Free Winter Warriors by David Gemmell

am Dirais.”
    Kebra accepted the handshake. He glanced at the scoreboard, held aloft by a young cadet. The Ventrian was ten points behind him. The other archer, a slim young Drenai, was a further twenty points adrift.
    A dozen soldiers moved out onto the meadow, dragging a wheeled, triangular scaffold, twenty feet high, across the grass. As they were setting it into place, Kebra saw the king and Malikada striding out from the pavilion, coming toward them.
    Skanda gave a wide grin and clapped Kebra on the shoulder. “Good to see you, old lad,” he said. “That last shot reminded me of the day you saved my life. A fine strike.”
    “Thank you, sire,” Kebra said with a bow.
    Malikada stepped forward. “Your legend is not exaggerated,” he said. “Rarely have I seen better bowmanship.” Kebra bowed again.
    Skanda shook the young Ventrian’s hand. “You are competing with the finest,” he told Dirais. “And you are acquitting yourself well. Good luck to you.” Dirais gave a deep bow.
    Malikada leaned in close to the Ventrian. “Win,” he said. “Make me proud.”
    The king and his general moved back, and the last three archers faced the Hanging Man.
    A figure of straw was hung from the scaffold. A soldier dragged the figure back, then released it to swing like a pendulum between the supports. The young Drenai stepped up first. His first shaft struck the straw man dead center, but his second hit a support pole and glanced away. His third missed the Hanging Man by a whisker.
    Next came Dirais, and the Hanging Man was swung back once more. It seemed to Kebra that it was given an extra push by the Drenai soldiers and was moving at greater speed. And the Drenai soldiers in the crowd began again to jeer and shout in an effort to unsettle the Ventrian. Even so, the chubby archer hammered his first two shafts into the dummy. His third struck a support pole.
    Kebra stepped up. The figure was swung again, this time more sedately. For the first time anger flared in the bowman. He did not need this advantage. Even so he did not complain and, calming himself, sent three arrows into the target. The applause was thunderous. He glanced toward Dirais and saw the fury in the man’s dark eyes. It was bad enough for him to be facing the Drenai champion without such partisan efforts from the officials.
    The young Drenai archer was eliminated, and now came the final test. Two targets were set up thirty paces distant. They were the traditional round targets, with a series of concentric circles, each of a different color, surrounding a gold circle at the center. The outer rim was white and was worth two points. Within this was blue worth five, then silver worth seven, and lastly gold for ten.
    Kebra shot first and struck gold. Dirais equaled him. The targets were moved back ten paces. This time Kebra onlymanaged blue. Dirais, despite the increased jeering, struck gold once more.
    With only two shafts left Kebra was leading by 175 points to 160. Keep calm, he told himself. The targets were lifted and carried back another ten paces. The colors were a distant blur to Kebra now. He squinted hard and drew back on the string. The crowd was silent. He loosed, the shaft arcing gracefully through the air to thud home into the white. There were no cheers from the crowd now. Dirais took aim and struck gold once more—177 points to 170, with only one shaft left.
    The targets were moved back again. Kebra could only dimly make out the outline. He rubbed his eyes. Then, taking a deep breath, he took aim at the target he could barely see and let fly. He did not know where the shaft landed but heard one of the judges shout: “White!” He was relieved to have hit the target at all—179 points to 170.
    Dirais would need gold to win. Kebra stepped back. The spectators were shouting now at the top of their voices.
    Please miss, thought Kebra, wanting the championship more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. His chest felt tight and heavy, and