Page 9 of The Savage Vow
“I’ll learn today.” Nargol jogged across the street and signed up for the contest.
Makhel moved to stand with the spectators. Nargol nodded to a few of the other archers. She casually sized them all up. Some of the orcs looked as if they were proficient with a bow, but her attention went to the elf. They were known to be great archers in battle. He would probably give her a little stiff competition, but Nargol wasn’t worried.
The first round passed quickly. Cheers filled the air as arrows either missed the target altogether or landed in one of the areas. Nargol always kept hers close in range of the bullseye but never hitting it exactly. She did what she had to do to keep herself in the game.
It was truly hard to miss the fecking target.
She advanced easily, but she had to push down the temptation of hitting the center of the red area. Nargol felt eyes on her more than once, but she ignored them. She laughed and joked with a few of the other archers.
Some asked where she hailed from.
“Everywhere but nowhere,” was her common answer.
By the time the final round approached, the crowd had thickened. Only two competitors remained. She had been shocked that the elf wasn’t as good as she’d assumed. He had been decent but no warrior.
Nargol stepped into position and froze.
Across from her stood a smaller figure, cloaked in rough brown fabric. A hood obscured their face, but the way they held their bow was confident, yet in an intimate way. Nargol recognized the hold of an experienced archer.
Who was this person?
A ripple of awareness surged through Nargol’s chest. She blinked and shook her head. She glanced over at Makhel who angled her head in a silent question. Makhel didn’t miss anything. She’d noticed the change in Nargol.
Nargol gave her a slight nod. She was good. She just didn’t know what it was about the cloaked figure that piqued her curiosity.
“Archers!” the official’s deep voice rang out. He was an elder orc who had boasted about being the official of this archery contest for the last twenty solars. He’d won the crowd over and had engaged them perfectly. They had rooted for their favorites, and when that person had been knocked out of the contest, they’d moved on to a new favorite.
Nargol was focused as she notched her arrow and drew back. She paused.
So did the small figure.
Nargol released, and her arrow struck just shy of the center. She nodded, satisfied with her shot landing just where she wanted it to. It wasn’t dead center but should win her the competition.
A heartbeat later, the other arrow split the bullseye.
The crowd erupted.
Nargol’s mouth dropped open.
“Well, feck,” she muttered. She turned and took in the hooded figure who lowered their bow.
Murmurs rippled through the audience. Then, as if sensing the attention on them, they turned and the hood slipped back.
Nargol’s breath caught.
She was a human. Petite but strong. Her skin was a warm brown, her features sharp and expressive. A smile tugged at her plump lips as she glanced around. Her long, thick hair had been pulled back into a practical plait with a few strands escaping to frame her face. Her dark-eyed gaze flicked nervously over the crowd.
She was absolutely breathtakingly beautiful.
Something deep and unexpected shifted inside Nargol.
Before anyone could truly react, the woman bolted. She disappeared into the crowd with startling speed. Nargol blinked, and there was no sign of her.
“The…ah…the winner is…well…” The official sputtered and looked around, clearly flabbergasted. His amber eyes were wide and filled with confusion.
Nargol glanced back at the target and took in the perfectly shot arrow that had landed dead center to beat her. She couldn’t remember a time where she’d ever lost an archery contest.
Boos rose, followed by shouts of protest.
