for practice,” Tor announced. “To give our archers the chance to get the feel for a Mantled arrow.”
The arrows flew with a streak of magic this time, and gasps went up as they punched through Larexa’s shields and hit the targets.
No one had landed dead center—but then, none of them had used Mantled arrows before.
Magic didn’t behave exactly like a normal object—coating an arrow in paint or oil would be different—but the arrow wasn’t quite like a non-Mantled arrow, either.
Tor looked to Larexa to make sure that she was all right, and she gave him a nod.
“Got the feel for it?” Tor asked.
“Yes,” Pel said, already pulling out another arrow, running his fingers over the magic-coated fletching.
Tor suppressed a shiver, because that would be ridiculous. He wasn’t that connected to his magic.
“Look at that, everyone! Even though our archers had never shot Mantled arrows before, every one of them hit the target. How’s that for Tond’s guards?”
The crowd roared, and King Forex looked pleased. Pel looked intently focused, like he was already filtering out all extraneous noise.
This time, each arrow hit, but one was several inches away from the bullseye, so that archer was eliminated. She looked disappointed but proud that she’d made it this far.
They moved the targets back again, and then again, until once again, an archer missed the target and was eliminated.
Now there were only three archers left. They were all going to place, but in what order?
The targets were shifted back three more times until finally, Pel’s arrow was the only one to bury itself in the dead center of the target.
Tor had to squint just to see the target clearly, and he was hugely impressed that the archers had been able to hit it, never mind accurately while going through Larexa’s shield. Tor could Mantle a thousand arrows, but he would never have been able to do that.
The crowd exploded in cheers and screams in appreciation of Pel’s efforts. He withstood it all a little stoically, not seeming to know what to do with all the people who’d poured out of the seating and were pumping his hand, slapping him on the back, and telling him how amazing he was.
There was a lot of good-natured laughing and more applause and raucous celebration until the King finally called everyone to order so the prizes could be awarded.
They all went to stand on the field, Pel in the company of the pale redheaded woman who’d placed second and the dark black-haired man who’d placed third.
Larexa gave each of them a medal stamped with the crest of the United Realms. Each was on a lovely silken ribbon that proclaimed their place in the competition in neat stitching.
Tor wondered if they actually had these sorts of things lying around—and then wondered if they did at home, too. When was the last time they’d had a competition like this in Nexa? Just letting people come and watch was enough to improve the mood of an entire area.
The second and third place winners were both given gold, and Pel said he’d like his winnings to be split amongst everyone else who’d competed. It wouldn’t mean very much per person, but the gesture of goodwill was met with extreme jubilation.
The fact that Larexa had small coins to pass out meant that Pel must have thought about this beforehand, in case he won. It made Tor like him even more.
King Forex thanked everyone for coming and told them that they were welcome to the food and drink that had been set up in the banquet hall.
Everyone cheered and then streamed chaotically into the castle to take the King up on his offer.
The King’s children had a lot more to do with this generosity, but at least it had happened.
The field was finally empty, but Tor realized that in addition to those servants who had stayed behind to finish collecting arrows, Pel had gone to pull the arrow out of his last target.
Tor had lost sight of him for a few moments in the throng of people headed into the castle. He made his way over, wondering if the crowds were maybe a little bit much for him.
Pel yanked the arrow out so hard that he ripped out a huge chunk of straw at the same time. That was when Tor realized that the other man was bristling with tension.
“What’s the matter?” Tor asked.
Pel whirled on him. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were bright, and his chest was heaving. “I know everything is better with magic, all right? You needn’t belabor the point!”
Tor stared at him for a long moment, not comprehending, and then his utter foolishness struck him—rather like one of Pel’s deadly accurate arrows.
“Oh, Pel, I’m so sorry,” Tor said wretchedly. “That’s not what I meant at all. I didn’t realize that’s what you’d think.”
Pel scoffed. He looked furious, more angry than Tor had ever seen him—apart from when he thought Tor had been going around sleeping with servants against their will.
“No?” he snarled, voice mean. “You didn’t think this was the perfect opportunity to take back the victory after you lost before?”
That stung. “Of course not!”
“You know what?” Pel sounded disgusted. “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t really care.”
“Pel—!” Tor protested.
Ignoring him, Pel stalked away. Tor wanted to run after him, wanted to explain, but Pel clearly wasn’t in the mood to hear Tor’s excuses. If Tor left it alone, was it possible the man would enjoy the rest of the day?
Tor was genuinely horrified that it hadn’t occurred to him how the inclusion of magic would look to Pel, how he’d see not his moment of triumph but him being sidelined by the magic instead.
Tor wished the man would have a little more faith in him, but clearly, Tor was a terrible friend who didn’t listen very well when Pel talked to him.
He’d known how Pel felt about magic, and it hadn’t occurred to him how the inclusion of magic would make him feel.
Tor was such a fool.
He kicked at the target, and when that didn’t make him feel any better, he punched it with what was perilously close to the full force of his magic behind the blow.
The target exploded, and Tor was left standing there covered in straw, which was now scattered multiple feet in every direction.
Shit.
Glancing around, Tor saw that, thankfully, everyone else had left already—or made themselves scarce when they’d seen him having a temper tantrum.
Ruefully, he brushed straw off his clothes and out of his hair.
He’d intended to go change before the revelry inside, intended to put his best tunic on, instead of the one he’d just rolled around on the ground in.
But wouldn’t that just be him showing off again?
Not to mention, if he went up to his room, Tor was pretty sure he wouldn’t come down again. The last thing he wanted to do was circulate and try to look like he hadn’t just messed up everything. But he couldn’t risk that anyone would see that as a slight.
It was just like Tor, really, to have planned an event just for Pel to show off, and then to completely ruin it at the last minute.
He couldn’t believe he’d been so foolish.