Practice Tourney

**

"Akicita, do you ever do anything other than play with that bow?" The blonde girl tossed her ponytail and smirked at her friends.

"Don't listen to her, Akicita. It's time for practice, anyway." A dark-haired boy smiled at Cita.

"He's unawakened now, but he's still a danger to everyone around him. How you of all people could stand to be around …" Rashida's voice was angry.

Cita fought to escape. Molasses slowed his limbs.

"You promised. No more pills. No more hiding. Did you forget?" A fine-boned hand shoved greasy brown hair away from hazel eyes. "You promised."

"So pretty. Such pretty, pretty eyes. You will leave them for me, yes? To be mine forever?"

**

The last voice propelled Cita from his borrowed bed. He threw the blankets aside, grabbed his bow and quiver, and bolted to the door.

"Cita?" Bilal asked.

Cita blinked and focused on the room.

Bilal rose stiffly from the chair he straddled. "It is … always good to practice. The guards have a small target range in their practice yard. I could show you the way."

Cita sucked in a breath. "Outside … yes…"

"Good. Good." Bilal stretched his scarred right arm. "Perhaps, though, you might like your clothes before we practice? They are clean and mended." He pointed at a neat stack on a trunk at the foot of the bed Cita had abandoned.

Cita blinked. He looked at the clothes. He looked at the bow in his hand. A cool draft caressed his bare chest. The increasingly familiar red haze crept into his peripheral vision.

Thwack.

His clothes smacked into his face. He caught them before they fell to the ground.

"I will be in the hall. You should dress quickly, so we do not miss the earliest dawn light. I grow rusty at low-light fighting."

Cita blinked at Bilal's back as the door opened and closed. Don't think.

Clutching the clothes with his left arm, Cita turned and set his bow down. He unslung the quiver and unwrapped the hardened bandages on his forearm and ankle. The pastes had dried and his flesh felt almost as good as new. He tested his range of motion. His ankle twinged a little but didn't ache like it did before. His arm and wrist responded normally. He shrugged.

'The healer knows what she was doing.'

**That doesn't mean you should drink everything she gives you! You've been down that road,** the youth warned.

Cita glanced at the still figure in the corner. "How did Bilal not notice you?"

The youth answered with a shrug.

Cita shook out the rough, dark tunic and pants, inspecting them as he clothed himself.

"Are these mine?" he asked.

Like a swarm of gnats, questions flitted around his head. He shooed them away and located a pair of soft leather boots next to the trunk. He slipped them on. The hide conformed to his feet, but he didn't recognize them. Then he donned his quiver and daggers. He picked up his bow and slipped into the hall.

Bilal stood with his back to the door, blocking the passage.

"Pogledni." Rashida's voice, low and persuasive, carried from beyond Bilal. "Sè što treba da napravite e da otkriete kolku godini ima toj. Otkako sme vo Kairo, ḱe započnam pregovori so moite bratučedi. Toj e dosta ubav — nekoj e siguren deka go saka vo svojot selam."

[Look. All you need to do is find out how old he is. Once we're in Cairo, I'll open negotiations with my cousins. He's pretty enough — someone is sure to want him in their selam.]

The healer's cold logic, revealed by the echo, stopped Cita in his tracks.

"Dali e toa tvoeto rešenie za site za koi smetate deka e rasipan? Stavete gi vo selam i neka bidat nečij milenik?" The bitterness in Bilal's tone puckered Cita's mouth as he listened to the translation.

[Is that your solution for everyone you deem broken? Put them in a selam and let them be someone's pet?]

"Ne možete da izdržite da vidite nekoj da e vo udobnost i razgalen. Ako me puštiv da zemam —"

[You can't stand to see anyone kept in comfort and pampered. If you had let me take —]

Bilal stopped Rashida with a sharply raised hand.

"Ne. Vie nema da go koristite oružjeto protiv mene vo ova prašanje. Ova ne e vaša griža," he growled. "Jas povtorno nema da uspeam."

[No. You will not use that weapon against me in this matter. This is not your concern. I will not fail again.]

'That's not how he spoke to her yesterday! Wait.' Cita frowned. 'Was it yesterday?'

*Just a lost little boy. Helpless. Hopeless.* The taunt echoed through Cita's psyche.

Cita clutched his dagger. "That's not me!" he hissed. "Not anymore!" Shadows clung to his back, dragging at his shoulders.

Bilal noticed Cita and turned around, still blocking the hall.

"This way." Bilal ushered Cita away from Rashida. He adjusted the hang of his scabbards as they strode down the hall.

Recalling the youth's order to conceal the echo's existence, Cita asked, "What was that about? And did you sleep with your swords on?"

Bilal shrugged. "It is good to practice. Not every night, as it is difficult to get a full night's rest doing such. But there are times when the pause to grab a weapon that is nearby can be lethal. So, practice."

Cita's eyes widened. "You're … a little unreal, you know that?"

Golden eyes flicked toward him and Bilal grunted.

*You should know better than to question your elders by now. Do you need another lesson, boy?* the shadow asked.

Cita walked faster, but couldn't escape.

Bilal led the way to a door that opened to a protected courtyard. Clean-swept cobbles blended into brick walls, half-obscured by the pre-dawn light. Overhanging eaves sheltered a walkway around the edges, where a guard paced silently, patrolling. He watched Cita and Bilal but made no move to stop their progress.

Bilal continued through an archway and around a corner to a large cobbled yard with a building on the far side. Several more guards roamed the paths and walls.

"The guard barracks," Bilal explained. "The patrols are switching out. They practice here in the yard, and the archery range is there." He gestured to an area with a straw-stuffed target tucked against a stone wall. The shooting line was about thirty feet from the archery butt.

Cita muttered, "It's too close, and it's backed by stone."

"What?" Bilal asked.

Cita sucked his lower lip into his mouth, gnawing it for a moment before answering. "I'm not sure this will work. I'm used to about three times this distance. My arrows … it's not safe."

Silent, Bilal surveyed the practice yard. Cita gnawed on his lip again.

Yawning, Nathaniel wandered over from the barracks. "What has you two up so early?"

"Practice," Bilal answered.

"Of course." Nathaniel yawned again. "Dawn practice. And no crotchety arms master punishing you."

"Aren't you the arms master now? Why are you not directing dawn practice?" Bilal grinned, baring pointed teeth.

"Heavens, no! Rising with the dawn is punishment enough," Nathaniel laughed in response. "Anyway, what type of practice? I could roust out a couple of guards for sword drill."

Bilal looked at Cita, who gulped before answering.

"The range is too short. With my bow …"

"That is a strange bow." Nathaniel looked at Cita's weapon. "What did you call it?"

"It's a compound bow," Cita replied. Cita brushed a hand through his short-cropped hair, hiding his burning face.

"A what bow?"

Bilal cleared his throat.

"Nevermind," Nathaniel shook his head. "You're sure about the distance you need, though? I don't think there's any place within the township that we can find that range. Not safely. Hmm."

"How about the eastern field?" an unknown voice called across the yard.

Cita turned to see a young man dressed in a guard's uniform.

**That's no guard,** the youth warned.

Cita looked around, but couldn't see where he was hiding.

The youth continued, **Those blond locks and the athletic build — they fit. But there's something else …**

The fine hairs on the back of Cita's neck rose.

"The one just outside the walls? That could work," Nathaniel smiled at the newcomer. "The field is harvested. Even the gleaners have been through."

"Gleaners?" Cita asked, distracted from his unease.

"It's tradition," the newcomer said. "We harvest the township fields, but they're not picked clean. After the official harvest, anyone who has the need can collect what is left." He smiled. "We haven't met. I'm Michael."

"Uh, hi. I'm —"

"This is Cita," Bilal interjected, stepping between Cita and Michael. "What Michael neglected to mention is that he is Lord Blaah's eldest son. And heir."

"That's not so important," Michael demurred. "Especially if we can see the famed archer in action!"

"Famed archer?" Cita echoed. "What the heck?" Bilal's wing twitched.

"Rumors are all over the township! An archer with a strange, powerful bow defeated a swarm of Infected before they could wipe out the outer farms and attack the township," Michael continued. "Father swooped the hero out of the commons and sequestered him here in the keep to avoid panic."

"Oh." Cita scratched his head.

"As often is the case, the rumors have a grain of truth." Bilal stepped into the awkward silence. "Cita defeated most of a swarm, though he had little choice. The swarm may have proven dangerous to a farm, but I have never seen signs that the Infected plan far enough ahead to aim for a particular location. They hit opportunistic targets."

Nathaniel gave Bilal a sharp look but said nothing.

"Hmm." Michael paused. "Still, Cita must be a great archer, or Father would not have invited him. We'll ride out to the eastern field and set up a temporary range. We can all demonstrate our prowess!" He posed with his arms flexed.

"I'm not sure Lord Blaah will approve." Nathaniel held up a hand to stall the heir. "If the Infected are nearby ..."

"Nonsense! He won't mind. And Cita slew the Infected, so there's no need to worry about that." Michael grinned, baring his teeth. "I'll have the kitchen pack us breakfast, and we'll set out." Michael set off at a trot. He hollered over his shoulder, "Round up some guards with bows and have the stable saddle mounts. It will be a tourney!"

Nathaniel groaned.

"Well, you heard him," he said. "Guards with bows and mounts all around."