A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1443 - 1443: Furthering Competition - Part 3

Arrows flew all around them, and none flew as true as Yoreholder's. Two men missed the target entirely, and the others only managed to hit the outer rings, but they seemed well content with that, given the distance.

The villagers of Solgrim had gathered to watch, hearing that Nila would be competing. She was popular amongst her folk, for good reason. She was always charming to them, always patient and willing to listen to their concerns. Rather than a ruler, as they saw Oliver to be, Nila was more a comrade, a sister that wasn't blood-related, or a daughter to some of the older folk. And she had put her life on the line to lead them and defend them more than once.

Seeing her hesitate, they gave a few gentle cries.

"Lady Felder!" They shouted. Just the name was enough. As if they were worried that saying anything more would only unsettle her further. Nila's ears twitched like a fox. No doubt she heard them. She plucked her first arrow from her quiver, and attempted to steady her breath, but it was still far from being the usual Nila, as calm and as certain as a broad river. Hunting was always fun to her, always exciting. She never forced herself. She didn't want to see it sullied by things that she did not enjoy.

"Lady Felder!" They clamoured, giving her all the support that they could muster. A wave of disconnected shouts ran through the villagers that were spread through the crowd, giving her all the support that they could.

"You should shout for her as well, my Lord," Blackthorn told Oliver.

"She wouldn't want that," Oliver said. "It would be far too embarrassing for her."

"She would," Blackthorn said firmly.

"I doubt it."

"She would," Blackthorn said again, jabbing him in the side with her finger.

He glared at her. It was not often, but even after swearing her loyalty to him as a Lord, she wouldn't hesitate to play the part of his petulant friend whenever she found it to be convenient. "Sayyyy it," Blackthorn said, driving her finger deeper into his side.

"Uncouth, Lasha," Verdant chided.

"...Go for it, Nila," Oliver murmured under his breath.

"She can't hear that," Blackthorn said. "She's not an animal."

"This is too embarrassing, you can stop," Oliver said, grabbing Blackthorn's finger and holding it in the vice lock that was his palm. But she merely pulled a face at him, and attacked him with the other hand. They were nearly wrestling like children now, and Verdant had to make a concerted effort to stop them from bumping into the other people in the crowd.

"How about 'Lady Felder', my Lord?" Verdant said, throwing Oliver the solution, and he seized upon it in an instant. It was far less embarrassing to say than calling her first name.

"Lady Felder!" Oliver said, accidentally feeling a bit of Command seep into his voice as he played with Blackthorn. She still hadn't ceased her relentless attacks.

Nila stirred at the sound of his voice, and looked in his direction. No doubt she could see him and Blackthorn acting like fools, if the little smile that crept to her face was anything to go by.

"You're sooo stupid," she said quietly under her breath. "I'm fine, you both, there was nothing for you to worry about. I was just waiting for the trembling to go."

She gave herself one last deep breath, and then, with practised movements, her arrow was on its bow string. Yoreholder was watching, having fired all her seven arrows already. She'd moved out of the queue to allow the man behind her to have a turn, but she still stood well in the way of the others, making it clear that spectating was more in her interests now. Allow her arrows had landed inside the circle of the bullseye, with some right in the heart of it, and some on its edge.

One could tell, just from that single flourish, like a musician giving a tug of her instrument, that Nila was far more familiar with a bow than the average person. Yoreholder had moved with all the grace of a noblewoman as she went about her notching, her drawing, and her loosing, but Nila moved as something of the wild would move. With movements that could have been called wasted, but that affected a peculiar grace and overwhelming certainty when they were all strung together.

Oliver had a different word for it – beautiful. That was what Nila Felder with a bow was. And increasingly, he admitted to himself, it was Nila Felder in general. A woman that could captivate him, just by the slightest movement, the slightest little twitch. And now she captivated the crowd as well.

Her first arrow went thundering, and the air about Nila practically shuddered. It was as if she expected a creature to be killed on the end of it. No doubt, Oliver supposed, that was what she was imagining. Nila found the joy in the hunt, she would never be able to perform at her best imagining a mere wooden target.

Her arrow shuddered, right into the heart of the bullseye, as central as central could get. Oliver wasn't even close to being surprised. He'd seen her regularly put an arrow through the eye of a fleeing crow, or rabbit. A bullseye at this range was almost too big, if anything.

After the first arrow, Nila found no issue. Again and again her bowstring shuddered, and her arrows fired straight into the heart of the bullseye. All of them might have gone central, if not for the arrows that gathered, and began to block their way. It was to the point that her arrows almost landed on top of each other, and Nila had to make a concerted effort to fire past them.

Professor Yoreholder inclined her head once it was done, and she folded her hands behind her back without further word.

Oliver grinned. He could hear the crowd murmuring, and pointing, and the little red-haired peasant girl, who'd put on such a performance. The archery tournament was a gathering place for more nobles and Serving Class men, but it was little Nila that thus far outshone them all, and elicited the attentions of the crowd.