Page 37 of A Tempest of Intrigue
The others all laughed and looked around at each other, but no one else came forward. While some had seen me practice with a bow and arrow, most hadn’t seen the full extent of what I could do.
I suspected Ryker was the one keeping them at bay. Few of them wanted anything to do with the Scourge of the Ghouls.
“Come on, Tucker,” Ryker said as he handed his friend one of the remaining bows and a quiver. “It’s time to show us what you’ve got.”
“How did I get involved in this?” Tucker muttered.
“Three arrows each, closest to the bull’s-eye wins,” Farley declared. “Tucker’s first.”
“Who put you in charge of this?” Tucker demanded.
Farley rose a little higher and wiggled his blobby shoulders back as he puffed out his chest. “I’m the king of these woods.”
“You weren’t even king of your own shit when you were human,” one of the poltergeists retorted, which brought a round of laughter from those gathered in the clearing.
When I looked at Farley, he couldn’t hide the desperation in his eyes. I hesitated with my hand on an arrow as I studied the poltergeists.
Why are they here?
I doubted they’d tell me, and I had no idea what was happening here, but something wasn’t right.
Is there some way they can use this competition against us?
I didn’t see how they could, yet I sensed their eagerness for something to happen here. I just didn’t know what that something was.
“The guy who won the competition should be in on it too,” another poltergeist stated.
“Why?” Ryker demanded.
He wasn’t ignoring them as much as I’d believed, and when his eyes met mine, I saw the questions in them. I shrugged in response. This didn’t appease him, as his jaw clenched, and his attention shifted back to the phantoms.
“He’s proven to be the best,” another poltergeist said. “We want him in it too.”
“Of course, of course,” Farley said as he fluttered through the crowd.
The winner had a fresh tankard of ale halfway to his lips when Farley swatted it away.
“Hey!” the man shouted as the alcohol flew through the crowd.
Some danced away but not in time to avoid the spray. They all glowered at Farley, who planted his hands on what I assumed were his hips and stared at the champion. The man was still staring at his empty hand in dismay.
“Take the line,” Farley commanded.
The man closed his mouth and shifted his attention to Farley. “Well, I ought to?—”
“What?” Farley interrupted. “Punch me? Stab me? Choke me? Good luck, but I’ll enjoy a good laugh while watching you try. Now, to the line.”
“What’s going on with him?” Ryker muttered.
“I don’t know, but for some reason, this competition is important to him,” I whispered.
“Why?”
“I have no idea. Farley, can we talk for a minute, in private?” I asked.
Farley bobbed behind the disgruntled-looking man who, though it wouldn’t do any good, still swung his hand at him as if he were trying to swat the poltergeist away. Farley ignored him.
“Sorry, Lery, no time right now. No time at all. We’re here for some sport.”
