Chapter Four: Bardok



When Bardok had left Alaine at Master Threshs chamber, he went seeking Marcus. He was directed to the weapons practice yard where he found Marcus with several of the garrisons soldiers. Marcus was holding an exquisitely crafted elven bow and shouldering a quiver to match. Having come through the stables, he was perhaps fifty feet from where Marcus and the soldiers were standing. They were directing another soldier where to place the target. Wishing only to observe for the moment, he remained by the stable door, leaning against the wall in partial shadow.

As the target-mover got behind a portable shield, the three shooters took their turns. Each mans arrows had their own distinctive markings, so there is no question of whose arrow pinked what part of the target. Bardok was grudgingly impressed with the lads accuracy and speed. He had sent two arrows in rapid succession into the target, side by side and right on the mark. Though the soldiers were quite as accurate, they lacked the speed that Marcus displayed. After each shoot, the target-man removed the arrows from the frame, and held them until all the shooting was done. When the shooters exhausted their supply of shafts, they all walked out to the target area to retrieve them.

There is much laughter and camaraderie between Marcus and the older men. Bardok noted there seemed to be no jealousy of Marcuss prowess against their professional skills. Skills, which in most cases, came with many years of practice and experience.

As Bardok reached the group, he stepped in front of Marcus. I never seen a wizard could work a bow like that. That be a fine looking Elvish bow if I am not mistaken. In matter of fact, I never seen a wizard use any kind of a weapon ceptin maybe his magic, he said in a casual off-hand sort of tone, looking Marcus in the eye.

Marcus looked at the dwarf and smiled. He was wiping off the arrows and replacing them in his quiver. Well, sir, possibly because they never take time from their studies to practice. Myself, I enjoy it. The bow is elven. A gift from an Elven Ranger.

Humph. Yer fair to middlin with the bow, but then theyre made fer killin at a distance. How good be ye with the throwin daggers yer a flauntin in yer belt? They looks like they be of dwarven make.

Yes, Sir Bardok, answered Marcus smiling. They are a perfectly matched pair. Jason says that they are the finest dwarven blades he has ever seen.

Pardon me, Master Dwarf, but I can attest to Marcuss ability with those daggers, said a soldier, stepping close to him. Would you be looking for a small wager as to his accuracy?

Bardok looked toward the soldier who had spoken. He wore the badge of captain on his left shoulder. Why that sounds like a good idee. What might ye be offerin?

I will put up my grog coin for the week on Marcus, he replied.

Bardok saw that Marcus had been looking back and forth between the captain and him.

Then the captain thumped Marcus on his arm and said, I have wagered my drinking money for the week, Marcus. Do not make me go dry till next payday. He turned and shouted to the target-man to bring the frames up to dagger range, then wished them both luck and stood aside.

Marcus turned to Bardok and said amiably, Sir, as guest and challenger, you may go first. Would you like to take some practice throws to warm up?

Bardok almost exploded. Why ye young arrogant pup! I need no warmin up! With that he drew and threw his dagger straight to the heart of the target. The solid thunk that was heard told them all that it was buried deep. The target man was just setting the target at the fifty-foot mark when Bardoks blade struck. He instantly fled back to his shield, waving his arms and shouting an obscenity at the dwarf.

Turning his back to the target, Marcus looked at the scowling dwarf and the smiling captain. Suddenly, he whirled around, and in one fluid movement, drew both daggers from their belt sheathes and threw them. They struck the target, one on each side of Bardoks blade. There was a resounding rattle as the two vibrating blades rapped against the center one.

Bardok felt his mouth pop open at the sight, but snapped it shut when he heard the soldiers laughing and the jingle of coins changing hands. At least a dozen had gathered to watch and make a few wagers on their own. Bardok tugged at his money pouch with a sour look. Then the captain put his hand on his arm and said, Keep your money, sir dwarf. You both hit dead center. It is a tie.

That suited Bardok just fine, but it still rankled him that Marcus had done so well. The three of them walked to the target where the captain worked out all three blades and returned them to their owners. As they walked back to the throw line, the captain said in a matter of fact tone. Of course one can match Marcus, but never better him.

Oh, an why is that? asked Bardok suspiciously.

Why, did you not know? Those blades may be dwarven made, but thy are enhanced with elven magic. Marcus could never miss with them, said the captain with a loud guffaw.

Why ye connivin whelp! Yer could not win without yer magic! exploded Bardok and he took a step toward Marcus, who backed a step away.

The captain stepped between them and said to Bardok, I do not know what you have against Marcus, or if you are just a very cantankerous fellow, but it was a fair contest and it cost you nothing. But, I will wager two weeks pay that Marcus can still equal or beat you with any blade you choose. How say you to that, sir dwarf? The soldiers frown was menacing.