Chapter three
Of a meeting with Nath the Knife, Aleygyn of the Stikitches“Hold fast!” My bellow ripped into the air. The bows of the Sword Watch, lifted, arrows nocked, drawn back, poised. Those sinewy fingers did not release the pull on the bowstrings by a fraction.
“There he goes!” shouted Cleitar, furious.
We could all see the bowman who had loosed at me clambering up the outside staircase of a half-ruined building across the canal. He wore a drab gray half-cape, and his legs were bare. He carried the long Lohvian bow in his left hand, and the quiver over his shoulder was stuffed with shafts. Like the arrow that still quivered in the wood by my head, each one was fletched with feathers of somber purple.
“A damned stikitche!” raved Cleitar. “Majister — you allow him to escape. Let us
