Chapter Nine:

Arrows and Arguments

*Eleven days later*

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"I'm sorry Clark, you can't come with me." The mouse squeaked by way of answer. "I know I said you could, but you can't, not today. I'll be moving my shoulder too much." Clark squeaked some more. "No, I'm putting my foot down."

"Are you arguing with Clark again?" Oliver said, taking a seat beside her at the table in the food tent, a plate of steaming mush that was supposed to pass as a meal in his hands. "You're getting some strange looks."

"Hey, it keeps them away, doesn't it? Plus, he wants to come with me. He keeps trying to climb up onto my shoulder." Harriet glared at Clark. "And you're not going in my pocket either."

"You're going to become notorious for being the crazy guy who talks to mice," Oliver said around a mouthful of food.

"Better than being the crazy guy who's afraid of mice," Harriet countered, smirking at the memory of the first time Garreth had met Clark. "Who knew such a big guy would be afraid of such a little animal?"

"You, you did, remember? You overheard him ranting about them and then made sure to show him your new pet the next morning."

"I will always cherish the memory of Garreth McIntosh screaming like a little girl," Harriet said wistfully, looking over at said man who was staring at Clark in horror from across the room.

"I'm sure you will," Oliver said with a chuckle before turning solemn. "Though I think you should watch your back, he's going to want revenge for making him the laughing stock of the camp."

"What could he do? He's already slammed my face into manure, drenched my things in water, and tripped me several times. I don't think he's bright enough to do much more than that."

"You don't have to be smart to get revenge, Harry. I mean look at you, you got revenge didn't you?"

"Hey!" Harriet protested indignantly. "That's not fair."

"You set a mouse on him. I hate to break it to you, but Clark's not exactly a dragon. It didn't take much smarts to get him to squeak a few times and bite Garreth's pinky."

"I'll have you know that it took me a very long time to convince him to do anything but sleep and squeak." Harriet sent a frown at the mouse who was perched on her hand, squeaking at her. "I can't figure out whether he's lazy or just lazy and talkative."

"Neither. He's just smart enough to get enough sleep at night instead of lying awake plotting revenge." Oliver sent Harriet a pointed look that she didn't meet. "At least we know the King finds it amusing, or else you'd be in trouble for terrorizing your tent mate."

"He does not," Harriet replied, not believing him for a second. There was no way King Nothing-Amuses-Me Leopold, found anything funny.

"Oh no, he does. You should've seen him when he saw Garreth come tearing out of your tent like a bat out of hell with you hot on his heels and holding Clark. I thought his face might seize up from the effort of hiding his smile."

"Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it," Harriet said with a scoff. Oliver just gave her a look before turning back to his food, shoveling each spoonful into his mouth hurriedly, causing the majority of the food to end up in his goatee. "Why are you hurrying?" Harriet asked, eyeing Oliver's messy eating with a hint of disgust. Oliver gulped down a large mouthful of food before answering.

"It's archery today. I want to get there early to practice." Harriet raised a skeptical eyebrow. It wasn't the first day of archery, and probably wouldn't be the last, but already Harriet knew that Oliver was not meant to be a master marksmen.

"You want to practice missing the target beforehand?" Harriet said, earning herself an elbow in the side.

"Practice makes perfect," Oliver replied, downing the rest of the mush with a slurp. "C'mon, let's go."

"Hold on, I need to drop off Clark at the tent." Harriet grabbed a hold of the still chattering mouse, clutching onto him just tightly so he wouldn't try to wiggle his way out of her grip and onto her shoulder. He'd become far too good at that.

After dropping off Clark in her tent (and giving him a warning not to follow her), they set off for the training field, passing sleepy-eyed recruits as they went.

It wasn't that Harriet wasn't as tired as them, because she was, it was just a different kind of tired. It was a bone-deep ache, the kind of fatigue you can't sleep off, that's more mental and emotional than anything else. Because she was tired, beyond it really, but just like every man in the army, she had to keep going on.

Oliver and Harriet were quiet as they walked, having fallen into a sort of routine in the past eleven days. They'd meet for breakfast, as neither of them liked their tent mates, and then walk to the training field in complete silence. It was like a sort of ritual, like a nod to the fact that they knew it was the quiet before the storm.

Once they reached the field, they ambled their way across the field, selecting their weapons from the heap in the large half open tent that acted as an armory.

"So you think you're going to hit the target this time?" Harriet said, cutting into the silence as they grabbed their quivers and bows.

"Who knows? I might," Oliver said, sounding far more optimistic than he probably was. This would be the sixth day they had worked on archery. Each day they worked on it for hours on end. Oliver had never hit the target.

It was one of those constants of the universe. Day will turn to night, time will pass, and Oliver Filbert will miss the target every single time. Harriet supposed it was a good thing if he didn't want to do anything in the war, but as he was a soldier, she wasn't sure how that would help him.

They lined up side by side fifty feet away from the target, nocked their arrows, pulled back their arms, and then released the arrow, but while Harriet's hit the red, Oliver's hit the tree behind it. Harriet watched as Oliver nocked another arrow, and let it go, not showing a single sign of frustration when it went soaring over the target and into the woods.

"Maybe you're just not meant to be an archer," Harriet said, as she and Oliver nocked their respective arrows and then released her grip, sending her arrow flying.

"I still should learn how to use a bow."

"It's not easy to learn, you'll get it... eventually."

"What? When I'm sixty?" Oliver asked with a straight face. Harriet met his brown eyes and then nodded before they both dissolved into snorts of laughter. It wasn't even that funny, but Harriet found she laughed at just about anything nowadays.

They continued to practice and trade teasing jeers back at each other, until everyone else began to show up and they stopped. It wasn't always safe for Oliver to practice archery around other people, as he had a tendency to miss.

"Alright men," Leopold hollered, his voice sounding gravelly from the mixture of still present sleepiness and shouting too much over the past eleven days. "Line up."

They followed his orders, Harriet making sure she was next to Oliver. "Nock your arrows." Harriett did, feeling the feather of the arrow against her hand. "Pull back." Her arm strained slightly as she brought her hand level with her ear. "Release."

The twang of arrows flying from bows filled the air, followed with the light thuds of arrows hitting a mixture of targets, trees, and in Oliver's case, the ground.

"Not a word, Harry," Oliver muttered as they all began to nock their next arrow. Harriet schooled her smile to merely a smirk. The smirk grew wider as the arrows flew into the air and Oliver's didn't just go flying over the target, but the treetops as well. Harriet met his eyes, quirking an eyebrow, and mouthing the words "Practice makes perfect."

They both had to look away before they started laughing. However, the clearing of a throat behind them got their attention and settled them down adequately.

"I think it would be best if I split you all off into groups," Leopold said, his blue eyes on the bit of sky that Oliver's arrow had flown through.

"Mr. Filbert, Mr. Cole, Mr. Anders," Leopold continued listing out names until there was at least twenty, pointing at each man as he went. "You will be in the first group."

"Mr. Boyden, Mr. Iren, Mr. Fitzherbert," Leopold did the same thing as before but with different names, finishing with a "You will be in the second group."

"Mr. McIntosh, Mr. Greenfellow," Leopold pointed at Harriet, "Mr. Caecilian, Mr. Briars, Mr.

Tome, Mr. Ember, Mr. O'Shaun, Mr. Collard, Mr. Rolfe, Mr. Meriscot, and Mr. Jasminium, you will all be in the third group."

"Now, I have split you up into groups by skill. Today, you will be having a small competition amongst yourselves. Whoever wins in each group, gets to have the day off from training," the men paid closer attention at the words "day off", "You will compete with your archery skills. You each will get five arrows, whoever gets the best score wins. The brown ring is worth a point, the white is worth three points, the red is worth five points, and the black is worth ten."

There was a murmur of confusion from the men. There wasn't a black ring on the target. However, their questions were soon answered as one of Leopold's councilmen ran up holding a small jar of ink and handed it to Leopold. Leopold then moved to each target and in turn, painted a small black circle, hardly bigger than Harriet's thumbnail, on each.

"Understood?" The men nodded, each eyeing the target with a bit of anxiety. "Good. We will start with the first group."

The competition went quickly, lasting barely over two minutes, and by the end of that time Joseph Anders, a tall man with wiry black eyebrows was declared the winner with a score of seven. Oliver didn't seem bothered that he didn't win, instead shrugging his shoulders at Harriet as he walked by her to watch the next competition.

The next one was slightly quicker, ending with the winning of Alex Iren with a score of thirteen. At this point Harriet had become rather nervous, and was running her hands over her wooden bow with anxiety running through her fingers. She wanted to win, but she was wary of the attention it would give her.

Finally, it was the last group's turn, and as Harriet lined up with the other men, she did her best to take a calming breath before knocking an arrow. Her eyes zeroed in on the small black circle in the center of her target as she prayed that she would hit it.

On Leopold's count, she released her arrow, and her stomach sank as she realized she didn't hit the black circle, instead hitting the red ring, but looking at the other's it looked like they hadn't hit the black either.

She nocked her arrow again, feeling much the same way when she hit the red once again, scowling as she saw that Mr. Meriscot had hit the black part of the target. Harriet's hands began to tremble slightly, but she once again nocked her arrow.

Her next arrow flew through the air and her heart was in her mouth as she saw it hit the black part of the target. She swallowed down her nerves as best as she could, trying not to think of how she and Meriscot were now tied.

Her fourth arrow followed the path of her third, hitting the center of the target, causing her to suck in a relieved breath. She didn't really care if she won the prize of a day off, but she did care about what it implied. She would be the best archer out of the recruits.

Harriet's hand quivered as she nocked her final arrow, silently begging it to fly true, her face breaking into a smile as it did. She heard a loud whoop from behind her, grinning as she caught the eye of Oliver. However, her victory didn't last long.

"Looks like the little boy soldier can shoot an arrow," Garreth said, his voice filled with bitterness. "I bet your girl's proud of you, that Clara."

Harriet whirled around in shock to face a smug looking Garreth. How did he know that? Granted, she certainly didn't have a girl waiting for her back home, as she definitely didn't swing that way, but how had he known about Clara at all? That she even had someone in her life named Clara?

"Oh stop looking so shocked. Why else would you have a letter in your pack from a woman named Clara? Unless your mother signs her given name at the end of her letters," Garreth gave a laugh. "Though I doubt she misses you as much as you miss her. I mean I could barely see the words they were so ruined from your tears, Harold," Garreth sneered out Harriet's name the way he must have assumed it was spelled. "Don't worry, if you don't make it, I'll make sure to go tell her myself. I bet she'd love a real sold-"

"I just outshot you by fifteen points. If anything, I'm the soldier and you're the little boy who wants to run home to his... woman," Harriet said uncomfortably, cutting across Garreth's words as her stomach flipped with anger and a peculiar feeling of disgust. She felt weird referring to any female like that, as well as just the idea of it. She wasn't keen on possessing anyone, let alone her older sister.

"Is that so?" Garreth's dark eyes glinted in the sunlight, giving them a predatory gleam. "Then I challenge you to a spar."

"I don't think that's necessary," Harriet said, feeling a flicker of fright in her heart. This wouldn't be a playful clang of swords with Mark. It would be much different. "After all, aren't grown men supposed to use their words?"

"I agree completely, Mr. Greenfellow," Leopold began to say but Garreth cut in, causing everyone to watch, stunned. If they were in another setting, or perhaps if Leopold was a different man, Garreth could've been killed for his disrespect.

"No, men who can't fight properly use their words," Garreth snarled. "Look at you, not even willing to fight for your own lady. She was probably glad to be rid of you, she's probably already forgotten all about you. Does that sound right, little boy soldier?"

Harriet swallowed, feeling the lemony taste of acid in her mouth. She didn't want to fight him, but at the same time, how could she let him say those things to her unchecked? Harriet glanced at Leopold, taking in his expression. After all, Garreth had just disrespected him, but instead of doing anything he just gazed back at her, his blue eyes boring into her grey ones, a look of what appeared to be trust in his eyes.

Harriet realized in shock that he would let her handle it. After all, Leopold had no place defending Harriet's love. Harriet gave a miniscule internal shudder at that thought. She really hated the idea of that sense of ownership that the men of the camp always used when referring to women, but Clara was still her sister. Even if she wasn't Harriet's non-existent significant other, Harriet wouldn't let all of the men in the camp think that Harriet didn't care about Clara enough to speak up against Garreth.

"No that doesn't sound right, because she would never forget me. She's never forgotten me, even when I made her so mad she wanted to pull her hair out. She always remembered me, and did her best to help me and-" Harriet broke her words off, finishing the sentence in her head. She would never forgive her for the risk that Harriet was about to take, and the risks that Harriet would continue to take.

"I accept your challenge."

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Well that was slightly more dramatic than I planned. Did you like the interactions between Harriet, Oliver, and sort-of Clark? What do you think will happen next? Tell me in the comments!

To clear things up in case you missed it. Garreth thinks her name is Harold because there were tear stains blotting out her real name (thank goodness). So no, the spell has not been broken.

Additionally, if you like this book and this chapter, please vote for my story in sticks97's Undiscovered Awards! You can find it by clicking on the external link or by clicking on the link that I will post in the comments!

Also, if you've read danikanakker's Red as Roses (if you haven't you should) vote on her story in the contest as well! It's the second story under Fantasy, and it's the thirteenth chapter!

P.S. There will be a shout out to anyone who can figure out the inspiration for the names of the other archers in Harriet's group.