Cita nocked a black arrow, pulled back, paused to sight in, and let fly. His muscles flowed with familiar ease, accented by a burn that promised he'd be sore later. 'Too much lying around. I need to get back in shape.' Smoothly, he pulled another arrow from his quiver and repeated the sequence. Shaft after shaft sank into the distant straw-stuffed target.
**Just like that. Is it coming back yet?** A whisper of movement drifted in the corner of Cita's eye. He ignored it.
All too quickly, he was out of arrows and slung his bow at his side. He stared at the grouping. 'Could I have done better?'
A whicker drew him from his introspection. The horses they'd ridden were tethered well-clear of the firing line. A glossy blood-bay stallion teased the dappled grey gelding next to him.
Cita shook his head. 'Michael's horse starts things as readily as he does.'
Cita looked at the wooden walls that enclosed Lord Blaah's township. Tiny figures moved along the parapet, patrolling ceaselessly. He turned to watch the five guards standing at the same firing line, but aiming at much closer butts. Two hit their target with some regularity. The others …
Cita winced. "Are these their best archers?" he breathed. "And they're all lefties?"
*Yeah, you're so much better than them. Hail the great Akicita.*
Cita flinched and ducked away from the threatening shadow. He breathed deep, sucking in the scent of sun-baked dirt and straw, and focused on the chirring grasshoppers and warbling birds.
"Bravo! A wonderful display!" Michael wandered over with a goblet in one hand and a cold roasted poultry leg in the other.
Drawn back to the present, Cita recoiled but then cautiously sniffed. 'It doesn't smell like that time …'
Unease slithered up Cita's back. He shook his head. Michael's brow knitted, and Cita hastened to respond.
"Once everyone's done shooting, I'll collect my arrows. I … um … appreciate the chance to practice." Cita paused again, eyes shifting until they landed on the leather gloves tucked in Michael's belt. "You got your glove back?"
"Yes. Nocturne's always stealing my gloves. Isn't he a beauty? Did you want to pet him again?" Michael beamed at his stallion. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "Still, I'm pleased to see you in action. Although," he frowned at the guards, "I don't think there will be a tourney. They're not your match."
Cita looked from Michael to the guards. He opened his mouth. Then shut it. He heaved a relieved sigh when he saw Nathaniel approaching with a pastry in each hand. He gave one to Cita, who nibbled it.
"We don't have much call for archery inside the township. There are a few guards patrolling the outer farms that are skilled. Which is why they're on patrol," Nathaniel laughed. "We should recruit more."
"Some new equipment is in order," Michael added, looking at Cita's bow. "That's nothing like what we have. Tell me about it."
Cita swallowed hurriedly to clear his mouth and held up his bow. Pointing with the half-eaten pastry, he explained, "The biggest difference between those short bows and my compound bow is the cam system. It provides a mechanical advantage."
Cita observed the blank looks on his audience's faces. 'Well, that didn't work.'
"Look, with the guards' bows, they use a certain amount of strength to pull the string back. If they keep it drawn while they aim, they have to keep using the same amount of force they used to draw."
After Michael nodded thoughtfully, Cita continued, "With my bow, the cam system reduces the energy needed to draw it and hold it. It's easier."
"I see," Michael replied. "Where did you get such a weapon? Surely you did not make it?"
Cita's brow furrowed as he contemplated his bow. "No … I …"
Two pictures skittered across his consciousness.
**
An old, leather-skinned woman and a long, narrow building with dirty windows.
**
Pain stabbed through his head, and he rubbed it. He almost missed the frown Michael sent toward Nathaniel and Nathaniel's answering head-shake.
Striding into the conversation while wiping grease from his fingers with a cloth, Bilal interrupted. "The guards finished shooting. Let us retrieve your arrows. I would like to see them again if you do not mind."
Cita nodded and hastened toward the distant target. Bilal, Nathaniel, and Michael followed.
Cita finished his pastry and wiped his hand on his pants, looking up with a touch of embarrassment at Nathaniel's quiet chuckle.
*You've no manners, boy. You do need another lesson. But you can't have one, can you? And you know why.*
"No!" Cita glared around wildly.
"No?" Michael asked, eyebrows raised.
"My apologies, Cita," Bilal cut in. "I neglected to ask permission to handle your weapons. Can you forgive my rudeness?"
"Uh, sure? It's no biggie." Cita flushed, turning away from the golden eyes that saw too much, and focused on the perforated target at hand.
Cita pulled an arrow from the target. He inspected it before tucking it into his quiver. It left a small gap where the coarse fabric had parted for the arrowhead.
Cita handed Bilal a black arrow and moved to the next shaft.
Bilal twisted the bolt thoughtfully and pushed his fingertip against the point.
"This is as I recalled. The tip is smooth and does little damage. It did not damage the hides of the Infected, which is useful as a selling point, but does not seem ideal when one is fighting to survive." Bilal handed the arrow back to Cita, who stowed it efficiently in his quiver.
"These tips aren't really intended to be shot into ... living creatures," Cita explained.
**Not if you want to kill it, anyway,** the youth chuckled as he looked at the arrows with interest. **And otherwise, what's the point?**
Cita scowled at him. 'Is everyone ignoring this guy? What gives?'
*Is that why you did it? A thrill kill?* The shadow swirled around Cita and he shivered.
**Stuff it where the sun don't shine,** the youth countered, swatting at the shadow. **You know exactly why we did it.**
"These are field tips," Cita spoke out over the voices. "They're designed to come out of a target easily. Otherwise, you have to get a new target too soon." Cita winced at the mental image of a man brandishing a broadhead-tipped arrow and chastising two boys.
*I know why you did it,* the shadow said. It swirled into a featureless adult male figure. *You know why you did it.* He waved an amorphous hand at Cita. *He doesn't even know what you did.*
"So, you would have other arrows for hunting?" Michael asked, his hand twitching forward. He jerked back at Bilal's narrow-eyed look.
**Doesn't matter,** the youth said, gripping his sheathed daggers. **We'd do it again in a heartbeat. Right here. Right now.** He lunged at the shadow, who dissolved with a laugh.
Cita's head spun as he tried to track both conversations. 'Hunting arrows, right. But do what? Now? Why?' His skin prickled and the hair along his arms rose to attention.
"That's not practical," Nathaniel added. "If you don't practice with the arrows you hunt with, you won't know how they fly."
*Try it,* the shadow taunted, skittering across the stubble. *We'll see who wins this time.*
The youth ran after it, hurling curses.
Cita shifted his weight from foot to foot. 'Something's not right.' He forced himself to answer Nathaniel's question through the buzzing sense of urgency.
"You'd practice with the broadheads before going hunting. But you wouldn't need new arrows. See."
Cita demonstrated, twisting the field tip and unscrewing it from the shaft. He held it out while his eyes were drawn beyond the target to the eastern side of the field, where a line of trees stood as a windbreak. 'Where are the birds? The grasshoppers? Why are they so quiet now?'
He continued, "I mean, you can get new arrows with the tips if you want. Or keep another set with different tips. But that's expensive. Getting new tips is … well, it's still a little pricey, depending on what kind you want, but it's not as bad."
Bilal took the offered field tip and inspected it. "This is fine craftsmanship. You say it is expensive and small wonder. But it would be worthwhile to have different … tips." He returned the tip and Cita twisted it back into place.
Cita remembered the frenzied feeling of fighting off the swarm. 'That's kinda what it feels like now. But there's no swarm here.'
"Yeah. I practiced with broadhead tips once." Cita sighed and fingered the last arrow shaft before pulling it free.
A shout interrupted their discussion. A guard pointed at the tree line to the east of the field.
Cita stepped around the target and saw a line of black rabbits moving oddly. One would hop forward a bit and pause. Then another, from the back of the group, would leap onward until it was a few feet in front of the previous leader. The pattern repeated, with each of the fifteen rabbits moving ahead in turn.
Realizing why his instincts had been screaming, Cita gripped his bow and nocked an arrow.
"The Infected," Bilal growled. "And again, no warning."
Nathaniel hurried off, signaling the guards.
Two of the horses broke loose and fled toward the township. Those that remained fought their tethers, and Nocturne reared with an equine scream.
"Are you sure?" Michael asked. He threw aside his unfinished poultry and wiped his hands on his pants. "They're never so close to the township. And they look nothing like the furs Father collects."
"The Infected are black until killed. But the way they move, and the crawling uneasiness in our guts — those are dead giveaways." Bilal's eyes narrowed. "Your instincts tell you this is unnatural if you listen."
The guards formed a line across the field. Bows in hand, they waited for the enemy to close.
"Don't shoot until they are within the guard's range, Cita," Bilal instructed as they joined the defense. His hand rested on his sword hilt. "We need to take them quickly. Else they summon more."
Cita nodded, focused on the targets. 'Outnumbered again, and my ears still hurt from the Infected squirrel's shriek.'