A light wind tugged at the straw targets in a sunlit archery field within the palace walls, their edges fraying as they swayed gently back and forth. Midday heat beat down, shimmering off the packed dirt, and the red centers of the targets glowed bright against the pale stalks. Wooden barriers lined one side, creaking under the weight of a murmuring crowd, their tunics a patchwork of colors fluttering in the breeze. Guards leaned on their spears near the field's edge, their bronze tips glinting, their low chatter mixing with the rustle of leaves from a row of neem trees shading the back. Dust puffed up with every step, hanging in the air like a faint haze, and the faint tang of sweat and dry grass drifted through.
Arjuna strode to the mark, his bow taut in his hands, the string humming as he pulled it back. His tunic rippled against his small frame, the faded green fabric catching the sun as he planted his feet, his sandals scuffing the dirt. He squinted at the target, his dark hair tied tight, and loosed an arrow. It whistled through the air, thudding into the red center with a sharp crack, the straw quivering. He grinned, quick and bright, and reached for another arrow, his fingers nimble as he nocked it, firing again. The second shot echoed the first, burying itself so close the fletching brushed the other, and the crowd murmured louder, a ripple of voices rolling over the barriers.
Duryodhana stood a few paces back, his dark tunic damp with sweat, clinging to his small shoulders as he gripped his bow. His dark curls stuck to his forehead, and his jaw clenched tight, his breath huffing out as he watched Arjuna step aside. He shuffled forward, his boots dragging, and raised his bow, his hands trembling faintly. The string creaked as he pulled, his eyes narrowing, and he let the arrow fly. It veered left, nicking the target's rim with a dull thud, straw fluttering to the ground. He cursed under his breath, a low growl, and snatched another arrow, his fingers fumbling as he nocked it.
Arjuna turned, his voice clear and sharp as he slung his bow over his shoulder, his grin widening. "Dead on, that one. Your turn, Duryodhana. Hit it square!" He stepped back, his small hands brushing his tunic, and he leaned against a barrier, his dark eyes glinting as he watched.
Duryodhana's growl rose, his voice tense and rough as he pulled the string again, his arms shaking. "I'll hit it. Shut up and watch!" He loosed the arrow, his breath held, and it sailed wide, clipping the target's edge, the shaft wobbling as it stuck. The crowd's murmur dipped, a few guards shifting their spears, and he glared at the straw, his face reddening as he grabbed another arrow.
Duhshasana darted out from behind the barriers, his fair hair bouncing as he jogged over, his small tunic flapping. His voice burst out, shrill and quick, as he clapped his hands, his feet kicking up dust. "Hit it, brother! Smash that red bit! Show him!" He hopped closer, his small fists pumping, and a guard nearby chuckled, his spear tipping slightly.
Shakuni hobbled up from the neem trees, his cane sinking into the dirt with each step, his black robes fluttering as the wind caught them. His narrow eyes glinted under his hood, and he stopped beside Duryodhana, his voice low and hissing as he leaned in, his cane tapping. "He lives, nephew. Bhima lives. The poison failed, and they steal your crown with every breath." He pointed at Arjuna, his bony finger trembling, and his crooked grin flashed, quick and dark.
Duryodhana's bow dipped, his voice fierce and low as he turned to Shakuni, his small hands tightening on the wood. "Failed? He's alive? That oaf's still walking?" He shot a glance at Arjuna, his dark curls bouncing, and his jaw clenched harder, his breath sharp as he nocked his final arrow.
Arjuna tilted his head, his voice crisp and teasing as he pushed off the barrier, his bow tapping his shoulder. "Walking? Bhima's stomping, I'd say. Come on, Duryodhana. One more. Make it count!" He grinned again, his small frame buzzing, and the crowd's murmur swelled, their heads craning over the barriers.
Duryodhana's hands shook, his voice a snarl as he pulled the string back, his dark tunic creasing. "Count? I'll make you count dirt!" He loosed the arrow, his eyes wide, and it flew low, burying itself in the ground a foot from the target, dust puffing up around it. He froze, his bow dropping, and his face twisted, red and hot, as he flung it aside, the wood clattering against a rock.
The crowd erupted, their shouts loud and wild as they clapped, their voices rolling over the field. "Arjuna! Arjuna!" A few guards banged their spears on the ground, their grins wide, and a boy in a patched tunic tossed a flower over the barrier, its petals scattering in the wind. Arjuna raised a hand, his voice sharp and bright as he waved, his grin steady. "Thanks for that! Good try, Duryodhana. Next time, eh?" He slung his bow back, his small hands quick, and stepped toward the crowd, their cheers following him.
Duhshasana's voice rose, shrill and fierce as he stomped over to Duryodhana, his fair hair falling into his eyes. "Next time? Smash him now, brother! He's laughing at us! Look at him!" He kicked the dirt, his small fists clenching, and a guard nearby shifted, his spear straightening as he watched.
Shakuni's cane tapped slower, his voice soft and sly as he stepped closer, his black robes brushing Duryodhana's arm. "Laughing, yes. Bhima walks, Arjuna shoots. Pandu's sons take it all, nephew. Your birthright slips. Fight it." He tilted his head, his narrow eyes glinting, and his hand rested on his cane, his whisper curling around them.
Duryodhana's fists clenched, his voice low and bitter as he glared at Arjuna, his dark tunic damp and tight. "Fight? I'll burn 'em out. Bhima should be dead. This one too. I'll get 'em both." He turned, his boots scuffing the dirt, and his glare burned, a vow simmering as he watched Arjuna laugh with the crowd.
Arjuna glanced back, his voice crisp and quick as he caught the look, his grin fading slightly. "Both? Big talk, Duryodhana. Keep shooting. You'll need it!" He turned away, his small frame moving through the crowd, their hands slapping his back as he passed, his bow swaying.
Duhshasana hopped beside Duryodhana, his voice shrill and wild as he pointed after Arjuna, his fair hair bouncing. "Need it? He needs a smack! Hit him, brother! Right now!" He punched the air again, his small tunic flapping, and a guard chuckled, his spear tipping as he leaned closer.
Shakuni's voice dropped, hissing and low as he gripped Duryodhana's shoulder, his cane steady. "Not now. Smarter, nephew. They grow strong. Bhima's river trick, this one's arrows. Plan it right." He nodded, his crooked grin widening, and his black robes settled as the wind died.
Duryodhana's breath huffed out, his voice fierce and tight as he shook off Shakuni's hand, his small fists trembling. "Plan? I'll do more than plan. They'll see. I'll make 'em pay." He stormed toward the neem trees, his dark tunic a blur, and Duhshasana followed, his shouts fading as they vanished into the shade.
The crowd's cheers lingered, their voices drifting as Arjuna bent to pick up the flower, his fingers twirling it. His voice came soft, sharp and sure as he straightened, his dark eyes flicking to the trees. "Pay? Let him try. Bhima's back, and I'm here. We'll see who's left." He tucked the flower into his tunic, his grin returning, and he walked off, the field settling behind him, the targets still swaying in the wind.