Peter’s Diary part 11: An Unwelcome Guest at the Funeral
In The Doom that Came to
Amber
The
27th day of Bull
This
day was to be the funeral of the Archmage Clarence,
and given that I had no invite (for who would invite a Faerie bard to such?), I
passed pleasantries with those of the Blood gathered for breakfast, intending
to practice the art of the longbow all day.
Ambassador
Khitan of
Princess
Bathsheba was able to recommend a guard – Marak by
name, as a master archer and a good teacher also and, once breakfast was done,
it was to him I went to learn to shoot.
Marak set up the tuns, and I shot two
dozen arrows at 50 paces – a good distance, according to Marak.
He seemed surprised as I loosed the shafts and each one hit gold. Looking at me
somewhat askance, he moved the target back 50 paces, with the same results.
Again, the targets were moved, to 200 paces, and each shaft left the bow as
sweetly as a falcon stoops, and landed with the same ferocity. Marak looked to me as if I were jesting with him, then
seeing my obvious surprise, muttered that there was little he could teach me in
this art, though the least he could do was to point to a bowyer who could
fashion a bow to my size.
I
visited this crafter, and though he smiled at my slim physique, none of the
bows in his stall were any challenge. Looking at me askance, he asked me to
bring in some seasoned
I
must speak to Morwaith.