Archer Read online

  What people say about Archer:

  “Archer is a boy after my own heart. A little shy, wickedly clever (when words are necessary), and loyal to the bone. I think the best part of this book is how human and endearing all the characters are.”JD

  “Archer is fascinating and captivating! I love the way the characters, scenes and general description of Archer's world are portrayed so eloquently. Jacky Gray not only tells a wonderful tale; she manages to capture the sounds, smells and emotional energies of his world.” SD

  “Enchanting to the last page, Archer has the feel of an epic saga in the making and is sure to find an enthusiastic following amongst younger readers. Highly recommended.” BV

  “My mum was planning to read the book before I did but I insisted on reading it first so she has to wait. So far, your book has been one of the best I've read in years. I'm looking forward to your next book.”AR

  What people say about Rory:

  “Archer is sent to modern-day England and has the same kind of problems with bullies he had at home. I love the way he handles himself in pretty horrible situations and the way he finds justice for those involved.” AD

  “Rip roaring adventure for readers of all ages. There’s a whimsical element to this one that delights with its cocky confidence and a bemused view of the modern world by a boy out of his own time.”BV

  “Rory is an absorbing tale that mixes medieval with modern. As she did with the first novel in the series, Ms. Gray delivers a well-written, fast-paced work. It is targeted at teenagers but enjoyable for all ages.” VR

  What people say about Reagan:

  “I have thoroughly enjoyed all of the Hengist series, but there is something about this one in particular that really speaks to me. It has to do with the way the author spins this one out, mixing the mystery and the mystical.”HS

  “I picked up this book because I have an unnatural obsession with the chalk horses of England and was not disappointed!”LR

  “This is an incredibly charming series. As much as I loved golden boy Archer, Reagan is the one who stole my heart.”AB

  Hengist: The People of the Horse

  Archer

  Jacky Gray

  To Jo – without your constant encouragement, insight and creativity, Archer wouldn’t be who he is

  To Deb – for introducing me to a Magical world where anything can happen if you believe it hard enough

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events other than those clearly in the public domain are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2009 Jacky Gray

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Front coverCopyright © 2015 Rebecca K. Sterlingz

  www.sterlingdesignstudios.com

  White Horse designCopyright© 2010 Anthony Askew

  www.askewportfolio.wordpress.com

  First published in 2010 by Lulu

  Second edition 2012

  Third edition 2015

  Found out more at:

  www.hengistarcher.co.uk

  https://twitter.com/jacky_gray

  http://hengistpeoplehorse.blogspot.co.uk https://www.facebook.com/HengistPeopleOfTheHorse

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  Table of Contents

  FREE DOWNLOAD –Bonus Extras

  Prologue

  1 The Joust

  2 Final Tilt

  3 Glowing Arrows

  4 Sword and Buckler

  5 Misfit

  6 Moonflower

  7 Poison

  8 Saviour

  9 Worthies

  10 Robin Hood and Friends

  11 Road Trip

  12 Open Arms

  13 Renegates

  14 William Tell

  15 Men of Honour

  16 Bowman

  17 Gaelic Sound

  18 Archer, Son of Sedge

  19 Archery Round

  20 Craft Round

  21 May King and Queen

  22 The Garlanding

  23 The Maypole

  24 Edlyn Stirs

  25 Clever Kayleigh

  26 Where is Bow?

  27 Apprentice

  28 Singing Staves

  29 A Rare Talent

  30 The Enchantress

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Acknowledgements

  WorldWiseWriters

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  * * *

  Prologue

  Archer had a problem. Not exactly life-threatening, but not a good place to be. He had two alternatives. The trouble was, he’d be damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. It wasn’t as if he had a choice – this was a matter of honour, a duty he knew every single boy in his class would be happy to carry out.

  This was all about a girl. When wasn’t it all about a girl? He thought back to when girls were just friends; it seemed a long time ago. When you could like a girl, be friends with her and do things together, without people getting worked up about it. People like his mate Finn or the guys they hung out with. People like his foster parents. But mostly, the two people he definitely didn’t want to upset: his best mate Fletch and the girl herself, Bethia.

  He had a few heartbeats to choose. Either he kissed her and seriously annoyed his best friend or he didn’t kiss her and she would be mortified and worse, publicly humiliated. It was not as if she wasn’t kissable, exactly the opposite. Fletch had already made his feelings known and if you believed him, she felt the same way. Archer focussed on her pale green robe so he wouldn’t have to meet her eyes. He could almost see the happy bubble of excitement which surrounded her several moments earlier beginning to evaporate as she sensed his reluctance.

  How on earth had he got himself into this predicament? Not exactly his fault, though many would argue over that.

  His thinking time ended as Malduc said his final chant over the rowan cross. In Bethia’s eyes, Archer read the apprehension and the faintest spark of hope. His decision was made.

  1 The Joust

  Sitting astride his stallion Apollo, Archer grinned as people in the crowd shouted encouragement.

  ‘C’mon Archer, you can do it!’

  ‘Go for it Finn!’

  His grin widened as he spotted his – and Finn’s – mates; their worried expressions reflected the dilemma of who to support.

  Fletch held up victory fists to both contenders as he roared their names.

  Chuckling, Archer returned his friend's gesture, then wiped the moisture from his upper lip. He was being roasted in his armour; it could be the heat of the sun or the familiar thrill of adrenaline-charged blood pumping through his veins.

  ‘Good luck, mate.’ Tybalt, Archer’s Second, held up his shield. ‘May the best man win.’

  Archer raised an eyebrow. ‘Man?’ Inside, he secretly punched the air as he slipped his gauntlet through the shield straps and took the reins.

  ‘Yes, Archer. Today, you and Finn are men.’ Tybalt handed over a blue and yellow lance. With an anxious glance in Finn’s direction, he walked to the dais to prepare for the tributes.

  Looking down the tilt at hi
s opponent, Archer’s heart surged with the warmth of brotherhood. No, Finn was more than a brother; they did not argue as siblings did.

  Despite the intense heat, Archer shivered. This was nothing like an ordinary practice. The enthusiasm of the crowd made it more exhilarating than anything he had ever done in his life. People had travelled from miles around to celebrate Beltane, the Festival of the May. The buzz of anticipation affected everyone – many moons of effort had gone into the preparations for this day.

  Professor Niall, a senior trainer, had pronounced them the only pair ready for the joust – all the others settled for the rings. He nodded to both boys as he took his place on the dais.

  The shield weighed heavily on Archer’s arm, which still ached from the hours spent waxing and polishing until the metal shone like a looking glass. Noticing how it reflected the sun, he worried this might give an unfair advantage if it shone in Finn’s eye. As the glare from his opponent’s shield dazzled him, Archer realised why Niall had been so precise about the orientation of the tilt. Siting it perpendicular to the sun’s path meant they would both be equally disadvantaged.

  Finn won the coin toss, electing that Archer’s tribute should be first; they both knew people remember the last thing they heard. The Seneschal introduced their Seconds.

  Tybalt did a good job of supporting his friend. As a member of the learned Magi clan, his speech sounded eloquent, but a little too earnest. ‘Ladies and gents, boys and girls, I present to you the splendid Archer, a true warrior of superlative courage and daring. This squire is a veritable man of the horse,’ he paused at the round of applause which greeted this statement.

  Archer’s cheeks warmed at the exaggeration – horsemanship was the only part of his training which did not feel natural.

  Tybalt concluded, ‘He has remarkable skill with any and every weapon and is a dutiful son and loyal friend.’

  Archer tipped his lance at Tybalt and accepted the applause, bowing at the cheers – not the easiest of things to do on horseback with thirty pounds of metal weighing you down. He frowned as Edlyn appeared on the dais with a shallow smirk and slow handclap. Finn had no choice about using that snake as a Second, his mother had insisted because of the blood ties. Finn was no mother’s boy, but this event was much too important for him to disobey her wishes.

  The clapping didn’t quite stop. Edlyn cleared his throat noisily. ‘A-hem. It is my pleasure, nay my absolute honour, to introduce to you, one of Aveburgh’s best kept secrets. Squire Finnegan is truly a champion of champions.’ Waving his arm in a grand gesture, he continued. ‘No junior in this contest can touch him on the back of a horse.’ He paused, obviously expecting a similar reaction to Tybalt’s “man of the horse” comment. When it didn’t come, he carried on as though it didn’t matter.

  ‘With the staff, he has the strength of a bear and his skill with a sword would rival Hector himself. I give you, the people’s choice, Squire Finn. Join me in going wild with delight.’ Catching Archer’s eye with a smug wink, Edlyn bowed to Finn, clapping enthusiastically and whistling. After a moment’s stunned silence, the crowd did as he suggested.

  Archer recognised his enemy’s mastery of rhetoric. He knew Edlyn would take great pleasure that, due to his superb oratory skills, or rather, his father’s superb speech-writing skills, the round of applause for Finn was louder and lasted much longer than Archer’s.

  A large cloud crept toward the sun, and the officials waited for its cover even though both heralds had finished their tributes some minutes earlier. As the momentum from the big build up dissipated in the delay, Archer sensed Apollo getting restless.

  Finally, the Seneschal took his place on the dais and an expectant hush fell over the crowd.

  ‘Ladies and gents, juniors and children, please accept my apologies for the stoppage.’ He gestured at the cloud, ignoring the good-natured catcalls from the tightly-wound juniors, who were desperate for the bout and needed to voice their frustration. Raising his eyebrows until the silence returned, the Seneschal continued. ‘Contender Archer, are you set?’

  Archer pointed his lance to the sky.

  ‘Contender Finn, are you set?’

  Finn echoed the move with his red and white lance.

  ‘You will both begin on my horn.’ As they readied their weapons to the starting position, he raised an ivory horn to his lips and blew.

  The horses exploded into action as they were trained, no touch of spurs was required from either rider. Nothing compared to the thrill of the first pass – both riders had a clean score sheet, so in theory they both had the same chance of winning. Adrenaline surged through their veins, blinding them to all other sights and smells. All except the tip of the weapon coming toward them and the pungent aroma of horse mingled with their own sweat. The sounds of the crowd decreased to a muffled roar against the thunder of blood pounding in their ears. As their horses sprinted, the training took over and instinct came into play. Everything they had rehearsed became real, do-or-die action.

  The two friends had practised together for several years, so they each knew the other’s strengths and weaknesses. Archer knew Finn’s mastery of his steed Artemis meant he could easily bring off the dangerous “side-hang” manoeuvre to avoid the tip of an opposing weapon. Also, his friend was just as likely to wait until the instant before impact before making his move. Finn wouldn’t care that the high speed would affect his balance, putting him at greater risk; he thrived on danger. He also knew Archer’s legendary skill with weapons was diminished on horseback.

  Although a competent rider by most people’s standards, Archer was fully aware he didn’t have Finn’s gift of becoming a part of the horse – attuned to every nuance of movement as though their bodies and minds were connected. Archer was not confident with the trickier techniques used by more experienced warriors to delight the crowds. His opponent would be expecting just a shoulder roll, more subtle but less effective at reducing the impact.

  Archer didn’t disappoint him. As their mounts were less than a couple of paces apart, he rolled his left shoulder, craftily aligning the shield so it presented a shallower target to Finn’s weapon. He had this idea in training, however he understood the strong possibility of facing his friend, so he kept the idea to himself. It worked. Finn’s lance was deflected and the novel strategy surprised him into losing concentration long enough for his opponent to make a direct hit on his shield. The tip shattered, giving Archer two points and the crowd showed their delight by clapping and stamping.

  Someone started a chant; he couldn’t hear the words apart from the final, victorious “Archer.”

  Finn dipped his lance in defeat as they trotted back to the judge to show the extent of the damage. The lances were designed with two stress sites to reflect the strength of the collision and so the courage of the contestants. Only the fragile pottery tip had shattered, suggesting a normal speed.

  Archer knew Finn would be looking for a bigger impact from a faster charge or stronger thrust in the second pass. A second wave of noisy appreciation from the crowd acknowledged Archer’s marque on the scoreboard.

  Tybalt was ecstatic, slapping Archer’s lower leg. ‘Well done. Truly inspired. Did Niall teach you that trick?’

  ‘Actually, I worked it out for myself.’ Archer grinned at Tybalt’s back-handed compliment, implying the strategy was worthy of a champion such as their trainer. Taking the lance from his enthusiastic Second, Archer looked over at his opponent. Finn was not impressed by the first pass – the joust was his best event and he needed a high score to get through to the next round.

  Archer was not, however, prepared for just how unimpressed his friend was. The second pass flashed by in an instant of red meets blue. At the horn, Finn charged like a demon, thrusting his lance at the approaching chest plate hard enough to leave a dent.

  Archer rocked back in his saddle, but was never in danger of being unhorsed. The collective intake of breath from the crowd suggested they had the scent of six points for a dismount,
but he raised his lance to show he was still a viable contender. When they met at the centre, Archer dipped his lance.

  Finn seemed concerned, raising the visor of his helmet as he lowered his voice. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘It’ll take more than that little tickle to worry me. Was that your best effort?’ Archer raised his visor with a grin so his friend could see he was solid.

  Each lance had a crumple: a length of wood immediately behind the tip, which only shattered on more forceful collisions. Finn’s crumple had smashed into tiny pieces, giving him four points. Archer’s lance remained intact. The crowd stood to show their appreciation as the boys returned to their stations.

  This time, they took the full five minutes to recover. Their Seconds offered skins of water and checked none of the straps or buckles had come undone in the violent collision. Finally, at the time-out signal, they presented fresh lances. Archer took his, grateful it was the junior version, several feet shorter and barely half the weight of the full battle weapon. Although fit and strong, he felt the toll of the first two bouts and was glad this would be the last.

  Then it came to him. Finn was of similar build, but never quite matched him in the strength and endurance exercises during training. He had probably put everything into that second pass, knowing he would have little left for the final tilt. The third Warrior, Beorn, had done well in the rings, scoring seven points, so Finn would need at least another four points to go through to the next round. His sword-work was excellent, but his accuracy on the archery range could be erratic, particularly when tired. As the Seneschal went through his speeches, Archer furiously worked out whether he could still advance if he allowed Finn to unhorse him.