A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"I appreciate your guidance," Oliver said humbly, dipping his head. He genuinely was pleased. He'd come to the Academy looking for ways to get stronger. To have the interest of the professor to the degree that she was teaching him one on one, it was more than he could have asked for.

"Lauren, you watch over the others for today. I'm going to keep an eye over Patrick here, and see what to do with him," she said.

"Yes, mistress!" The girl said, just as enthusiastically as before.

"Students, allow us the end range, if you would," the professor said, walking over to one of the shorter static ranges. Oliver trailed after her like a lost duckling, noting the incredulous expressions of the students as he hefted his dark brown bow.

"As you wish, Professor Yoreholder," a lanky youth said, with a sweeping bow that tossed his silky hair to the side. A handsome youth, for sure, and one that Oliver had met one too many times already. Mills Gargon. "Ah, Oliver Patrick. It seems that we share more than one lesson," he said.

Oliver was expecting more of a jab than that, and he waited for it, but Gargon was quite content to leave things there. He wandered over to the next target along the range, with his group of three trailing after him.

"Sorry, professor, did he call you Yoreholder?" Oliver asked, as they settled into the range.

The professor looked at him oddly, as though surprised by the question. "He did, why?" Find your next adventure on empire

"Yesterday I met the Minister of Blades, Gavlin Yoreholder… I was just wondering..?"

"Oh, right – you did, didn't you? Well, obviously," the woman said, nodding to herself. "Yes, indeed. That dry block of steel that you met is my husband. He spoke favourably of you, in case you were curious."

"I was, a little," Oliver admitted. "If not for the assistance of him and the Minister of Logic, then I likely would have been expelled…"

"Hod spoke for you?" professor Yoreholder asked, surprised. "Interesting…" She said, before lapsing into silence. She snapped out of it. "Well, let's get started then. Show me what you can do. I won't interrupt.

Aim for the centre, and we'll see what we have to work with."

The target was made of coiled rope, glued together, and then painted in different coloured concentric rings. The bullseye was painted a bright red, begging to be struck. It was not too far away either – a mere fifty feet. He'd seen Nila put an arrow through the eye of a crow at two hundred, and the bullseye on this target was considerably bigger than an eye – it was closer to the size of a fist.

He drew his arrow, and notched it, pulling his string back against his cheek, and he redid the same stance that the professor had instructed him to get into earlier. He squinted one eye closed, as he aimed for the target, and then he loosed.

The arrow sprung with a ferocity that caught him off guard. The string twanged against his cheek, causing an immediate stinging pain. The arrow went hurtling with far more force than he had expected, burying itself a third of the way into the rope target, and landing with a thud as loud as a fist on a door.

The group next to his was watching. From their gaping expressions – even Gargon – they too were surprised by the strength of the bow. But they quickly readopted their air of indifference, and went back to their own practice.

"Well, that is a good distance from the bullseye," Professor Yoreholder remarked. Oliver had been so distracted by the bow's power, and his cheek, that he'd almost forgotten to check. His aim had been a good bit off. He barely managed to glaze the outermost ring, almost missing the target completely, despite its size. "And yet, that would have put a hole in a man."

"I'm going to need a good bit of work," Oliver realized. This was a mere fifty yards, and already he was struggling. Maybe comparing himself to the phenom that was Nila wasn't such a good idea.

"You could be satisfied with that, if you merely wanted combat efficacy," the professor said. "As I said, if you got a proper arrow on it, that would take out a plated enemy."

"But against a Yarmdon shield, even that won't do much," Oliver said. The professor glanced at him oddly at that remark, before nodding, as though reminding herself of something.

"That is true. Greater precision will always be of greater benefit to you. As you say, you have much work to be done on it, but given the strength that you already have, your potential in it is rather… monstrous, I suppose. Well, try another shot. I won't offer you any advice on this one either. Let us see what you are capable of yourself."

Oliver nodded, drawing in a breath, and pausing before thinking of drawing the bow. He couldn't help comparing it to the sword as he felt it. He couldn't help wanting to apply those old systems of success to this new thing that he was attempting. In the same way that he'd learned new things with the sword, he wondered how he might do the same with the bow.

With the sword, he'd tried different styles, and in mastering three that were different and separate from each other, he'd been able to merge them to create his Poison Water Style, that even his master had acknowledged. How could he do that with a bow? He had no real solid experience to draw from with the weapon.

He only had Nila, and his observations of her. The way she'd silently stepped through the forest like a red fox, sly, and aware, seeming to see things without even looking at them – how was it that she could pick a bird out in a tree so far away? When she drew her bow, she did not take the time to line up the shot. Before she'd even pulled the string back, she'd already had her aim lined up.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om