year — a silver arrow. So he would be on the
platform with Vaust. Perhaps all was not lost. Maybe he would get the
invitation to the royal reception as well.
Apparently that ceremony would be held at once. While a
gang of workmen hauled the platform onto one end of the field, the crowd
spilled out of the far side of the stands for a closer look. The judges
ushered the two of them to the platform before they could be surrounded.
“My arrows —,” Kyric began.
“They will be collected for you,” a judge assured him.
A master of ceremonies announced them to the crowd with
booming voice. Two young women set laurels on their heads, and two more hung
ribbons with small ornamental arrows, gold and silver, around their necks.
Kyric’s arrow seemed to be solid silver and weighed close to a pound, and he
figured that if he pawned it he would have food and lodging for a month. Along
with the gold arrow Vaust received a piece of paper with an elaborate seal.
As they stepped down from the platform, Kyric saw Pitbull
passing nearby and was about to call out to him when Jela came out of the crowd
and threw her arms out in a great hug.
“You were so good,” she cried. “You were wonderful. You
almost won.”
While Jela carried on, Pitbull circled behind Vaust,
stopping and taking a hard look at him over his spectacles. Vaust stiffened
and looked behind, but Pitbull had already slipped away into a throng of
spectators.
Jela turned to Vaust. “You were good too.”
Vaust bowed. “Stefin Vaust.”
“Of Drendusia. I heard. I’m Jela.”
“I am charmed to meet such a lovely lady.”
Jela blushed. She said to Kyric, “He’s a gentleman as
well.”
“Are the two of you related?” said Vaust.
Jela giggled. “No. He’s my uncle’s friend.”
“How very fortunate for him.”
Jela giggled again, then noticed the paper in Vaust’s hand.
“You didn’t get an invitation to the reception,” she said to Kyric.
He shook his head. “The nobility are not interested in
those who come second.”
“That’s not fair,” she said. “You have a prize arrow as
well. And you were so looking forward to meeting Princess Aerlyn.”
“You may have mine,” Vaust said, “so long as you bring Jela
as your guest.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Jela said. “But won’t they be
expecting you?”
“Oh I will be there,” Vaust said. “My employer is very
close to Senator Lekon. I don’t need a pass to get in.”
“Who is your employer?” Jela asked.
“Kleon Morae,” Vaust said, pointing to Lekon’s private box
atop the pavilion.
Kyric looked up, and there stood Morae next to the Senator,
looking down at them, still wearing the same red hat with the black plume.
With sudden inspiration Kyric said to Vaust, “I’ve heard
he’s a generous man, good to work for. Do you not love him?” And he waited
for the lie.
This time Vaust laughed aloud. “No I do not. He’s an
unforgiving tyrant. But he has much to offer in the way of advancement. I
believe he’s soon to be Archon Morae.”
He spoke the truth. Kyric was sure of that.
“In that case,” Kyric said to him, “I accept with
gratitude.”
Vaust began to hand him the invitation then paused.
“Remember,” he said, nodding towards Jela.
Kyric took the paper and Jela covered her mouth with both
hands. “I’m going to the royal reception,” she screamed. “I have to go tell
everyone. Wait,” she said, having a sobering thought. “I don’t have anything
to wear.”
“You do not have to dress like royalty,” Vaust told her.
“I’m sure that you will be most lovely in what you have.” He bowed again and kissed
her hand. “Until tomorrow night then.”
Before he walked away he gave one last nod to Kyric. “Be
seeing you.”
CHAPTER 9: Rumors and Resolve
“He certainly has the warrior essence to him,” said Pitbull,
wiping the foam from the
platform with Vaust. Perhaps all was not lost. Maybe he would get the
invitation to the royal reception as well.
Apparently that ceremony would be held at once. While a
gang of workmen hauled the platform onto one end of the field, the crowd
spilled out of the far side of the stands for a closer look. The judges
ushered the two of them to the platform before they could be surrounded.
“My arrows —,” Kyric began.
“They will be collected for you,” a judge assured him.
A master of ceremonies announced them to the crowd with
booming voice. Two young women set laurels on their heads, and two more hung
ribbons with small ornamental arrows, gold and silver, around their necks.
Kyric’s arrow seemed to be solid silver and weighed close to a pound, and he
figured that if he pawned it he would have food and lodging for a month. Along
with the gold arrow Vaust received a piece of paper with an elaborate seal.
As they stepped down from the platform, Kyric saw Pitbull
passing nearby and was about to call out to him when Jela came out of the crowd
and threw her arms out in a great hug.
“You were so good,” she cried. “You were wonderful. You
almost won.”
While Jela carried on, Pitbull circled behind Vaust,
stopping and taking a hard look at him over his spectacles. Vaust stiffened
and looked behind, but Pitbull had already slipped away into a throng of
spectators.
Jela turned to Vaust. “You were good too.”
Vaust bowed. “Stefin Vaust.”
“Of Drendusia. I heard. I’m Jela.”
“I am charmed to meet such a lovely lady.”
Jela blushed. She said to Kyric, “He’s a gentleman as
well.”
“Are the two of you related?” said Vaust.
Jela giggled. “No. He’s my uncle’s friend.”
“How very fortunate for him.”
Jela giggled again, then noticed the paper in Vaust’s hand.
“You didn’t get an invitation to the reception,” she said to Kyric.
He shook his head. “The nobility are not interested in
those who come second.”
“That’s not fair,” she said. “You have a prize arrow as
well. And you were so looking forward to meeting Princess Aerlyn.”
“You may have mine,” Vaust said, “so long as you bring Jela
as your guest.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Jela said. “But won’t they be
expecting you?”
“Oh I will be there,” Vaust said. “My employer is very
close to Senator Lekon. I don’t need a pass to get in.”
“Who is your employer?” Jela asked.
“Kleon Morae,” Vaust said, pointing to Lekon’s private box
atop the pavilion.
Kyric looked up, and there stood Morae next to the Senator,
looking down at them, still wearing the same red hat with the black plume.
With sudden inspiration Kyric said to Vaust, “I’ve heard
he’s a generous man, good to work for. Do you not love him?” And he waited
for the lie.
This time Vaust laughed aloud. “No I do not. He’s an
unforgiving tyrant. But he has much to offer in the way of advancement. I
believe he’s soon to be Archon Morae.”
He spoke the truth. Kyric was sure of that.
“In that case,” Kyric said to him, “I accept with
gratitude.”
Vaust began to hand him the invitation then paused.
“Remember,” he said, nodding towards Jela.
Kyric took the paper and Jela covered her mouth with both
hands. “I’m going to the royal reception,” she screamed. “I have to go tell
everyone. Wait,” she said, having a sobering thought. “I don’t have anything
to wear.”
“You do not have to dress like royalty,” Vaust told her.
“I’m sure that you will be most lovely in what you have.” He bowed again and kissed
her hand. “Until tomorrow night then.”
Before he walked away he gave one last nod to Kyric. “Be
seeing you.”
CHAPTER 9: Rumors and Resolve
“He certainly has the warrior essence to him,” said Pitbull,
wiping the foam from the
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