Miro had been telling the truth when he'd said this was only the second time he'd used a bow. As he watched the sword light up in Rorelan's hands, he tried to ignore the distraction of the flaring blade and recall the instruction he'd been given.

"Sight along the arrow," Master Goss had said. "But remember it's the bow, not the arrow, we have enchanted, so keep your arms strong but limber. You naturally hold the bow with your left arm and the arrow with your right, so now look at this spot here, just above where your left hand holds the grip. Keep holding the string at full extension — I know it's difficult, but this bow has been made for a man of your strength. See the ringed hole in the wood of the bow, at the nock, where the point of the arrow rests against the wood? Look along the arrow and through that hole. Speak the words to activate the bow. Call the target to you."

As he remembered Master Goss's instructions, Miro's arms burned with the effort of holding the strung arrow at full extension. He sighted along the arrow; it was long and thin, made of dark polished wood, with a razor-sharp steel tip at one end and a flight of emerald-green feathers at the other. The bow itself was fashioned in layers of a lighter-coloured wood with the timeless knowledge of the Dunfolk, strong, yet flexible, creaking with pent-up power. Runes ran up and down the length of the bow, silver symbols that would light up at Miro's command. Next to the nock was a tiny hole, so small Miro could barely see through it.

Standing on the Lord's Bridge, Miro opened his mouth and spoke the words.

The symbols at the centre of the bow's length lit up first, glowing with gold and silver, before the fire travelled up and down the bow, spreading away from the centre. The hole was suddenly a white ring, and as Miro looked down the length of the arrow, his gaze running to the point, he looked through the hole, almost stunned by what he could see.

Somehow, the rail-bow was asking him for a target. Miro's vision swam as his attention was drawn to the window of a building, far across the river, and then a bird in a tree, farther still. Miro called his sight forward, closer, until he was looking at the wooden surface of the Lord's Bridge. High Lord Rorelan's form came to him in stark detail; Miro could see the flaring of his nostrils, the frown-lines in his forehead, even though he was fifty paces away.

"Come no closer, High Lord," Miro said.

Miro called the target to him, and he released.

The arrow sped away, shooting out of the bow and flying through the air faster than the eye could see, with nothing but a whistling sound to mark its passage.