On the Wings of the Storm

Chapter 4

For my first try I chose a butt about forty paces away, well within my range. Stringing the bow and strapping on a brace gained me a couple of minutes' grace, but then I had to step up to the line. Why did it feel as if the honour of Dol Amroth or indeed of the whole of Gondor rested on my shoulders? I squashed that thought as I nocked an arrow to my string, telling myself to concentrate on the target instead. To do anything else would be to invite failure. Emptying my mind of all considerations except hitting the concentric circles marked in black and white paint, I drew the bow and sighted down the arrow.

It hit the target to one side, nearly missing it altogether. I adjusted my aim and managed to get the outermost black circle with the next one. Biting my lip I withdrew another arrow from the quiver. I could do better than that! But I had not practised since leaving Dol Amroth and before then only intermittently, being busy in the library. I pushed these useless excuses from my mind and took aim again.

The arrow. The target. Nothing else mattered. I concentrated on my breathing, inhaling deeply, filling my lungs, and then releasing my breath and the arrow at the same time. Nock another one, shoot on the next breath. And another one. The world melted away around me and did not take form again until my fingers reaching for another arrow met empty air. I looked up to see the straw butt stuck full with arrows, massing in the black circle in the centre.

I had done it again. I suppose I had to thank my father for that. He insisted a Gondorian princess should be able to go hunting in the morning, make witty conversation with foreign ambassadors in the afternoon, preside over a state dinner in the evening and dance away the rest of the night. All this while being charming and beautiful of course. High expectations to fulfil, but surprisingly I had found I liked archery and had a gift for it – perhaps inherited from some long ago Elven ancestor.

Suddenly I remembered the spectators and turned round. Dirhael grinned from ear to ear, but the Rohirrim wore a surprised expression on their faces. Clearly I had done better than what they had expected from a soft Gondorian princess. Not that I could fault them for it, for I considered my skill at archery a pure fluke.

Heorogar inclined his head. "An impressive performance."

"Thank you."

"Impressive?" Éowyn's eyes were shining. "She's absolutely lethal! Do you think you could put enough force behind your arrows to puncture armour?"

Puncture armour! Where did she get such ideas? I shook my head. "I've never tried."

"Well, with precision like that, if you hit the right spot it doesn't matter." She demonstrated by pointing out the vulnerable places at the neck and under the armpit on one of the swordfighters. The man nodded enthusiastically and I felt faintly sick, knowing only too well what damage arrows could inflict on a man's body.

I turned back to the field. "I think I will practise some more, my range needs improving."

My father might have insisted I learn to shoot a bow in order to go hunting, as Gondorian noblewomen were expected to, but while I liked to chase through the forest I did not enjoy the killing. Amrothos always teased me how little enthusiasm I showed for hunting when I was such a good shot. Only Cousin Faramir understood, saying the world was too simple when viewed down the shaft of an arrow.

Around me, the other bowmen took up shooting again. I felt out of place amongst them, for they were skilled and far excelled me in physical strength. Yet they appeared friendly enough, giving me encouraging nods and welcoming me as one of their own. My arms started aching from the unaccustomed exercise, but I gritted my teeth and continued practising. No doubt I would pay for it the next day.

"My lady, do not overdo it."

The voice came from behind me and I turned round. Heorogar sent one of the boys waiting on the sideline to go and collect my arrows. "You will strain yourself if you do too much all at once."