Chapter 226: Moving Targets

Arthur didn’t get back to the academy until well past noon on Saturday.

Roxanne had made him stay for breakfast and then talked him into helping count the remaining casks from Tuesday’s spoiled shipment. By the time he finally escaped The Leaping Stag, he’d had enough of cellar inventory to last a lifetime. All he wanted now was a nap.

He made it as far as the stone path bordering the Advanced Combat Grounds before Emily intercepted him.

She was sitting on the low stone wall near the weapon racks, dressed in her fitted training leathers and pulling the straps of her padded sparring gauntlets tight with her teeth. When she spotted him coming up the walk, she grinned and hopped down onto the gravel.

"Figured you’d be on the midday wagon," Emily said, stepping into his path and hooking a finger into his belt loop. She leaned up to give him a quick kiss, then sniffed the collar of his shirt. "Bacon and tavern smoke. How’s Roxanne?"

"Ordering her barman around and complaining about beer suppliers," Arthur said, sliding his right arm around her waist. "Why are you in full gear on a Saturday?"

"Morwenna’s running an optional objective course for the advanced classes," Emily said, jerking her thumb toward the gated field behind her. "Two-on-two assault drills. I already put our names down."

Arthur looked past her shoulder at the training yard, where wooden barricades, rope bridges, and elevated timber platforms had been set up across the dirt field.

"I was going to sleep for three hours," Arthur protested.

"You can sleep tonight," Emily said. "Besides, weren’t you complaining on Monday that you needed to test your close-range footwork against people who aren’t standing still?"

Arthur paused, watching a pair of third-year students sprint between two stone walls while a defender loosed blunt, chalk-tipped arrows from a wooden tower.

"They’re using the full obstacle layout?" Arthur asked.

"Three flags, eight-minute clock," Emily said, watching his expression shift with a knowing smirk. "Still tired?"

"Vance!" Morwenna’s voice cut across the yard.

The instructor stood near the starting line with an iron pocket watch in one hand and a clipboard tucked under her arm, her dark hair braided back over her scarred shoulder.

"Are you getting in line, or did you just come down here to distract Thorne?" Morwenna called out.

"Apparently I’m already on the roster," Arthur called back, walking through the open gate with Emily.

He stepped behind the instructor’s table to unstrap his bow case while the previous team finished clearing the yard. Morwenna stepped back from the chalk line to check the equipment sheet, standing close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm.

"You look awfully pleased with yourself for someone showing up late to my yard," she murmured low enough that only he could hear, her dark eyes flicking briefly to his neck before dropping to the leather support on his left wrist. "I assume you didn’t re-injure that last night?"

"Kept the weight off it," Arthur said quietly, grinning at her. "Just stiff."

"Good. Because you’re not ruining my afternoon by making me send you back to the infirmary," Morwenna said, her voice rising back to its crisp instructor tone as she tapped her pen against the rack of academy loaners. "Leave Whisperwind on the bench. Take a light practice recurve and a warded dagger. Approved movement skills only—if I see you hauling yourself over a wall with that left hand, I’m pulling you off the course."

Arthur sighed, setting his bow case behind her bench and picking up one of the light ash practice bows and a quiver of blunt, white-chalked arrows. He tested the string with two fingers; the draw was light enough for a novice, and the wooden grip was worn smooth. He tucked a dull practice dagger into his belt and walked back to the starting line.

"Who are we running against?" Arthur asked, rolling his right shoulder.

"Us," a familiar voice said from the edge of the field.

Arthur turned his head. Elara was walking down from the equipment shed alongside Garrett, a broad-shouldered third-year spearman from the vanguard track. She wore her green training tunic over light leather greaves, her silver-blond hair tied high behind her head and an academy practice bow already strung in her hand.

"Thought you had solo range practice on Saturdays," Arthur said as she stopped beside them.

"Someone tried to talk me into shooting stationary hay bales for the festival yesterday," Elara said, her green eyes flicking down to the loaner bow in his hand and the leather wrap on his wrist. "I decided moving targets sounded more interesting. What happened to your hand?"

"Blocked something heavy last weekend," Arthur said. "Figured I’d give you a fair handicap by leaving my real bow on the bench."

A faint, competitive smile touched Elara’s mouth. "Keep telling yourself that when you’re walking back to the starting line, Vance."

"Listen up," Morwenna said, stepping between the two pairs and gesturing toward the field. "Three crimson pennants are mounted across the yard: one behind the western stone wall, one at the bottom of the central trench, and one on the top deck of the eastern scaffold. Attackers have eight minutes to pull all three from their rings. Defenders win if a single flag remains standing when time expires."

She tapped the flat of her warded shortsword against her boot.

"A clean hit counts as a tag. Attackers who get tagged return to the starting line before rejoining. Defenders sit out for sixty seconds. Once a pennant is taken, it stays captured. Headshots are off-limits. Clear?"

"Clear," Garrett grunted, hefting his padded practice spear.

Elara gave Arthur one last look before jogging out into the yard with Garrett to take their positions.

Emily leaned her shoulder against Arthur’s as they watched Elara climb the ladder to the central timber rise while Garrett took up a wide stance near the sunken trench.

"She’s got high ground over the whole middle lane," Emily muttered, flexing her gloved fingers. "If we run straight for the trench, she’ll pick us off before we reach the steps."

"We take the west wall first," Arthur said, scanning the shadows stretching between the wooden barricades. "Push up the center just enough to make Garrett hold his ground. Keep cover between you and Elara’s platform."

"And what are you doing?"

"Getting past her."

Morwenna raised her whistle and blew a sharp blast.

Emily moved immediately, sprinting low across the gravel to slide behind a stacked timber barricade in the center lane. Garrett shifted his spear toward her, bracing near the lip of the trench.

Arthur broke left, cutting across the western flank through a line of waist-high stone ruins. He stayed low, hopping a fallen beam and angling toward the first crimson pennant fluttering behind a brick corner.

Just ahead of the wall, there was an open gap between two wooden screens. Arthur lunged across the dirt.

Thwip—clack!

A blunt practice arrow sheared through the air right in front of his chest and slammed into the timber frame before his lead boot even touched the far side. White chalk dust sprayed across his sleeve from the wood.

Arthur threw his weight backward, skidding behind the first screen as a second shaft hissed past the boards and buried itself in the gravel where his knee had just been.

Up on the central platform, Elara already had a third arrow nocked.

"You’re dragging your left foot before you cross a gap, Arthur!" she called down across the yard, thoroughly amused.

"Show-off," Arthur muttered, checking his sleeve to make sure the chalk burst hadn’t counted. Morwenna remained silent on the sideline.

Arthur peeked through the lower slat of the screen. Elara had her bow trained squarely on the gap between him and the western flag, waiting for him to try again.

He caught Emily’s eye across the center lane and tapped two fingers against his thigh.

Emily didn’t hesitate. She kicked off the dirt and charged straight toward the central trench, closing the distance on Garrett in a burst of speed.

Garrett barked a warning, bringing his padded spear around to check her rush. Up on the platform, Elara pivoted toward the center, drawing her string to cover her partner’s flank as Emily ducked behind a stone pillar at the edge of the trench.

That split-second turn was all Arthur needed.

He focused on the deep pool of shade cast by the western brick wall on the far side of the open lane.

Shadow Step.

The air blurred around him. He stepped into the thin shadow behind the wooden screen and emerged from the dark patch against the brickwork, bypassing Elara’s firing lane entirely. Before she could swing her bow back toward him, Arthur hooked his right hand through the iron ring, yanked the first crimson pennant free, and dropped behind the wall.

"West flag captured!" Morwenna shouted.

Arthur tucked the red cloth into his belt and glanced over the brickwork. Elara was frowning down at his wall, her arrow still on the string. Realizing the west flank was already lost, she stepped across the platform to the inner rail, aiming back down toward the central trench to help Garrett keep Emily boxed out.

Down at the trench lip, Emily was already moving.

She had watched Elara turn her head when Morwenna called the capture. Before the elven archer could reset her stance at the rail, Emily vaulted directly over the low sandbag barrier separating her from Garrett.

Garrett lunged forward, driving the padded butt of his spear toward her ribs. Emily twisted aside, clamped her right hand down over the wooden shaft behind the head, and yanked hard to pull him off-balance as she stepped inside his reach.

Her left palm slammed squarely into the center of his padded chest piece.

Thud!

Garrett’s boots flew out from under him, and he hit the dirt on his back with a loud grunt, a smear of white chalk stamped dead center over his sternum.

"Garrett tagged! Sixty-second hold!" Morwenna called out.

Emily hopped straight down the steps into the trench, ripped the second crimson pennant from its post as an arrow from Elara’s bow ricocheted off the stone rim above her head, and rolled behind the trench wall.

"Center flag captured! Four minutes remaining!"

With Garrett heading to the sideline penalty box and only the eastern scaffold flag left, Elara slung her bow across her back, dropped down the rear ladder of the central platform, and sprinted across the backfield toward the high eastern tower.

Arthur left the western wall at a run, meeting Emily as she scrambled out of the far side of the trench. They ducked behind an overturned supply wagon facing the eastern structure.

"Nice hit," Arthur said.

"He telegraphed the thrust a mile away," Emily panted, wiping sweat from her brow before peering around the wagon wheel.

The final pennant was mounted on the upper rail of the eastern tower. An open ramp led up the front, while a narrow wooden ladder climbed the shaded north support posts. Elara was already at the top rail, nocking a fresh arrow, and Garrett would be back on the field in moments.

"If Garrett gets back to the bottom of that ramp, we’re not breaking through," Emily said. "I’ll rush the front ramp now and force her to shoot down at me. You take the north ladder while she’s looking over the front rail."

"Go," Arthur said, drawing his wooden dagger with his right hand while checking the tall shadow cast by the scaffold across the north dirt. A stack of barrels sat halfway between their wagon and the shaded ladder posts.

Emily burst out from behind the wagon, sprinting hard for the base of the wooden ramp and weaving to spoil Elara’s aim.

Arthur broke north at the same instant, dashing across the gravel to slide behind the stacked barrels. Above the ramp, he heard the sharp twang of Elara’s bowstring and the clatter of a blunt shaft bouncing off the planks near Emily’s boots.

Arthur glanced once more at the dark patch of shade beneath the north ladder, gathered his mana, and triggered Shadow Step.

He emerged smoothly out of the deep shadow beneath the scaffold beams, pivoted to grab the middle rung of the ladder with his right hand, and froze.

Elara wasn’t at the front rail shooting at Emily.

She was kneeling right above the square ladder opening, her practice bow drawn and the blunt chalk head pointed squarely at his chest.

"Looking for this?" Elara asked pleasantly.

Thwack!

She loosed the shaft straight into his sternum. The padded head thudded against his leather vest, leaving a bright white circle of chalk dust over his chest.

Arthur let his head fall back against the wooden post and groaned. "Fuck’s sake."

"Vance tagged! Reset to the starting line! Under a minute left!" Morwenna shouted.

Down on the front ramp, Emily was halfway up the planks when Garrett sprinted back onto the field from the sideline, cutting off her climb with his spear leveled. With Arthur jogging back toward the starting post and the clock running out, Emily tried vaulting the side rail, only to take one of Elara’s follow-up arrows across the thigh before her boots hit the upper deck.

Morwenna’s whistle blew a long, final blast.

"Time!" Morwenna called. "Two flags captured, one still standing. Defenders win!"

Arthur stopped jogging halfway back to the starting line, blew out a breath, and walked back toward the eastern tower while brushing chalk dust off the front of his vest.

Emily was already climbing down the ramp, shaking her head as Elara descended the north ladder with her bow unstrung in one hand.

"You weren’t even watching the ramp," Arthur said as Elara stepped onto the gravel beside him. "Emily was five seconds from the top."

"Garrett was coming off penalty," Elara replied smoothly, tucking her bowstring into her belt pouch. "And you looked at the shadow under that ladder three separate times before you left the wagon. Where else were you going to go?"

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, then shut it.

"She’s right, Vance," Morwenna said, walking over with her clipboard tucked under her arm while the next four students moved out onto the field to reset the pennants.

"Thorne, your read on the center trench was good," Morwenna said, nodding at Emily. "You saw the archer turn her head and closed the gap on the vanguard before he could reset his feet. Just watch your high flank when you climb."

"Yes, Instructor," Emily said, grinning despite the loss.

Morwenna turned her dark eyes on Arthur. "Your first Shadow Step on the west wall was smart. You used your partner’s pressure to blind the archer and crossed a lane she thought she had locked down."

"And the second one?" Arthur asked.

"The second one was lazy," Morwenna said bluntly, tapping her clipboard against the chalk mark on his chest. "Movement skills hide the transit, Vance. They don’t hide your intent. Because the trick worked once, you ran the exact same setup two minutes later and stared right at your landing spot before you jumped. If you don’t learn to fake your approaches, any decent archer will just put an arrow in the shadow you’re heading for."

Arthur glanced down at the chalk ring on his vest.

The first trick had worked. Then he’d tried almost the same thing again, and Elara had seen it coming a mile away.

Well, shit.

"Fair point," Arthur admitted.

"Go put the loaner bow back on the rack and let the next team work," Morwenna said, turning back toward the yard. "Next pair on the line!"

Arthur and Emily walked off the field toward the equipment shed while Elara headed over to the benches to pack her gear. After hanging the loaner recurve back on its pegs, Arthur walked over to where Elara was sitting on the wooden bench, re-wrapping a frayed strip of leather binding around the grip of her personal bow.

"You enjoyed that way too much," Arthur said, dropping onto the bench beside her.

"Consider it practice for the festival showcase," Elara said, though her eyes were bright with satisfaction as she glanced sideways at him. "You said yesterday you’d only join if there were moving targets. I wanted to see how hard you actually were to hit."

"Not hard enough when you’re camping the ladder," Arthur grumbled. "Give me Whisperwind and two good wrists next time, and we’ll see who stays on that tower."

"Is that a formal challenge, or an excuse for getting shot?"

"Can’t it be both?" Arthur said, nudging her boot with his.

Elara’s mouth curved into a genuine smile before she looked back down at her bow, pulling the worn leather strip tight around the riser and tying it off.

"Still patching the old grip?" Arthur asked, watching her fingers work the knot. "Thought you ordered new silver-yew billets and cured wrap from the northern provinces last month."

Elara’s hands stilled slightly on the wood. She glanced toward the water barrels to make sure none of the other students were standing close before speaking.

"They were supposed to arrive with the timber caravans ten days ago," she said quietly. "I went down to the northern factor’s office in the merchant quarter on Thursday. The clerk told me every wagon coming south through the border passes has been held up for secondary inspections."

Arthur frowned slightly. "Customs holds?"

"That’s what the factor called it," Elara said, sliding the bow into its leather case. "I checked with two other merchants who import elven resin and fletching wire. Neither of them has seen a single shipment cross the border in three weeks, and the commercial couriers aren’t carrying private parcels at all right now. Even the latest letter from home didn’t mention a trade freeze."

She buckled the flap of her case, her jaw tight.

"Did the factor say who was holding the wagons?" Arthur asked. "Your royal guard, or the kingdom’s?"

"He didn’t know, or he wouldn’t tell me," Elara said, sounding annoyed. "And if I start asking questions through the embassy, my family will hear about it before I get any answers."

Arthur thought about it for a second. "Sylvia might know."

Elara looked up at him. "Your guildmaster?"

"Obsidian Hand handles escort contracts for merchants using the northern routes," Arthur said. "Sylvia might have heard something from the caravan crews. I’m heading to Warehouse Nine tomorrow morning anyway. Come with me."

Elara studied him for a moment, the guarded tension around her eyes softening. "Sylvia wouldn’t mind me asking about her contract routes?"

"Not if you’re with me," Arthur said easily. "Meet me by the main gates around nine tomorrow."

"Nine o’clock," Elara agreed, slinging her bow case over her shoulder as she stood up. "Thank you, Arthur. Really."

"Don’t thank me yet," Arthur grinned. "If you come to my warehouse, I’m probably going to make you carry a crate."

"Your left wrist is in a brace," Elara pointed out dryly, looking back over her shoulder with a slight smile as she stepped onto the path. "I suspect I’d be carrying it anyway."

Arthur laughed, watching her head toward the dormitories just as Emily walked over from the water barrels with a damp towel slung around her neck and Arthur’s bow case in her hand.

"Look at you," Emily teased, handing him his case and falling into step beside him as they headed toward the exit gate. "Even when you lose a match, you’re still setting up Sunday dates."

"We’re going to Warehouse Nine to talk to Sylvia," Arthur said, slinging the strap over his right shoulder. "The northern trade caravans from her homeland have been held up at the border for three weeks. Even her latest letter from home didn’t mention a freeze."

Emily’s teasing expression sobered slightly. "Everything coming across the pass?"

"Sounds like it. The city merchants are just calling it inspection delays, so I told her we’d ask Sylvia what the caravan guards are actually seeing on the road."

"Good," Emily said, bumping her hip lightly against his as they stepped out onto the main quadrangle path. "She’s been worrying about those letters for a month. At least Sylvia won’t give her polite excuses."

She glanced sideways at his chest, where the white chalk ring from Elara’s arrow was still clearly visible against his dark leather vest, and her grin returned in full force.

"Still," Emily added, hooking her arm through his as they walked toward the dining hall. "You somehow managed to turn an optional Saturday spar into another guild appointment. And you got shot square in the chest."

"I only got shot because someone wouldn’t let me take a damn nap," Arthur complained.

"You volunteered the second you saw the towers, Vance," Emily laughed, tugging him toward the smell of roasted meat drifting from the lower hall. "Come on. Loser buys the extra rations."