Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Gundam Wing and the Men of Sherwood Forest ❯ The Archery Tournament ( Chapter 12 )

Chapter 12: The Archery Tournament

“I think Prince John is hiding from me,” Treize said with a chuckle.

Lady Margaret looked shocked. “His Highness would never do such an ungentlemanly thing! I am certain he is only resting before the archery tournament. I heard there are over fifty entrants. The match will take a long time.”

“That's true,” Mayor DeBoers put in. “Prince John mentioned to me that he was feeling somewhat indisposed. He plans to join us when the field of archers has been winnowed down to the final few.”

“Ah,” Treize said.

Zechs smiled innocently. “I imagine losing forty gold coins in two days might give any man an upset stomach.”

Mayor DeBoers flushed. “Such a sum is no doubt a mere pittance to Prince John,” he exclaimed haughtily, but his anguished tone implied that he personally did not find the sum a pittance.

“That's good,” Zechs replied cheerfully, “for then he should have no trouble paying before he returns to court.” He turned his magnificent smile on Lady Margaret. “But tell me, my lady, do you mean to wait until the match is nearly over before attending as well?”

“Well,” Lady Margaret fanned herself daintily, “I had thought to arrive a little bit later. This has already been quite a long day.”

“Ah, how unfortunate!” Zechs took her soft hand in his and gazed deep into her eyes. “I love archery and I had hoped to illuminate for my lady the skills of the different archers. Each man has his own technique, you see, for ensuring his arrow pierces the very center of the target each time with solid penetration.”

Lady Margaret went pale.

“I myself find it quite stimulating when a skilled marksman hits the target again and again,” Zechs continued with a straight face.

“I think I need to sit down,” Lady Margaret whispered faintly.

“Let me help you,” Zechs said, but Mayor DeBoers quickly shouldered him aside.

“Allow me, my dear,” Mayor DeBoers said, fixing Zechs with a furious and confused stare.

Zechs stepped back with a slight bow.

Treize moved next to Zechs and murmured into his ear, “You are being extremely naughty again, my dear count.”

Zechs touched his upper lip with the tip of his tongue. “Perhaps we should also rest during the early rounds of the archery contest,” he suggested softly.

“Zechs…”

“I wouldn't mind lying down for an hour or so.”

Treize lifted an eyebrow at him. “We are expected, you know.”

Zechs sighed. “Oh, very well.” He turned and bowed to Lady Margaret. “I will keep a seat for you close by, my lady.”

Lady Margaret managed a gracious smile, even though she looked like she might swoon again. “I look forward to joining you later,” she exclaimed breathlessly. Her husband's dark glower showed he was not looking forward to it.

Treize and Zechs departed to meet the others at the archery tournament.

The archery tournament was held on a stretch of the common which had been kept clear of booths and tents. Temporary stands were erected along one side of the range, with seats for the nobility set closest to where the archers would stand so they would be relatively safe from stray arrows. The range was in a slight depression, which allowed crowds to stand behind the archers and still have a fair view of the targets. Crowds also stood along the side opposite the stands.

Treize and Zechs found the others outside an enclosure with a chest-high railing near the shooting end of the range. Trowa stood on the inside leaning on his bow. Other archers were also inside the enclosure, some oiling their bowstrings, others checking the fletching on their arrows.

“All ready?” Treize asked as they arrived.

“Yup,” Trowa nodded. “We each get to shoot three arrows in the first round. They take the best two of the three and then eliminate the archers with the poorest combined marks. It shouldn't be a problem for me. The targets are so close for this round even Robin might have trouble missing.”

“Sounds good.”

Zechs pointed at the shapeless cloth hat on Trowa's head. “Is that supposed to be a disguise?”

Trowa chuckled. “Yeah. Roku got it for me.”

“I think it makes him look different,” Roku said primly. “It's not like anyone else can tell he still smells the same.”

“True.”

“Are you going to sit in the stands for this?” Treize asked.

“Are you kidding?” Quatre exclaimed. “Have you seen some of these archers? I'm standing behind them where I have a reasonable chance of not being shot.”

“All right, then we'll see you after the match. We're going to sit with the nobles.”

“We should have asked them if they got the money from Prince John,” Wu-Fei said after they left.

“Probably not or they would have mentioned it,” Quatre said. He looked around. “Have you seen any of the Merry Men?”

“A few. And I saw Little John and Friar Tuck while we were looking for Trowa in the pen.”

“It's not a pen!” exclaimed Trowa. “It's an enclosure to protect us fine archers from you rabble.”

Wu-Fei chuckled. “Sorry!”

“Let's go look for Little John,” said Duo. “He's nice and big; he can shove his way to the front and get us a good spot. Too bad Heero decided to skip the shooting match. People would be happy to make room for him.”

“Yeah, right after they finished mobbing him,” Wu-Fei said with a laugh. “We were lucky to get him back to the inn before he started cracking people over the head.”

“That's true. He was starting to look a little testy.”

“He could have used his armband,” Roku said. “No one would have recognized him then.”

“He could have,” agreed Quatre, “except that it seems like sprites always turn up whenever he uses it. There must be something about a marked person using magic that really attracts them.”

“And I really don't think it's a good idea to have sprites around during an archery contest,” said Duo. “I can just see them thinking it's funny to send arrows flying in all directions.”

“Good point,” Wu-Fei acknowledged. “Maybe it's better that Heero's not here. Roku, can you smell Little John?”

“Yes.” Roku pointed. “He's over there.”

“Ok,” said Quatre. He patted Trowa's hand. “Shoot good. We'll see you after you win. Lead the way, Roku.”

Quatre, Duo and Wu-Fei followed Roku around the perimeter of the enclosure to where Little John and Friar Tuck stood among the crowd.

“What ho!” Little John called when he saw them. “Is Master Trowa prepared?”

“He is,” said Quatre. “We thought we'd stand behind the archers to watch. Can you find a good spot for us?”

“Certainly!” Little John agreed cheerfully. He began forging a path through the crowd until he had brought them to the crest of the slope behind where the archers would stand. People were clustered on the slope starting from about halfway down. Most were sitting. “This seems a good spot,” Little John declared as he cleared aside a group of men standing in the way.

“This is great,” Quatre agreed. He spread out a bit of cloth and sat down in the grass. The others all sat down as well. “We can see the archers and the targets.”

Roku waved towards the stands. “Mr. Zechs is waving at us.”

Everyone waved back.

“There aren't very many nobles watching,” noted Wu-Fei.

“They usually wait until the field is winnowed to twelve or so archers,” Friar Tuck informed them. “With this many archers to get through, it will be an hour before that happens.”

“Here we go,” Duo said as the first group of eight archers came out to face the targets. “How far do you think that is? Twenty-five meters?”

“Looks like it,” Quatre said.

The archers launched their first flight of arrows. All eight hit the target within either the second ring or the center circle.

“This could take a while,” Duo remarked. “We should have brought more snacks.”

“Do you want a meat pie, Papa Duo?”

“Yeah.”

Little John looked on with interest. Roku noticed.

“Would you like a meat pie, too, Mr. Little John?”

“You are very kind to offer, little one,” Little John said. Roku gave him a pie.

Duo, Roku and Little John munched on meat pies while the first group of archers finished their three flights and the hits were scored. Then the next group of archers filed in. Trowa was in the third group. His three arrows ended up bunched so close together in the center of his target that they looked like one fat arrow.

“That was way too easy for him,” Duo said.

“It certainly looks that way,” Quatre agreed. “But twenty-five meters is really close. They need to move those targets back to a more reasonable distance, like one hundred meters.”

“Yeah, then he might have to draw his bow all the way back.”

At the conclusion of the first round, the referees huddled together to compare the scores while several young men dashed out to move the targets back another twenty-five meters. The twenty-four best scores were kept and the winners from the first round prepared to shoot again. Once more, Trowa's three shots were clumped together in the center of his target.

“It's still too close.”

“Yup.”

The field was winnowed to twelve men and the two outside targets were turned around. The remaining six were carried back another twenty-five meters.

“Now we're getting to some reasonable distances,” Duo said approvingly.

“They'll shoot in two groups of six now,” Friar Tuck said.

Trowa was in the first group this time. His first shot landed dead center. His second and third shots landed just to either side of the first, forming a neat little row. The other archers stared at him.

“He's showing off,” Quatre muttered.

“I think seventy-five meters is still too close.”

“Look,” said Roku. “More nobles have shown up.”

Everyone looked and saw that the stands were Treize and Zechs were sitting were now quite full of finely dressed men and women. Prince John was seated in the front row in a place of honor right across from the archers. The sour expression on his face was plain for all to see.

“Prince John looks mighty unhappy,” Little John noted.

“No doubt because he has to cough up forty gold coins,” Duo laughed. “He doesn't look the sort to enjoy parting with his money.”

“Look who's talking,” Wu-Fei whispered loudly to no one.

“Hey!”

The field was reduced to six archers at the end of the round and the targets were moved again. As the field hands marched back another twenty-five paces, some of the archers started to look nervous.

“Maybe Trowa will have to break a sweat now.”

Trowa's three arrows landed in a neat column this time, with the middle arrow resting directly in the center of the target.

“Or maybe not.”

Only one other archer was able to land all of his arrows in the center of the target, so he and Trowa advanced to the final round and all the others were eliminated.

In the stands, Sheriff Mark leaned forward to examine the two remaining archers with an intense stare. “One of these men,” he murmured in a low voice to Mayor DeBoers, “must be Robin Hood. He is known to be one of the finest archers in England. And with such a prize as a golden arrow to shoot for, I know he could not resist this contest.”

“Indeed!” Mayor DeBoers said excitedly. He leaned forward as well. “I shall be more than happy to see that blackguard behind bars.”

The Sheriff signaled to two of his deputies, who stood near the end of the stands keeping a clear aisle so the nobility could come and go unhindered by commoners. One of these men in turn signaled toward the crowd and several burly men in dark brown sheriff's uniforms began moving forward.

Treize observed the movement with a frown. “Do you mean to halt the contest, my lord Sheriff?”

“Indeed not, my lord Treize,” the Sheriff replied. “I am as anxious as you to see who shall win. But I think the winner will receive more than he expects.” The Sheriff chuckled darkly. “I have an additional surprise for the victorious archer.”

Zechs leaned close to Treize and murmured. “I think he means to arrest him. He must think Trowa is Robin Hood.”

Treize nodded. “I think so too and that is not a good thing. I do not think our beloved Quatre will react well to the sight of Trowa being arrested.”

“I fear that is a rank understatement, my love.”

As they spoke, all but one of the targets was being turned around. The tournament announcer stepped into the open and cried loudly, “The remaining archers will shoot at the same target. Each man will loose two arrows. The single arrow closest to the center will win!”

The crowd cheered excitedly as the first archer stepped forward. He took his time setting up his shot and then loosed his arrow smoothly. It thudded into the target no more than the width of its shaft from the very center.

Trowa nodded approvingly. “A good shot, sir,” he said.

The man smiled slightly. “But I think you mean to beat it.”

“I shall certainly try.” Trowa lined up and shot his arrow in a single smooth motion. It struck so close to the first man's arrow, it stripped off a line of fletching. His arrow had struck dead center.

The crowd applauded with great excitement.

“That was a pretty good shot,” Duo said.

“Um hmm,” Quatre nodded. “Let's see what the other fellow does.”

Trowa's opponent examined his final arrow carefully, checking the straightness of the shaft and the cleanness of the fletching before nocking the arrow. He drew his bow slowly, stood completely motionless for two heartbeats and then released the arrow. It flew through the air in a smooth arc and struck the center of the target, splitting Trowa's arrow.

The crowd leaped to its collective feet with a roar.

“What a shot!” Mayor DeBoers cried. He turned to Sheriff Mark. “Surely that must be Robin Hood. No man could possibly beat such a shot!”

But Sheriff Mark was staring speculatively at Trowa. “Perhaps not. But I shall wait until the last arrow is released before I release my men.”

Trowa meanwhile regarded his opponent's final arrow with lifted eyebrows. “I must say, friend, that is a damn good shot.”

The archer grinned broadly. “It is the best I've ever made, without doubt! Perhaps the best ever!”

Trowa nodded slowly. “It will be hard to beat.” He stepped up and raised his bow, an arrow already resting against the string. The audience became suddenly silent, as everyone held his or her breath.

“Now he's finally serious,” Quatre murmured.

Trowa drew the string back to his cheek, held it for just an instant and released. His arrow sped to the target and split the shaft of his opponent's second arrow neatly in two.

There was a brief moment of utter silence and then the crowd erupted into such a roar that birds in the forest for miles around flew up in panic. The other archer stared with his mouth open.

Trowa turned to him with a slight smile. “You presented quite a challenge. I wasn't sure I'd be equal to the task.”

The man shook his head and muttered faintly, “I don't believe it!”

Sheriff Mark stood up. “Well done, sir! Deputies, bring our winner here so that I might congratulate him.”

The deputies immediately pushed forward with drawn swords and surrounded Trowa.

“Drop your bow!” one ordered harshly. He threatened Trowa menacingly with his sword.

Quatre leaped to his feet. “What the hell are they doing?!” he cried. His arm snapped up and he pointed a trembling finger over the heads of several spectators at the nearest deputy. “Vos imperiti transformare…” he began.

Duo leaped to his feet and grabbed Quatre's arm. “Stop that! There are too many people!”

“Let me go!” Quatre yanked himself free of Duo. “Those damn deputies are NOT arresting Trowa!” He stormed down the slope, shoving people in all directions as if they did not outweigh him by a dozen or more kilos.

“Shit!” Duo exclaimed as he darted after Quatre with Wu-Fei on his heels.

Roku bounded after them. “Come on, Mr. Little John! We have to stop Mama! He turns people into stuff when he's angry!”

“What?!” Little John exclaimed in confusion. “What do you mean he turns people into stuff?”

“I told you having a sorcerer in our midst was bad!” Friar Tuck exclaimed, but he and Little John stumbled after Roku, shouldering their way through an increasingly disgruntled crowd.

“What's going on?” someone cried. “Why are they arresting the winner?”

“That was the greatest shooting I've ever seen!” cried someone else. “That man is to be lauded, not imprisoned!”

“See here, you lout!” a man cried as Quatre pushed him aside.

Quatre glared at him. “Transformare pullus!” he muttered and the man became a chicken. A woman screamed in panic and tried to back up, knocking over several other people.

“Dammit, Quatre!” Duo shouted. “Cut it out!” He lunged for Quatre's arm and missed. “Crap!”

Another man yelled at Quatre and he also became a chicken. More people panicked and a general stampede began, but without any organization to it. People tried to run in every direction, since no one was quite sure what the source of the threat was. From the stands, Sheriff Mark began shouting orders and his deputies formed into a tight circle around Trowa and hustled him away toward the castle.

Quatre stopped in his tracks and pointed toward the deputies retreating backs. “Vos imperiti…”

Duo dashed up behind him and smacked him across the back of the head with his jeweled knife. Quatre slumped to the ground unconscious. “Quick!” Duo shouted to Wu-Fei. “Let's get him out of here. We can come back for Trowa.”

“Right!”

Between them, they hefted Quatre and dashed away.

Roku fell in beside them looking worried. “What happened to Mama?”

“I knocked him out before he lost control. We don't need him turning half of Nottingham into chickens and blasting the castle to rubble.”

Little John went pale. “Could he do that?”

Duo nodded. “Oh yeah, if he's really pissed. But we'll get him calmed down before that happens. Let's get back to the inn and tell Heero what happened.”

“Do you think Mr. Treize and Mr. Zechs can help Papa Trowa?”

“Maybe. Wu-Fei can go over to the castle and talk to them after we get Quatre tied up.”

“You're going to tie Mama up?”

“I think that would be a good idea. At least until we can talk sense into him. Can you put a spell on him so he can't cast any more spells for the time being?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy.” Duo grinned at Roku. “Don't worry. Mama Quatre will be all right. He just gets a little upset when people he cares about are threatened.”

“Do you think Papa Trowa will be all right?”

Duo laughed. “He'll be fine. Remember, he's got his staff, so he can always summon a great spirit if he needs help. I imagine a giant boar spirit would liven things up in the castle pretty nicely.”

“You have a mean streak, Duo,” Wu-Fei panted.

“Who, me?”