The Archer's Hollow

Chapter Eight Night of the Owl

Dusk had settled on the valley, so Nafaeri took to the night in the form of an owl. The transformation to small creatures took the least amount of her power. Power she needed as her wings pushed the warm air down driving her higher and higher into the sky. Crossing the valley her green eyes roamed back and forth. She spotted myriad living things from tiny insects buzzing to nocturnal rodents foraging for their next meal.

When she neared her destination the faint odor of grass mingled with the acrid scent of burnt hair reached her. Gliding toward Signora Nia's house her sharp eyes spied scorch marks in the lane. For a moment she wondered what had happened, but recognition of the burn patterns snapped in her brain. Trolls.

How very strange. Trolls had entered the valley and no alarms had sounded. Wondering why they had come she circled the scene below. Perhaps they also sought the human. The archer must have used his fire arrows on them. Nafaeri didn't know if she should thank him or make his execution deadline sooner as he continued to unknowingly thwart her plans.

Gaining altitude Nafaeri scanned the trees for signs of any more trolls. In the distance she spotted movement but the unknown creatures traveled away from the valley. She turned toward her destination and focused on the more pressing matter of gleaning information about the human—whom she hoped remained unscathed from the trolls.

Skimming the roof's peak she dropped down and perched in the shadows near the edge of the atrium. Melodic strains of music floated from below blotting out the morbid scene from the lane. The golden notes dipped and soared. Something more dramatic in a minor key would have better-suited Nafaeri's mood. Begrudgingly she admitted the signora had a gift.

Nafaeri opened her eyes and assessed the scene below. The signora sat in the corner with a harp, entrancing them with her music. The archer lay sprawled on a chaise with his eyes closed and a parchment resting on his chest. Nafaeri suspected he slept. She swiveled her head searching in vain for the human.

On a closer perusal of the open atrium she spotted someone. The horrible urchin wandered toward the living area but stopped in the shadows at the rear of the house to look at something that hung on the wall. She appeared scrubbed from head to foot. The dark braid Nafaeri had previously thought dull and awful, shined in the lamplight carefully covering the humanness of rounded ears. The elven vest and pants, presumably borrowed from the signora, clung to the willowy figure in all the right places.

As the girl came closer, resentment spread through Nafaeri. She had never envied the women of the valley. Her beauty had always exceeded everyone's. Until now. The translucent skin, the heart-shaped face set with doe-eyes and full, sensuous lips sent envy to the tip of every feather. That kind of mouth would turn Savio's head. Anger flowed through her. Perhaps she should swoop down and use the owl's sharp talons to mar the loveliness while she had the opportunity.

A sour note crashed through her thoughts and her attention returned to the signora who stomped her foot.

"Nonna, It will be fine," the archer said without opening his eyes.

So he didn't sleep after all.

"Oh posh! It's won't be fine. My housekeeper's gone,"

"To take care of family matters..."

"And the gardener's never coming back."

"He could not bear the valley's deterioration. You will find another."

"I need them now. There's so much to be done and here I sit trying to soothe my nerves. I've got a garden party—a garden party for the wives of half the king's council—in two days. Two days. This is important and yet the chairs are still on the back veranda waiting to be scrubbed and polished and you're absolutely no help. Always in the barn making bows for your..."