Micum returned with a handful of swan wing feathers. Alec followed with a bundle of new arrow shafts, his leather tack bag, a glue pot, and a small length of board. He laid out his materials on the floor by the fire and sat down to begin on the arrows. Laying out the swan feathers, he took out a small fletcher’s knife from his tack and began splitting and shaping them on the board.

“Micum, collect the swords,” said Thero. “Here on the table, please.”

Micum laid them there, and Thero worked up some ink using a metal scraper and water on the inkstone. When he had enough, he chose a fine brush and began inscribing the spell on the blade of Micum’s sword, concentrating on the words, seeing them in silver script in his mind’s eye.

He did the same with Alec’s sword and Seregil’s. It took several hours to get it right. When he finished he looked around and found Seregil and Micum snoring softly in their chairs. Alec, however, had been busy. A considerable number of freshly fletched arrows lay on the floor in front of him.

“These just have to cure. Should I do more?” Alec asked.

“How many do you have?”

Alec counted them. “Sixteen.” He looked up at Thero. “I wasn’t really counting as I worked, but that’s four times four.”

“Yes, that does seem like an auspicious sign. Leave it at that, Alec. If I know you, you’ll only need one to do the job anyway. In the heart, remember?”

“I remember.”

“You should sleep now. It will take me some time to put the magic on them.”

When the others woke at dawn, Thero was still painting symbols on a white-fletched arrow. The table was piled with others, most of the shafts covered in the same intricate symbols. They’d all been fitted with arrowheads made of gold.

Alec picked one up and inspected it more closely. The barbed arrowhead was covered in a fine tracery of silver symbols, and the edges were razor-sharp. “Did you make this, Thero?”

“Yes, using coin gold. If these don’t stop her, then I don’t know what will.”

Seregil went to one of the tall windows and looked out over the sea, where whitecaps were rolling across the grey-green water under a lowering sky. “Looks like a perfect day to go kill a dyrmagnos, eh? How shall we go about it?”

“It all depends on me getting to Klia,” said Alec. “We have to be ready for when she breaks the seal.”

“Hold on,” said Seregil. He left the room, returning quickly with parchment, pen, and ink. “We need to know exactly how things are laid out in the caves, Alec.”