It almost worked. The soldiers wavered in their ranks, frightened of the white, haunting presences up above, shocked to see their colleague cut down so easily. But Flint had fought his way up through the woodways, where the unexpected was meat and drink.

“Bowmen!” he shouted, his voice like the snap of a branch.

And before the Rootshooters could even pull the rest of the harpoon triggers, arrows sped out from the shadowed cloisters with deadly accuracy. The Rootshooters’ height was for once a disadvantage, presenting large, outlined silhouettes. The perfect target for trained archers.

Ark had no time to act, so instead he sent an impossible thought out to the trees. Could these sharpened splinters remember that they were once alive, once part of the living heart of a tree? His mind strained at the idea.

“Let fall!” he whispered, sending his words like whispering wings straight toward the deathly volley.

Deep inside the dead grain, a spark moved. And the arrows wavered in their intent. If it was a prayer, the answer had come.

Ark concentrated with all his heart. He would not have his friends cut down like scaffield corn! The arrows agreed, plummeting away from their course, ignoring the wishes of the bowmen who strung them. All except one that was too close to its target, too sure of its aim.

“Noooo!” screamed Ark, finally coming to his senses as his old friend staggered slightly, an instant, sharp branch sticking out from his skin. “No!” he cried again. Ark of the wood, trained by Corwenna, unable to stop a mere sliver of arrow when it mattered most.

“Oi be hurt!” croaked Joe with a puzzled grin as he toppled forward headfirst, his white shift turning red. He plunged straight down, dying as his last words fled his lips.

44• DEATH OF A ROOTSHOOTER

Petronio had heard the distant thump-thump of the rotor blades starting up. Echoes of boots clanged around the inner chamber, deep in the heart of the flypod. He’d wondered what was going on. All had been quiet for hours although the feast should have begun. Fenestra had kept him busy in the storeroom, asking him to check the figures once again, burying him out of the way. But he’d managed to filch a spare earpiece and tuned it to the right frequency. Using all this new technology already felt ingrained.

He could hear the panic in Fenestra’s voice as she put her forces on alert. Their transport was already accelerating toward its target. Had the coup gone wrong? Outside this sealed chamber, the men were getting ready and once again he was stuck on the sidelines.

Heckler popped his head around the door. “I told her it wouldn’t work. Man, these Dendrans are crazy! I knew it was gonna come to this.”

Petronio noticed a twig sticking out of the man’s tunic. “What’s that?”