312 Lasse
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"Oh, you hit it this time."
"I hit it before."
"The stump isn't considered a hit."
Irritated, Donovan drew the next arrow from his quiver. One out of ten wasn't a bad hit rate for someone's first time with a bow for the current range of the target, however it was difficult to judge a fluke from correct form without more testing.
"Is my form off?" Donovan nocked an arrow and drew back to the maximum extent of the bow, holding it for Leno to inspect. "It's not exactly a rifle, you know?"
"How are you . . . uh, the nock should be at the midpoint of the string. You have it too high right now, so the arrow will dive into the ground." He eased up, adjusted his position, and redrew. "Better. You'll also want to keep your draw arm in line so the arrow doesn't veer off when you loose it."
Donovan shifted his arm around a little, inspecting the form of his upper body visually before letting go of the string.
chick
Bits of rock scattered from the impact site a few feet in front of the target. A disappointing result no doubt, but there was progress in the failure. Where before the arrows wobbled and careened of course, this one maintained a straight flight path. If this posture could be repeated, he would only need to adjust his angle of elevation.
"That looked good."
"Is . . . is there a stronger bow I could use?"
"How do you mean?"
"This bow is a bit weak for my liking." Donovan understood the Nekh did not have the greatest nutritional standard at the moment, and he had all but confirmed the general lack of strength in other peoples, but the draw weight of the bow was exceptionally low for him. "I think a stronger one would help with my accuracy. I wouldn't have to account for drop as much with a faster arrow, right?"
". . . practice with this one for a while. Work on your form and get used to how the arrows fly, and we'll see about getting a different bow. The hunt won't happen until after the coronation." Leno did not know if it was a shred of shattered pride or befuddlement at the ability being displayed, but he didn't want to tell Donovan they didn't have a 'stronger' bow. "I need to speak with her majesty about something."
- - - - -
"You may rise, Grandmaster Lasse. The last think we need is your back giving out." Titanyana stood before the throne while addressing the man kowtowing before her, a formal reception of an important retainer.
"These old bones won't fail me yet, your majesty." He rose from the ground with a slight grunt, head going up and up until he stood tall before her. A true behemoth, the Grandmaster of the Orange Striped clan dwarfed Titanyana, and would probably stand a head taller than Wall if he straightened his back. Unfortunately the architecture of the Nekh never thought someone of his stature could be born to them, so he navigated all but castle hallways and the great outdoors hunched over. "It has been a long time."
"It certainly has." He occupied a position in her heart similar to a grandfather, Lasse having served her real grandfather in his youth. "Is there anything I should know besides the obvious?"
A somberness gradually engulfed her as Lasse's expression changed. She hadn't the clarity to inspect him as he walked in, and the details were disheartening once made out. He was pushing eighty, his age evidenced by the excessive wrinkles and graying hair, however certain visible features were clearly not just a result of age. Bruise-like splotches on his face, neck, and arms suggested early signs of Split decay, while his left eye seemed to be a bit cloudier than normal. His right ear, which had a portion cut off in some struggle decades before her birth, did not move like his left. It remained a strange combination of stiff and limp, straight at attention but utterly unresponsive to stimuli.
"I do not know if you wish to hear what I have to say."
"How bad is it?"
"We will be lucky to survive the next year." Titanyana closed her eyes and sighed. "Certain areas have begun to ration food stocks, and minor agricultural settlements in dry or cold regions are being asked to migrate towards major rivers and the coast. This year's harvest will be the last."
"We will be relying on fish, then?"
"For as long as the populations last. Better to harvest them now than let them rot on the shores."
She wanted to lay down and cry. There had long since been a fear that everyone would succumb to the rot and decay eventually, but to learn they would starve while doing so?
"In that case, let us relax the restriction on honey. One spoonful for those on death's door, one final comfort before they say goodbye."
"If that is your will, let it be done." Lasse bowed, something in his lower back popping in the process. He was unfazed. "If, if it isn't too much to ask, my lady, what do you think of Leno?"
"I think he is a capable and loyal soldier, if a bit rough around the edges."
"I meant as a potential husband."
"Oh." Not wanting to speak on the matter, she turned around to face the throne.
"Leno is a good man." The fabric on the seat would have to be replaced.
"To say he is without flaw would be dishonest, but among the young men I know he is the best." Somebody had removed one of the gems at the headrest . . . probably her father.
"Besides, the two of you have an amicable history." The carving on the backrest was much more interesting than Titanyana remembered.
"Please, if nothing else I ask you give him a chance. The people need some assurance the Strapper line will continue."
". . . I can't."
"Did something happen between the two of you?"
"No."
"Then why won't you give him a chance? I know he's fancied you for a long time."
"That's not it, Lasse." She turned around, steeling herself to block off this topic before it got out of hand. "We will talk about this topic further at the convention. There is much the grandmasters must tell me, and there is much I must tell all of you."
"As you wish."
The two stood in silence for a moment, unsure of how to continue. One was the last vestige of bygone era, an elder with experience beyond words who had seen how life should have been. The other was the spark of hope for the future, the light to guide her people into the future she had witnessed only a sliver of. Both wanted what the other had in some form or another, the elder sought youth and hope while the monarch required wisdom and experience, but neither could bring themselves to voice it. Lasse would die on his home planet, Titanyana would live to make a new one.
"Did he suffer?" Titanyana couldn't bring herself to ask that question to Petunia, not when she had been reeling in pain from the loss of her own husband. Leno and the others would not have been close enough to know. "My father, I mean."
"It was the grief, your majesty, not decay. I cannot say if he suffered physically, but the anguish from losing you . . ."
"I see." It wasn't uncommon for Nekh women to die in the wake of their mate's passing, an occurrence which was made more common by a lack of children or other emotional connections. While much rarer for men, it wasn't entirely unheard of. "Thank you for being there for him."
"My only regret was my inability to do more. I cannot bear to witness another Strapper's passing."
"Ahem." Lasse turned around, the act of stepping to the side revealing the figure of Leno in the doorway. "I apologize if this is an improper time."
"Is something amiss?" She hoped Leno hadn't been listening in for too long.
"Nothing worth worrying about. I was training Donovan to use a bow in preparation for the hunt, and I had a question or two." Leno stepped forth, stopping next to Lasse and bowing in greeting. Titanyana returned a bow, silently suggesting he continue. "My first question pertains to the hunt itself. Are we certain it is a good idea?"
"Tradition demands the new monarch lead a hunting party." Lasse, who had participated in one such hunt in the past, would serve as the huntmaster. "The meat is to be eaten during the coronation feast, and the pelt of the greatest quarry to be offered as a mantle. The bones and teeth are given to the party members as mementos of the new monarch's reign."
"I understand as much, but . . . well she's already had a hunt." Titanyana tilted her head. She knew what he was referring to, however she did not believe it satisfied the conditions of a 'hunt'. "It was quite a magnificent beast as well."
"If she was not in the presence of the council, then the hunt does not qualify for the ceremony."
"I see. In that case, I would like to ask why you have selected Donovan to loose the first arrow. I understand he occupies a position of great importance in the relationship we now have, but this honor is usually reserved for the new monarch or their partner. With the limited game remaining in the forests, I fear a miss will make the hunt a failure."
"My reasons are many and varied, some of which are not worth mentioning." He definitely knew. Nobody with a degree of familiarity with her martial prowess would bring up the possibility of a 'partner' taking the shot. "I wish to display to the grandmasters the degree to which I've elevated him, true, however I also felt this a good opportunity to familiarize him with a royal hunt. He has never participated in one, and Diana has suggested he may need to engage in many more. I doubt Donovan will miss a stationary target with a week of practice, but if he does I believe he will accept the fault with grace."
"Very well. In that case we may need to get him a better bow."
"A bow?"
"Yes. He complained that the bow was too weak for his liking."
"Did you offer him a child's bow to train with?" Lasse knew nothing of Donovan aside from his status.
"No. He received a standard bow from the armory."
- - - - -
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Fashion follows function.
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Function follows form.
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The principle had been pounded into his head ever since he entered the academy.
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Conditioning.
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Martial arts.
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Piloting.
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Fleet organization.
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Even sword fighting.
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Almost everything he learned had a set of fundamental principles or motions upon which everything else built.
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One might not be able to do anything interesting without those fundamentals, but without them fancy would be functional.
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Fashion follows function. Function follows form. In order to function properly, one must first assume the proper form. Once functionality has been firmly established, one can begin to experiment with eccentricity.
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Therefore, Donovan needed to drill the most basic form of an archer before he began to experiment.
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Standing still with a static target at a reasonable but static distance and no wind or otherwise inclement weather. Once he could hit the target consistently with these conditions, he could graduate to something more complicated.
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Perhaps a more distant target, or loosing while he walked. Something to build upon the function the basic form offered.
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Before that -
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"Watcher." With the last arrow in the barrel, Donovan snapped around and fired at the entity concealing itself in the corner of the courtyard. The fact it caught the arrow was hardly a surprise. "I believe I told you to make your presence known?"
"I thought it unwise to interrupt your concentration. For that I offer my apologies." The Watcher of the Nameless bowed, visible now but face infuriatingly obscured - supposedly due to the nature of his godhood. "Have you taken up an interest in archery?"
"You have experience?" Donovan accepted the arrow being handed to him and steadied himself in his previous form.
"Given the nature of the work we Nameless carry out and the Progenitor's desire for us to assume more civilized methods, I would consider myself an expert."
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"How was my shooting?" Donovan couldn't make out the center of the target behind the bird's worth of fletching, the target now resembling a feathered porcupine than a fabric covered board.
"For a novice, exceptional. The bow is not a good fit for you though."
"Too weak?"
"Indeed. If your objective was to fire quickly then something like this would be fine, but you are a fair bit stronger than the bowyer envisioned. I can't imagine anyone around here has pure arm strength on your level though, so you may have to make your own."
"What's your aim?"
". . . nothing gets past you, does it?" The Watcher sighed. "To be honest, I received word that the rules and format of the large scale battles in the Sanctum will be changing to something more favorable to independent action next year. While I planned to develop your archery skills at some point I determined it would not be a bad idea to expand your skillset early."
"Why archery? Isn't it considered ineffective?"
"In a duel maybe, and for most of the people you'll be fighting the bow is most certainly a weapon of minimal use." He took the bow from Donovan's hands. "This bow is honestly among the stronger people might use, and yet I'm sure you've noticed how underwhelming it is. A decently powerful individual can track and deflect the arrows it looses then close the distance before the second arrow can be nocked. Care to hazard a guess as to why the Nekh use it?"
"Not everyone is that powerful or skilled, nobody can deflect a mass volley, and someone who is that skilled can't deflect something they aren't aware of."
"How did you-"
"Nekh strategy involves attrition and ambush tactics as well as massed resistance to qualitatively superior opponents. Doesn't take a genius to figure out how bows fit into the paradigm." He didn't like the idea of spending lives to fatigue an opponent into defeat, but it was very clearly the only option available to them.
"That . . . would be why they use them."
"I imagine you wanted to use that connection to address how I might use a bow to better effect. Something like firing from the backlines into the enemy ranks to cause chaos and knock a few people out of the fight?"
". . ."
"And then I suppose you wanted to elaborate on how my ability to draw stronger bows means my arrows would be faster as well, making it more difficult for people to intercept them even if they are aware, correct?"
". . ."
"Did you think I wouldn't understand these concepts?"
". . . I've noticed you don't hold me in the highest of regards."
"You made a poor first impression." Donovan felt no guilt in letting his disdain for the Watcher be known.