Without a word to any of them, Cymrian fitted a black arrow to the bowstring, lifted the bow so that the arrow was angled upward, hesitated, and then lowered it again. He looked beyond Paranor’s walls at the trees, reading their movements, looked up at the sky and watched the clouds drift, and then brought the bow back up again, sighting along the length of the arrow as he pointed it toward the group with Drust Chazhul. They were paying no attention to him, their interest focused elsewhere. Cymrian drew the arrow all the way back to its iron tip, held it there for a long moment, and then released the bowstring.

The black arrow arced skyward, sharply outlined against the blue of the sky as it flew across the space separating the Keep from the Outer Wall, its trajectory steady and sure, rising and then plummeting into the group that surrounded Drust Chazhul and piercing Deek Trink’s narrow chest through and through. The boy staggered backward a step, eyes wide with shock, and then toppled over dead.

For an instant, no one standing close to Cymrian said a word. Then Bombax exhaled sharply. “Shades!”

“That was the greatest bow shot I’ve ever seen,” Aphenglow breathed.

“It was the luckiest,” Cymrian grumbled, lowering his bow. “I was just trying to scare him, not kill him.”

“I think I like this result better,” Bombax said.

Across the way, Drust Chazhul and his group had scattered in all directions and were now crouched behind anything that offered protection. The rows of Federation soldiers lined up below had turned to look and were milling about uneasily, breaking ranks and looking back at the Keep as if at any moment an arrow could strike each of them, too. Even the flits, which until now had been hovering impatiently at the perimeter of the Outer Wall, had backed off so far they were almost out of sight.

Deek Trink’s body lay abandoned on the ramparts. No one seemed willing to retrieve it.

Bombax nodded to himself. “Much better.”

•  •  •

For about thirty minutes it seemed as if the Federation would postpone any further action until the next day. But then Drust Chazhul and his commanders and sycophants rallied the attack from behind the series of protective barriers where they had sought shelter. The soldiers who had broken ranks and scattered were reassembled behind spears and shields and unit leaders, presumably with promises of what would happen if they fled a second time, and the flits eased back into position just outside Paranor’s walls.