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goods around the city from the various docks and markets.
    The assassin's crossbow was particularly powerful, to get good distance, and needed a windlass to draw. The man unrolled an oilskin, which had half a dozen quarrels nestled in its slim pockets, and slid one bolt out. Its tip was diamond-shaped and it weighed two ounces. It was surprisingly short for something intended to be shot by such a large bow, only eight inches instead of the usual fifteen or so. The assassin had chosen this bolt for its balance of range versus stopping power. Shorter, it would go further than an average bolt, but hopefully the weight meant it would still pack at least as much punch when it hit flesh.
    He rolled the oilskin back up, with five quarrels still inside. He wouldn't like to be arrogant enough to think that he would need only one, but nor did he think it likely that he would get to fire a second time.
     
    As the morning wore on, more people gathered in the esplanade. The smells of hot foods became stronger, and Erak wondered how much of it was masking the smell of grain spirits. The wedding ceremony was taking place in the castle's main hall, of course, but it was the tradition that the bride and groom be presented to the people beforehand, for their approval as well as the approval of the Lord of All.
    Everybody loved to see a happy couple, especially if it meant a chance to take an hour's break from hard labour to taste a delicate sweetmeat from foreign parts, not usually served to a fisherman on the west coast.
    Finally, an honour guard of Ducal soldiers marched out of the castle gates and formed up on the esplanade. Eight members of the Swords emerged, their raised swords forming an archway through which Motte and Undina walked. Freihurr vom Kalten and Undina's father followed, as did an Eminence of the Final Faith. From the white hair, Erak knew he was being honoured with a sight of Ludwig Rhodon. Three more Eminences were approaching the gate behind him, blessing the crowd.
    And that was when the buzz of pleasure stopped.
     
    The albino that had just emerged onto the esplanade didn't look that remarkable. He wore robes that were carefully tailored to give the impression of piety. Only the small crossed circle of the Final Faith on his cloak-pin indicated how important he was.
    There were only eight members of the Order of the Swords Of Dawn visible as an honour guard. A few more Swords were meandering through the growing crowd, and one of them stopped to cuff a man who was surreptitiously drinking from a small skin. The knight sent the man on his way, and poured the contents of the skin over the cobbles. The assassin smiled to himself. If the Swords were more concerned with enforcing the crazed local temperance laws than with security, so much the better.
    The man loaded the quarrel into the crossbow and wound it. When it was cocked, he lay flat, putting the business end of the bow to the loophole overlooking the esplanade. He nestled the stock into his shoulder. Snow was still falling, but he was confident that he had a clear shot.
    The bowman wished he could take the time to wait, and enjoy the first sight of an Enlightened Eminence of the Final Faith in front of his bow. He had seen Rhodon before at public services, of course; but on those occasions, the Eminence was not a target, and he had had no bow to aim. Even if he had never seen the man before, he would still have known his target, because there were hardly likely to be two albino Eminences in the Faith.
    He squeezed the trigger bar gently, the taut cable snapped forward, and the quarrel was launched, spinning, through the air. It was a beautiful shot, and he wished there was some way for people to admire his skill. The quarrel soared in a long, shallow arc and passed between the bride and groom.
    If his estimate was correct, it hit the Eminence Ludwig Rhodon just to the right of the sternum. At least four inches of it would have gone through his robes and ribcage to