Page 4 of Twenty-One Arrow Salute

It was Seinnés’ turn to blush. Just when I thought he would swallow that jeer in silence, his mouth twisted into a haughty grimace and he turned up his nose. Any higher and the little shit would sustain a neck injury. “Can’t be too complex if you lot can do it.” He spoke with wry calm in a polished accent that smacked of the capital. “Thanks for your concern, but I’ll manage.”

Left with no choice but to admire his bravado, I held back the urge to snicker. I liked that he showed no trace of anxiety on discovering the daunting task ahead of him. No fear—or much sense, either—as pushing it too far with the lads would, no doubt, get his pert arse kicked quicker than he could say one Asirhwÿnian, two Asirhwÿnians.

“That’s right. He’ll do fine,” I said. “I’m going to show him a thing or two.”

“You are?” Seinnés cast me a high-eyebrowed look. Another blush painted his sharp cheekbones a rosy hue.

Gods, but his eyes were damn green. For some reason, it took effort to look away.

At the same time, Rūe let out a loud snort. “Like what? Your cock?” He took his role as the group’s jester very seriously, indeed.

“Tsk, tsk. No need to sound resentful, Rūe.” I shrugged. “I didn’t realise you wanted a piece of it so badly. I would’ve given you a go at it if you had asked me nicely.”

Rūe shifted towards me. “How about I punch you in the nose instead?” he growled.

The subsequent turn of events made me almost choke on my tongue.

Seinnés stepped in front of me, planting his feet firmly on the ground and rolling his shoulders back in a you’ll have to go through me first motion as he faced Rūe.

I wasn’t the only one stunned, judging by Rūe’s bewildered expression, his jaw doing a decent job of impersonating a flytrap. After all, other archers seldom sought physical confrontation with him. And those who did hadn’t fared particularly well afterwards. The redhead’s chances were likely even lower than most. Yet, there he was, all up in Rūe’s face, careless of the fact that the Highlander towered over him by a good six thumbs.

For a moment, nobody said or did anything. I sucked my lower lip through my teeth, stifling a smirk.

The Highlanders’ respect was hard-won. Whether through a conscious endeavour or by instinct, Seinnés chose the right path to secure it. No one cherished courage and audacity more than my kind. And the closer it resembled recklessness or sheer lunacy, the better.

“Why do you care so much about him all of a sudden, Verhan?” asked a suspicious voice behind me, diffusing the tension somewhat.

I turned around to answer. “I care about him because he’s one of us. Since when have we stopped supporting our own? He’ll represent our squad before the Queen and the whole city. Don’t you want to see him do well? Have you forgotten the words on the blue banner?” I jabbed my finger in the air, pointing to the flag of the Queen’s Guard, on which appeared—embroidered in bold silver runes—the Royal Archers’ motto: Ȯ de Enháin. Or ‘As One.’

I went a little heavy on them, perhaps. But I did mean what I said. The regimental spirit, soldiers’ pride and unit solidarity weren’t things to make light of. And that reminder did the trick. Besides, I figured that mentioning my morning leisure pursuits and Achiah’s ultimatum would only, err, water down the validity of my point.

The lads, for the most part, had the good grace to look sheepish. “Hear, hear,” they murmured.

Rūe remained the only one sceptical about my motives. He narrowed his eyes at me. “You just wanna fuck him, don’t you? Eh, Verhan?”

Half an hour ago, I would’ve dismissed such an assertion with ease. Right then? I began feeling, well, a tad conflicted about the issue.

“Your mistrust shatters my heart,” I said, placing my hand on my chest and then brushing a speck of dust from my uniform. “Right. It was nice to catch up and that, but Hernan and I have work to do. Not everyone can afford to fart the day away, like you sad motherfuckers.” I glanced at Seinnés and jerked my chin towards the gates.

To my relief, the Asirhwÿnian heeded my signal to retreat and soon fell into step beside me. I could really do without getting dragged into yet another brawl that week.

Before we’d walked twenty paces, the group resumed their game. The uproar of shouts, explicit profanities and sounds of smacked flesh filled the air once more.

I chuckled and shook my head in response to Seinnés’ curious sidelong glance. “Once a Highlander—” I waved my hand in a vague gesture, not expecting him to fully grasp my meaning.

Because the essence of the Highlands, in one shape or another, would forever persist within each Dark Elf, if only to manifest itself through an occasional slap to the arse.