The peddler's declaration astounded him, more than even the very sight of the greatbow. Questions raged through his mind, one after the other. How had he acquired it? Had the greatbow accepted the old man as its owner?

Kerrigan's eyes glanced through the crowd, who were as shocked as he was. They all stood there with open mouths. He could see the peddler smile; there was pride in him, that much he saw. But he did not understand the reason for all the histrionics. Why was he showcasing his prize now of all times?

He stepped forward; as he did, people glared at him but went back to staring at the greatbow. 'How has it come into your possession? Surely, there lies a tale.'

The peddler laughed. 'Truth you speak, Kerrigan Dorconar.'

Kerrigan winced at hearing the full name. He found it uncanny that the old man knew his full name when today was the first time they had met.

'Ho...w...?' he started to ask.

'What? How do I know your name? You speak in the same tongue as your parents standing at the back of the crowd somewhere, and I know them quite well. Oh, I am sure they will attest to the fact. And as for how I came into the possession of an acclaimed greatbow, well, there is a long story there, one I would not like to speak about as of now. If my wish be spoken of, I would like to relinquish this weapon for I no longer desire to wield it.'

'That would mean...'

'That I would have to die? Not necessarily. Greatbows have rules. The first is that they accept its owner. The second is that they can give it away.'

'But...what if they gave it away to a person who does not deserve it?'

'Just because the second rule is valid,' the old man explained, 'doesn't mean that the greatbow will ignore the first rule. I have brought this here so the greatbow has the chance to choose any of you. Perhaps one of you is worthy of such a weapon.'

Murmurs spread through the crowd. Whispers that spoke in cold tongues. Each wanted to test their mettle, he heard. He wondered whether any would succeed.

'So who would want a try?' the peddler asked.

At least twenty among the crowd queued up. All of them belonged to the warrior caste, Kerrigan saw. Each wanted to prove who was superior. But something inside told him they would not pass the test.

The first one was a sturdy young man, somewhere in his early twenties,, with an athletic build. He stepped up onto the dais and paced briskly to where the greatbow lay cocooned. His hand met the silver shimmer and with a smile, plunged it inside. Sudden as a bolt of lightning, he cried. He removed his hand, his skin showing burning welts.

'Oh,' warned the peddler. 'I should have told you all. The candidates the greatbow rejects shall have their hands burned and the scar shall remain a sign forever, a reminder to the people of how unworthy they were of it.'

Hearing the old man, half the queue stepped back into the crowd, much to the chagrin of their elders. It was better to face a loss of face than have red scars and a loss of face. Kerrigan could feel their confidence wavering.

One after the other, the young men tried, and each met the same fate as the previous one. After the first, the nineteen had dwindled into a line of ten. And none of the ten had succeeded. The crowd whispered amongst themselves, their hopes of sending worthy people to the king's service dashed.

'So,' the old man spoke, 'The Gusserat does not find anyone worthy among the lot who tried. If the younglings have failed, perhaps the elders shall succeed?'

'Nay,' said one of the elderlies. 'What shall the world say of us when they learn that the elders of the town gained glory when it should have been the young who should have done so? We have already acclaimed much of what renown is granted us, and even if the greatbow shall accept one of us the way it does, our future is short. We have what? Twenty to thirty years ahead of us? Nay, peddler, it will do us no good to seek for such glory as you intend to grant us. Your gift, though humbly appreciated, we have no choice but to refuse.'

Everyone turned silent as they heard the ominous words. The peddler grunted and said, 'But even in two or three decades, you may do much with my gift. I am sure there are still kings and princes who would like to have a formidable warrior who wields such a weapon as The Gusserat.'

'Sure,' replied the elderly who had spoken before. 'Two decades could see the fruitions of my actions. But, peddler, I have seen many a battle in my day, and so have the warriors here beside me. I could not endure the sight of my weapons spilling blood and wetting the earth. Rendering women widows and children orphans, I have not the strength to do it, not anymore. My place is beside my family, to look after my dearest wife and the children I have sired, even though not as glorified as myself.' Turning towards those who had failed, he said, 'Those who failed need not take to heart their lack of success in the test today. Perhaps it isn't your destiny to hold a weapon like The Gusserat, although it would have done the town a great honor. But the events today do not mean that you shall not seek glory again in the future. Let not my ramblings about the actions of war dissuade you from seeking service of a greater lord. You are all warriors and your duty is to protect the realms from dishonorable men and creatures of shadow. So lift your hearts up.'

Kerrigan smiled. He knew that the elderly man had seen the morose faces the younglings of the town had and spoken the right words to lift up their spirits.

The peddler nodded. 'Then what am I supposed to do about the test? I wish to give mankind a gift.'

'Perhaps in some other towns you may find a worthy suitor,' suggested another elder man with gray hair and beard.'

'Your suggestion is valuable, Eggthorne. But...this is the last town. I cannot break my oath.'

The elderlies sighed. They knew the importance of a finished oath. 'We are sorry, peddler. We know oaths unfulfilled could be a heavy burden upon the heart,' said Eggthorne. 'May the Light help you find a better suitor. Perhaps there will be some village you have not scoured yet.'

The peddler looked at the crowd, going over each of the faces, and then suddenly, his eyes drifted to Kerrigan again.

'You, young man,' he said, pointing to Kerrigan. 'How about you? Would you like to try?'

Kerrigan shuddered. He could hear the crowd gasp. Much of the elders had taken affront.

The old man grinned, anticipating that the crowd would turn against him for asking Kerrigan, the son of a farmer, to try. Until now he had talked to the warrior clans out of deference, but now, to defend the young tiller, he would have to speak the truth.

'A son of a farmer cannot hold weapons, peddler. It is an affront to our laws,' shouted a warrior from the crowd.

The peddler laughed. 'The Gods treat everyone as equals, warrior. Young Kerrigan here has every right to claim this greatbow and the glory that accompanies it as much as you have, or rather, had. The Gods have seen fit that you are not worthy of The Gusserat. But you shan't stop others from claiming that which might have been yours should you have focused more on the right than on the wrong.'

The warrior came out to the fore.

'Tie your tongue tight, peddler. Or I shall cut it out from your mouth myself.'

'Threats, warrior. That's all you can make.'

The warrior brandished a short sword and moved to attack when the others stopped him. 'Pay no heed to this uncouth,' they told him. 'He speaks that which he doesn't understand, for all his tales.' Turning towards the peddler, the warrior who had first failed said, 'We can't allow a farmer to claim a weapon, old man. Never. Not in our lands.'

'Your lands?' the old man scoffed. 'Forget you not that these lands are but a gift to you from the Gods. If the Gods can give it, they can take it back also. Besides, the lot of you have proven useless. A warrior's duty is to protect and be humble, not act haughty and judge others by their stature in society. By doing so, you have brought your pathetic lives to such a low as has not been seen in years. A warrior should not just spill blood but also fight for justice. But then, what is law without justice? And what is justice when it cannot have meaningful laws to back it? Tell me, O Warrior! You yourself have failed to lift The Gusserat. None of your warriors have the strength to become a bowmaster. What will you do when a vast army comes? Beg for aid elsewhere? Or flee with your tails hanging between your legs? Or give away foolishly your meaningless lives? The latter I don't think you will do. Conscience and honor, that is what your kind has lost.'

Turning to Kerrigan, he continued, 'Come and try your hand, young lad. Don't cower to these people whose strength lies in mockery. I see in you a potential, a power. Come, lad. Lift The Gusserat.'

Kerrigan stepped forward much to the annoyance of the crowd who cursed at him. He looked at the greatbow and wondered if it would accept him. Doubt gnawed at him. Should he try his hand where everyone failed?

Doubt is a man's enemy, Kerrigan. It will eat you on the inside like a canker does an orange. It will stop you from reaching your full potential. Lift the bow, Kerrigan. I know you can do it. You just need to focus.

He stared at the old man who just smiled, his hair waving in the wind.

Looking at the peddler, he felt a revival of hope inside of him. Perhaps he did stand a chance to be a bowmaster. He relished the thought. Bowmaster. That had a nice ring to it, he muttered to himself. All this while, he could feel the old man's eyes boring into him as if reading his thoughts. He quickly purged all fantasies that assailed his mind and stood himself near the greatbow.

He dropped to the ground on one knee, his skin pricked by the sharp stones. He could feel his warm blood ooze out of the little holes but kept his eyes closed, concentrating on his inner strength. The old man looked at him with a smile on his face, as if knowing what he was up to. Moments later, he opened his eyes, feeling fresh and rejuvenated and placing his left hand on the grip, he tugged at the greatbow. The Gusserat came into his hands as if it was waiting for his touch. The skies above grew dark and thunderous; lightning flashed gray and silver while the villagers looked at him and the sky with fear and surprise, some even with shock. Only the old man stared at Kerrigan, happy and proud.

Kerrigan lifted the greatbow above his head, its limbs shimmering with a faint white light that moved around its rims. He smiled. His excitement knew no bounds as he looked at The Gusserat with pride. Holding it tight in his hands, he deigned to keep it back onto the stand, but even as he moved to do so, he dropped to the ground, screaming as an unheralded pain assaulted his mind. His vision seemed to blacken and the bow in his hands could not stop vibrating. Darkness grasped him and a flurry of images flitted through his mind.

He found himself standing upon a ridge covered in gray mist, its shrouds thickening as the lands spread eastward. Ever and anon, he heard a cry, like that of a vicious beast that circled high above him in the sky. Another jolt of pain assailed him and then he stood at the side of a river, which at first was a sparkling blue, and then at his sight turned a crimson red, the color of blood. Fear took him and he raced upstream, climbing amidst sharp precipices of rocky mountains that grew on its banks. Everywhere he turned, on the mountain walls he saw queer signs, all marked in black. Most of them he could not make out. Some he could, but even those were blurred images. As his hands fleeted over one of them, everything went dark and he fell as if pushed. He flailed his hands and called for help, but none came.

He fell down on a patch of green grass, a clearing amidst the great forests. He saw a man, black hair but graying, teaching a blurry figure on the use of bow magic. The figure was about to shoot a golden-gleamed arrow when figures in black approached from the sky like wisps of smoke. He stared at them, fear grasping him. He started to run when the golden arrow smote the dark birds with talons and rendered them into flakes of ashen cloth that fell down on him. Still reeling from the winged assault, he touched an ashen flake. Everything him around turned distorted and when the visions became clearer he found himself holding a greatbow much like The Gusserat. He tugged at it and the bow twanged. Sound rippled through the air, the reverberations causing him to close his ears with his hands. When the noise had subsided, when the world had stopped circling, he stood amidst a bloody battlefield witnessing two strange figures battling it out in the style of the bowmasters. Wounded bodies lay in front of him, crimson blood gushing out of the fresh cuts on their skins. He tread carefully, dancing on his toes to avoid touching the fallen men, towards the battling warriors. Swirls of wind and thick fog obstructed his vision. Waving his hands to drive away the misty tendrils that seemed to have a mind of their own, he waded across streams of bloods and rotting carcasses of horses and broken chariots, only to trip on a sharp rocky outcrop, his face towards an eyeball that had dropped out of its sockets.

He screamed. 'Get it away from me! Get it away from me!'

After a moment, the throbbing in his mind stopped and he found himself back at his village, its people looking at him with raised brows and confounded thoughts. He grunted and arose, weakened by the assault made by the greatbow.

The peddler smiled. 'What you experienced, my dear Kerrigan, was the trailer of the future...your future. And if you have experienced the greatbow's gift then it only means that the greatbow has accepted you as its master. Now you may claim it.'

'I...I am...'

'You are its master now, Kerrigan. The Gusserat is yours to keep.'

Kerrigan could not believe his ears.

***