Devoth did not confirm whether he agreed, but he did draw his sword from the stone. If draw was the right word for it. It was as if at one moment his hand was empty and the next it held the massive, curved blade out to his side. Only in the stillness after the action, as Devoth let the onlookers study him, did Dariel’s mind register that he had, in fact, watched the entire movement. It was no magic trick. It was just the smoothest, quickest motion he had ever seen. No Marah was that fast. Not even Mena was that quick. No Numrek either.

Sire Neen found his voice again. He dropped his haughty tone and tried a different tack, calming Devoth. Dariel hardly needed the translation now, but Rialus kept at it. “Neen is begging for a moment’s patience so that they can communicate fully. They are misunderstanding one another. The Numrek are confusing matters. None of this is as it should be. There have been mistakes made. They should all sit and talk to their mutual benefit.”

When Devoth took a step toward him, the leagueman barked a quick command. The rank of bowmen behind him snapped their weapons up. Devoth paused. Though similar to the Numrek’s in so many ways, his face was more expressive, which was why the grin that split it was so disconcerting. Either he did not understand the threat, or he welcomed it. He lifted his blade, held it out to the side, and stepped forward.

A bowman shot. Dariel had seen those arrows up close and knew they were weapons crafted to kill. The steel head of the missile was pronged in a viciously corkscrewed manner, so that the razor-sharp metal would carve a twisting, expanding course inside its target. The single shot fired was perfectly aimed. It slammed into Devoth’s chest and buried the shaft to the fletching. It must surely have ripped apart his heart and punched right through his back as well. He took the impact standing, but his face contorted in pain. He dropped to one knee and then—as his shouting companions circled him—toppled to his side.

The masses in the shadows roared. The men around Devoth alternately bent to care for him or stood to shout what must have been obscenities at the leaguemen. Sire Neen spoke into the confusion. Ishtat swordsmen closed around him, but he would not let them drag him back. He seemed sure that he could contain this. The archers nocked their arrows, the entire company shifted into combat readiness. Several of the guards near Dariel and Rialus answered commands, ignoring the two prisoners. The Numrek watched it all without comment. Calrach crossed his arms and seemed content to wait.

What happened next sucked what little air Dariel had in his lungs right out of him. It seemed to have the same effect on Sire Neen, who clutched at the guards around him as if he were about to faint.