"She's a bit nervous," he replied.
"Nervous?" Tarrin scoffed. "Why would she be nervous?"
"Because of you," he replied.
"Me?"
"Tarrin, she knows you're going to talk to the Knight," he replied. "Sure, she wants to you be on your own and find something in the world, but no mother likes the idea of letting go of a child." Tarrin hadn't considered that. "And, your mother being your mother, she's taking it out on everyone around her," he added with a grin.
"Let me guess," he said, "you didn't sleep well last night."
"I don't think I slept at all," he replied honestly. "I don't think she did either."
"I never thought she'd be like that," he said. "She's all but tried to throw me out of the house."
"That was her trying to motivate you," he confided. "Now that the end is in sight, she's reversing tactics. After she gets over her tiff, and she sees that knight, expect her become all light and sunshine," he predicted with a wink. "She'll try to honey-talk you into giving up on the idea."
If anything, Tarrin knew that his father knew his mother. He could predict almost the exact words she would use when she talked sometimes. That familiarity was an extension of the deep love he had for his Ungardt princess, a love that had caused both of them to learn and know absolutely everything about the other. His mother could perform the same predictions on his father, but Eron was much better at it than Elke.
"I didn't mean to upset her."
"Tarrin, nothing you could do could change that," he said. "It has to do with you striking out on your own, and that's just a natural thing. It comes eventually."
"How do you feel about it?" he asked.
"I feel alot like your mother," he said. "I don't like the idea of you leaving, but I understand that you were never meant to spend your life on a secluded farm. Parents just don't like to let go of their children, Tarrin. When you have your own children, you'll understand."
Tarrin considered that as he and his father carried the long table planks out to their site. He helped erect the table as Elke and Jenna started a fire, and Tarrin winced a bit as Elke rather brutallyy and efficiently cleaned, skinned, and dressed the deer for roasting. She was taking her aggression out on the poor thing. Tarrin was glad it was already dead. "Tarrin, go fetch that barrel of arrows," Eron commanded.
"Yes, father," he replied, and scurried off to the wagon.
At the wagon, he hefted up the heavy barrel, filled to the brim with the wooden shafts of arrows in a carefully arranged double-stacked system of packing them that allowed maximum space with minimal risk of damage to the arrows or fletching. As he hefted the barrel onto his shoulder, he saw the knight and the Sorceress stepping out of the inn.
The woman was a slim woman, very diminutive and delicate looking, with thick dark hair that fell down her back in tumbled waves. Her face was delicate and fragile-looking, with graceful features that made her quite lovely. Her brown eyes were rather large and penetrating, and Tarrin could feel her gaze sweep over him like a hundred phantom hands. She wore the plainest of dresses, a simple blue dress with no frill or ornament, but the dress was made of silk, and it shimmered and whispered in the morning light as she moved. She was a very regal-seeming woman, and moved with a commanding aire that all but announced to everyone that he was high born.
The knight was just slightly above average height, about half a head shorter than Tarrin, wearing rather ornate plate armor that showed the nicks and scars of use in battle. He was solidly built, with an impressive barrel chest and thick arms, and his curly black hair curled around the edges of his conical steel helmet. It was an open faced helmet, and that face seemed out of place on a man of war. His face was cheeky and broad, with a slightly wide nose and narrow eyes that made him look impish and jovial. Despite that disarming face, he wore a heavy broadsword at his belt, and it hung there as if it was a part of him. He was well trained in fighting, his stance and very demeanor screamed of it.
Tarrin wanted to talk to him right then, but he had the barrel of arrows. With a sigh, he turned his back to them and trotted back towards the picnic area his family had claimed.
After setting everything up, Jenna went to talk to her friends, and Eron drifted off to talk to Glendon Nye, one of the Village Speakers. Tarrin watching his mother for a few moments, moving in an aggressive manner, slamming pots down, yanking things about, and muttering under her breath. He put his hand on her shoulder gently, and she whirled about on him. "What?" she demanded.
"You're being silly," he said with a smile. "Even if I do go away, I'm still your son, and I still love you."
She looked at him for a moment, then laughed in spite of herself. "I don't want you to go," she admitted, putting her arms around him and giving him a gentle hug. "I know you need to, but I don't want to lose my baby."
"I'm not a baby anymore, mother."
"To a mother, her children are always her babies," she replied.
"You won't be losing me," he said. "I'll just be somewhere else."
"It's more than that, Tarrin," she said, letting go. He handed her the carving knife she was reaching for absently. "I guess parents don't like seeing their kids grow up. It makes us feel old."
"Old? You?" he scoffed.
"I feel it from time to time," she admitted. "It just doesn't show on me as much as it does your father." She gave him a sidelong glance. "This place isn't for you, son," she said. "Considering the way the rest of the village considers me a witch, you'd do better finding a wife elsewhere. Even the girls who gawk at you cringe when they see me. They would not be good daughters-in-law."
"Mother, you'll outlive the mountains themselves," he said with a chuckle.
She smiled at him, but said nothing.
While the women were preparing the food, the men readied for the competitions. Tarrin picked up his staff and bow and rushed into the fray. First was the archery competition. It was simple enough contest, where stands of ten archers fired at hay-stuffed targets with cloth targets pinned to them. They were painted with red circles, and the two archers to have the best score went on to the next round. There were three circles on the target. An arrow inside the outermost ring was worth one point, inside the middle ring was worth two points, and inside the third was three points. A red circle was in the center, the bull's-eye, and that was worth four points. Each archer had ten arrows, and the targets were started at one hundred paces. With every round, they were moved back twenty five paces. Tarrin's family more or less dominated this event. Tarrin and Eron Kael were outstanding shots, but this year Jenna was old enough to compete. They'd never seen Jenna shoot before, but both her brother and father knew how deadly she was with a bow.
Jenna wasn't the only woman in the contest. Many of the village women knew how to use a bow, and some of the better shots, mostly young women, had decided to compete. There were nearly fifty people competing, almost half the village's population.
Tarrin, Jenna, and Eron all were drawn into the first round. As Tarrin and Jenna checked their bowstrings, they heard Eron scoffing at Lamon Dannis, the village cooper. "That young girl of yours don't have enough arm to send an arrow a hunnerd' paces," he drawled.
"I'll wager you twenty silver talents that she can put eight arrows into the bull's-eye," Eron said immediately.
"'Ere now, friend," Lamon said in his outlander's drawl, "I think that's fatherly pride talkin', not good sense."
"Then accept the wager," he goaded.
"Done then," he said loudly. "Easy money."
"Yes," Eron agreed. "For me."
There was raucous laughter from several of the men around Lamon as the Kaels marched onto the line. They all counted out ten arrows, then put the rest on the ground well behind them, like the other seven men and women on the line. There was no organized firing. Each archer fired at his or her own pace, but they all had to wait for the go signal from Garyth Longshank, the village mayor. Garyth was a tall man, thin and whip-like with a friendly face and warm expression. He was the village cobbler, and just about everyone except the Kaels wore his leather shoes and boots. He was also a sharp trader, who made quite a bit of money duping the travelling merchants who thought the small village had no trading man among them. Garyth, wearing a simple white wool shirt with his leather apron and wool breeches, stood to the near side of the firing range, holding a large piece of white cloth in his hand. "Are the archers ready?" he called.