Arrow 

Sigmund drew back the bow and took careful aim at the villain’s heart.  That evil soul who had brought so much death and destruction to this beautiful, open, hospitable country, stared back at him from pitiless, hooded eyes and with a smirk that dared him to loose the shaft.  Siebold Carrick never moved – there was such an insolence in his stance.  It was the attitude of a cruel tyrant that had inflicted so much pain on others that he was impervious to any feelings of his own.  

Nevertheless, Sigmund was determined that this blackguard be struck down; a lesson to all those who oppressed their fellow man.  He remembered reading the stories of those terrible days in County Storke when Carrick gathered about him the cutthroats, drifters and henchmen that would go on to overthrow the elected government and impose a dictatorship that demanded heavy taxes even in the midst of severe drought and meted out heavy punishment to those unable to pay.  Some of the people had rebelled but his army of mercenaries and pillagers had crushed them and taken from them the little they had left.  Once those poor citizens of County Storke were subjugated, his perfidy and malevolence extended beyond its borders.  Ambushes ravaged commerce and confined travellers to moving in large, heavily armed convoys – though even then it was not safe.  It seemed that nothing could be done to bring Carrick to heel and he threatened the entire dukedom.  He had installed his bloodthirsty cousin, Ormond Killin, in Storke and the latter ruled with a viciousness that even he did not possess.   At all costs, they had to be done away with and that is why, in desperation, the Councillors had sought the aid of Sigmund and his brother.  In all the land, there were no finer archers than Sigmund and Frederick.  Their aim was unerring, and they could move through the forest unseen and unheard.  They could also meld into crowds so that they were quite unrecognisable.  They were known as ‘assassins with standards’, for, though they charged heavy bags of gold for their services, they would never harm good people whatever the price.  Carrick was aware of them and foresaw them as a potential threat, but he could never track them down, or confront them, that is, until this fateful day.  Siebold and Ormond liked to hunt, and they had gone into the forest with a protection team of six burly guards, all with swords drawn.  Together, they had brought down a large stag and were admiring the beast, with its massive antlers that would soon adorn the mantle above the great hearth.  They hardly noticed the loss of their guard, as one by one they fell silently to earth with arrows piercing their vocal chords.  When at last the two called to the men to carry the stag back, their only audience were the two brothers, facing them and with bows drawn.  They did not welcome death, but nor were they afraid of it.  So they both stood defiantly against the inevitable.  

It was Frederick who spoke first “Ormond Killin, you are a brutal murderer.  You have wilfully and prematurely ended the lives of many of my friends who did not deserve any punishment at all, for they committed no evil.  But you have.  For that, I condemn you.”  Killin said nothing and stood his ground.  The first arrow struck him full in the chest and he crumpled, but remained upright, pinned to the tree behind him.  The second arrow partnered the first, and the third and fourth thudded into his lower reaches.  Ormond Killin had come to his deserved end.  

Now it was Siebold Carrick’s turn.  He made no plea for mercy, nor did he cast insults or threats.  Like his cousin, he met his fate stoically and the arrows one after another from Sigmund’s bow shattered the integrity of his frame.   At last, justice was done; his rag tag army would soon be dispersed.  The brothers congratulated each other.  The job was done – they had earned their reward.  They looked around to realise that they were not alone on this field.  And then they remembered. 

Both boys loved medieval tales and the one that absorbed them most was entitled Reign of Terror, a story about the depredations of one Siebold Carrick and his deputy Ormond Killin, with pictures of both fictitious characters.  The boys were both possessed of vivid imaginations and pictured themselves in those dark days.  They had joined the local archery club three months ago and this weekend, their mother, who was quite the artist, had helped them to make cardboard mock-ups of their nemeses, which the archery master had permitted them to affix to the standard wooden frames.  Then they heard the archery master, after ordering cease fire, shout his orders “Right, move forward and collect your arrows, and boys, make sure you bring those rogues back too.  I want to have a good look at them.”   This they did, and both those rogues were very dead indeed.  “Well done, though I noticed that you two seemed to be in another world altogether.  Anything in that?”    Frederick, still tied to another millenium, responded “Master, we have won a great victory.” 

“Righto boys, get going.  I’ll see you next week.”