A closed fist smashed against a polished white breastplate, the metallic ring punctuating the low-mutter of the three men perched on the green expanse betweent he urban sprawl of the capital and the court. Behind them, the palace gardens were bathed in the soft, deceptive peace of a golden morning.
"I say three shots," Rodry declared, leaning his elbow on the hilt of his axe as he peered at the small figure in the distance.
"How much?"
"Two silverii and three bronzii on the third arrow."
A sharp whistle came from the man keeping the tally. "Fell out of bed on your head this morning, did you?"
"Nah, slept like a baby. Though I did wake with a twinge in my left knee." Rodry flashed a cheeky, lopsided smile, the kind that had gotten him out of more trouble than his sword ever had. "The old bone doesn't lie. Luck is on my side today. What about you, Miro? Feeling brave?"
