Hunt - Red Riding Hood Retold

Part 4

FOUR

Sir Chase rode through the gates, sparing a nod of approval for the stout construction of the King of Aros' castle. The thickness of the walls spoke of the kingdom's strength, while the gaily coloured clothing of those who walked within its walls whispered of wealth. Service here would suit him well.

A groom appeared to take care of his horse, and Chase dismounted. He lingered long enough to throw his saddlebags over his own shoulder before allowing the beast to be led off. He'd heard the telltale thwack of arrows in the practice range, and he fancied taking a shot of his own. One that would reach the ears of the queen.

In one gate, out another, and he found the practice field, where a trio of men at arms took their turns at a target. They certainly needed the practice – none had managed to hit more than the outer circle of the target. Chase's father would not have tolerated such sloppy shots, especially at that distance. Why, he stood three times the distance as they did from the target, and he had the perfect shot.

His bow was off his back and in his hands before he'd finished the thought. He strung it with the ease of practice, and plucked an arrow from his quiver. He drew, sighted, breathed and loosed, his thoughts following the arrow's flight between the three men, then across the field to sink squarely into the centre of the target.

Exclamations of horror came from the men as they turned to find the source of the arrow, which turned to words of wonder at the size of his bow and the strength it must take to wield it.

Chase held it out. "Here, you try," he offered. The bow was taller than the man who took it from him. But Chase thought the stocky guard might have the strength to draw it, all the same.

A pleasant afternoon of archery ensued. Chase could definitely get used to this. Maybe even call Aros home.

The sound of a throat clearing drew Chase's attention and that of his companions.

"Sir Knight, Her Majesty, Queen Margareta, requests your presence at dinner in the Great Hall," the herald said.

Chase grinned. "I'd be honoured. Is there anywhere I might bathe and make myself presentable to greet Her Majesty?"

"An apartment has been prepared. Follow me, Sir Knight."

"It's Chase. Sir Chase," Chase said.

The herald breathed a sigh of relief. "Sir Chase. Whence have you come, Sir Chase?"

Chase considered. Who knew how far word had spread about Abraham? He did not dare risk it. "I have travelled from lands so far away I doubt you have heard of them," he said grandly.

The herald's eyes widened. "Are you a Crusader, sir? Or have you come from the Holy Land? Have you fought in many battles?"

Chase chose the truth. "Many battles indeed." Fought with his brothers and Abraham in the courtyard, with sticks and then swords. Abraham had always bested him with a sword. Ah, but he would miss the man, brother in all but blood.

"His Majesty, King Erik, is fond of tales of battle. Perhaps he will ask you to regale us at dinner," the herald said.

"I fear I am no bard, or teller of tales. I speak best with sword and bow," Chase said.

The herald led the way inside. "Then you must tell what you can to one of the Queen's bards, so that he may tell the tale."

Tell Abraham's story? Who would believe it? Chase himself barely believed it, and he'd seen most of it with his own eyes. Enough to know the truth when Abraham had told him the rest.

He only had to look at his tourney armour to be reminded, for after many jugs of ale, he'd persuaded Abraham to lay his hands on the well-crafted leather. Now it was as beautiful as it was useless, for Abraham's warning that gold would be too soft for combat proved only too true. But if it would buy him a place in the royal court of Aros, he would consider his armour a small price to pay.