"I suppose I certainly can't call my freeing from the position of distributor an inconvenience, but I still can't really say I'm delighted, Ser. Even without our dealings, I had reason to get good at these things, addressing that which I've previously neglected. With the loss of that job – even if I don't lose coin – I lose the motivation to expand on a skill," Nebular said.
"Forgive for saying this, Nebular, but is that not a thing easily redied? If you wish to expand your hold over the sale of your products, then you can still do that, free from the burden of needing to et certain numbers each week as part of our deal, no?
If you lose the motivation to acquire that skill simply because you don't need to do it as part of a job, then I cannot say I overly sympathise," Oliver said.
"You put it harshly, but perhaps you're right… I should have been doing it of my own accord – and yet I have not been. I've wasted a good few years neglecting the sales side and simply throwing myself into my alchemy," Nebular bemoaned.
"And now you have more coin to play with as part of our deal, do you not? If you wish for a reason that things may be different now than they were in the past, is that not one? You can experint more freely, without too much fear of the repercussions," Oliver said.
"…That's true," Nebular said thoughtfully. "Well, indeed that's true…"
"Satisfied?" Oliver asked, prodding him.
"I might be," Nebular decided at last. "Thank you for taking the trouble to tell this in person, Ser Patrick. I might have thought you were slighting if you did this through a ssenger… but seeing you in person, I see you're as honest about it as you claim to be. You aren't seeking to inconvenience ."
"No, I can assure you of that, and as long as I have need of an alchemist, I'll co to you, Nebular. You can rely on that coin agreent that we made for a good few months.
Had I supposed earlier that my rchant friend would be able to assist so strongly, I wouldn't have allowed things to be moved so awkwardly… I simply had an opportunity to et the man quite recently, when otherwise I wouldn't have," Oliver said. "You can rest assured, Nebular, I an no ill by it."
"And then there is no ill received," Nebular said, smiling. To Oliver, the man looked relieved. "You've freed of a burden, it seems. I'll simply count myself lucky. Your honour entitles to coin from an agreent that would have cost considerably more work. I'll have to leverage your honour in this instance, Ser Patrick, to allow myself a few months of experinting."
"Leverage away, good man," Oliver said, returning the smile. "It was agreed upon regardless."
…
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With Nebular seeming contented, Oliver was afforded an archery lesson with Professor Yoreholder. As one of his more inconsistent lessons – as far as how often he had it – it was always pleasant to get a session in earlier in the week, rather than later, when it seed likely that he wouldn't be given a lesson at all.
The woman patiently put him through the sa drills that she always did. She was quiet, but she was attentive, watching the slightest shift in his breathing as he drew his string back, pointing out a tightness in the muscles of his back that he needed to loosen to get a straighter pull.
She saw more to do with the bow than anyone likely ever could. Nila, as gifted as she was, could never have even begun to explain what it was that she did. Oliver knew, for he'd asked her in the past, curious whether he could acquire the skill to her kind of level – the short answer back then had been that he almost certainly could not.
When Nila had explained it, it seed as complicated as advanced mathematics.
With Professor Yoreholder, though, it was a simpler matter. Slowly, but surely, he was growing more confident with the weapon. The Professor kept him on the sa weighty black bow as before, with enough draw strength in it to punch through solid plate, should he ever go up against a foe dressed as such.
It was re accuracy, and comfort, that would keep him from using it in battle. The Professor had kept him on targets for a while, and then she'd put him on moving targets after that – with a bullseye dangled from a rope – and now she was telling him to move, rather than the target.
"Begin behind that tree," Yoreholder told him, "make it to that line, and land the shot, as quickly as you are able."
Oliver did as he was told. He was allowed to start with his bow half drawn, and the arrow already notched. The Professor had told him, that in ti, he'd be able to perform the sa drill just as swiftly with the arrow starting in his quiver.
He rushed out from behind the tree as though he was about to confront an army of barbarians, drawing his bow in the sa motion. It was an enthusiastic attempt, but, if anything, in this instance, it was Oliver's speed that let him down. He moved too quickly, demanding more from himself, as though this were an actual battlefield.
He, unlike most, had no trouble properly simulating the battlefield through drills.
When he neared the line – which was rather sudden, given the speed that he'd run at – his body didn't have anywhere near the stability it needed for the shot. He ca to a screeching halt, sliding on the top layer of snow, drawing the string back to his ear, trying to pick out the target a distance away.
With a twang of the bowstring, the arrow went flying, and missed the outer circle of the target by a good distance.
"Oh…" Oliver said, watching it fly disappointedly. It was his first attempt on this drill, but he'd hoped for better than that.
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