From the yard where she had gone there came a faint sound, a soft thudding that repeated at intervals. Hal heard it too and seemed just as confused by it, so Gryff went to the small window that looked out over the space. He lifted the curtain that kept out the night air and saw only the lamp she had carried. It was set down on the packed earth in a far corner of the yard, and neither she nor the dog were anywhere to been seen.

Then a blade landed at the edge of the circle of light, the tip buried in the dirt. It was one of the short blades she carried on her arm, and now he saw the others that were planted in the ground. Another landed as he watched, and he realized it landed there by design – she was aiming to make a circle, marking the ring of light around the lamp. She was practicing her art.

“What is it?” asked Hal from his place by the hearth, and Gryff did not know how to answer. He simply made a beckoning gesture and Hal slowly raised himself, the child limp against his chest, and came to the window.

Gryff had not yet told him about his time with Baudry and the thieves, nor of Nan’s part in saving him. It had seemed too outlandish a tale to tell, seated at a table with Hal’s family while Nan ate more than he had ever seen her eat. He thought he would be able to speak of it to Hal, and soon – but not quite yet.

Now he moved to make room for his friend to look out the window, and watched the astonishment come into his face as the blades flew out of the darkness. When eight short blades ringed the lamplight, four more were thrown to land within an inch of the lamp itself, on four sides. The plain eating knife that hung at her belt came first, and then the dagger from the sheath at her back. The long dagger she carried in her boot landed on the far side of the lamp, and on the side nearest to them was a knife he had never seen – silver, small, almost dainty. He wondered if it was the one kept in her bodice.

She came forward out of the darkness and stooped to pull the blades from the ground, intent on her work, never noticing they watched her. Or perhaps she noticed and did not care. She moved the lamp farther back, against the wall that enclosed the yard, laid her kerchief on the ground before it, and walked back into the darkness.

“A sparrowhawk, then.” Hal was grinning, disbelief and delight in his face as the blades began to fly through the air again. And though she was no bird, Gryff could not disagree with the assessment. Sparrowhawks were deadly on any terrain, effective and efficient and full of surprises.