Taris calmly listened to the herald read of the pairings for the first round, each round to be the best of three shots, with the targets moved further back between each round. The elf was in the last pairing against a hedge knight of little repute. He took his place when their turn came, offering the other man the chance to shoot first. He was a big man, smug in the face of this skinny elf that was his opponent. The knight drew back, and let fly his arrow, which stuck in the fourth ring. There was a mixture of laughter and cheering through the crowd, and Taris smiled behind his mask.

He set himself into the archer’s “T” and quickly drew both his bow and breath. The arrow flashed out and thunked into the bull’s-eye. A chorus of jeers came from the crowd, undercut by a cheer from the elves from the small Grey-Quarter of the city. The relatively small crowd was cordoned off from the stands, instead occupying a section far down the side of the archery field. Taris gave a bow in their direction, and took his second shot, his opponent’s shot having only hit the third ring. Another bull’s-eye for the elf. He could see the rage building his opponent. The man was nearly shaking with it as he took aim once more, and this time his arrow didn’t even hit the target. In fury the man snapped his bow over his knee and stalked off the field to the sound of raucous laughter. Taris lazily took aim, his last shot finding its place just outside the bull’s-eye, in the first ring. With a flourish, he bowed to the now wildly cheering elves to the side, before turning back to the raised stand where the Royal Family was sitting and bowed once more, his red eyes catching Aera’s purple ones, even from this distance.

The closer targets were carried off the field as the herald read the second round pairings. Once more the assassin took his position. This time his opponent was a rather young knight named Haxfur. The women in the crowd went wild as he stepped up and took his shot. The distance had doubled, from fifteen paces to thirty, but the arrow found a mark in the third ring. Taris gave a nod of respect to his opponent, who had the grace to return it, and positioned himself when he was interrupted by a shout from the Royal stand. When he looked he saw the young princess leaning back from her mother, who nodded and stood.

The entire crowd fell silent when she raised her arms, “Attention my people, but we all know the skills of an elf with the bow. As an act of fairness, I ask our contestant, will you accept a five-pace handicap?”

The crowd cheered at this, and his own little cheering section stayed wisely silent. To boo the queen was never wise, anywhere. The assassin bowed low gesturing with his bow, and servants sprinted to the field to move his target. Once they were clear, he nocked his arrow, and took aim. This time he placed his shot in the exact same spot as his opponent’s. Haxfur’s looked darkened only a moment, but he grinned and took another shot, this time hitting the first ring. A massive cheer went up, and Taris took aim again. Once again he placed his shot in the same place as his opponent’s arrow. Now Haxfur openly scowled and took his last shot, hitting the edge of the bull’s-eye.

When he stepped back, he paused next to the elf, “Nobody can mimic two shots by accident, so I know you did that on purpose. Take your shot elf, and be quit of this mockery.” Taris bowed his head a moment, “My apologies, ser, the mockery was not directed at you.” He straightened and drew his bow. This time he was not playing, and he sunk his shot dead center. The crowd erupted in boos, many women throwing curses his way. Again he listened to the herald read the lists, and smiled behind the mask.

His next opponent was Kentaro.