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pointed arrowhead, “bears a talic oculus. See that silver ring around the point? You take the bow; you aim the bolt at what you would strike. If the target has a talic presence, the arrow will perceive it. The pattern in the arrowhead freezes at the moment of release from the bow. The bolt will travel straight from the release to the target. Don’t count on a rise and fall, as you would with a normal arrow.”
    Rynyrth drew a gravebolt from her own quiver. She showed a mark on the shaft to the Guardians: it looked a bit like a pine tree with the branches missing on one side. “Note the rune. Your gravebolts will fly at the note of your songbow, no other.” She spun the arrow a few times to fill its impulse well and then fitted the bolt to her bow. She took aim at a nearby tree; she released the arrow and the bow sang it on its way. It struck the tree with splintering force and the tree shed a year’s worth of new needles. Rynyrth retrieved the gravebolt and showed it to Thea and Aloê: it was undamaged. She replaced it in her quiver.
    Thea was impressed. “What is its range?” she asked.
    â€œIt will vary from weidhkyrr to weidhkyrr . We find a gravebolt usually travels three or four times as far as an ordinary bowshot.”
    â€œAnd it always hits its target.”
    â€œThere is no always. The target must have a talic imprint, and that imprint must be more or less stable. But usually a shot means a strike.”
    â€œIt’s not very sporting.”
    Rynyrth’s dark eyes crossed with amusement. “Listen, Rokhlan , I don’t know how it is with you. We do not shoot for sport. For sport we sing and dance; we climb trees; we juggle; we do many things. When we shoot, we kill.”
    Aloê almost spoke to interrupt the tension she saw developing between the two females, but Thea laughed and put her hand on Rynyrth’s shoulder and the moment passed. Thea was much like one of the Weidhkyrren , Aloê reflected. She never fought without purpose, and then she fought without quarter.
    From that moment their dual leadership became a triad. In principle, Guardians could not command the Guarded, and in addition Rynyrth was a sensible female who had seen combat before, albeit not since the Year of Fire when dragons invaded the Northhold.
    They paused for part of that day so that the Guardians could acquaint themselves with their new weapons and so that the two groups could acquaint themselves with each other. Rynyrth had news, too, that the senior Guardians needed to discuss. Lernaion and Earno, their resplendent white cloaks somewhat the worse for travel, joined the informal council but listened more than they spoke. There was an art to being a summoner; Noreê called it “leading without command.” Aloê didn’t fully understand it, but she was glad that the males didn’t try to steal the thread of conversation.
    Rynyrth used the butt of her songbow to sketch out a rough map of the gravehills on a patch of soft ground. “Eldest Vetr is sending his bowmen—” She used the Wardic word with a wry inflection “—here, in the northwest. The Gray Folk, all but the children and their caregivers, hold the hills in the south.”
    â€œWhere is everyone else?” asked dry, dark-skinned Lernaion. “We found their town empty.”
    â€œThey are under Thrymhaiam, enjoying the courtesy of their ruthen kin, the Seven Clans.” Again, Rynyrth smiled as she spoke: there was some tension there, Aloê knew, between the dwarves and the mandrakes. Or was it between the male and female dwarves?
    â€œWord from your fellow vocates, Naevros, and my harven -kin Morlock is that they will rally the Silent Folk beyond Kirach Starn and attack from the west. They say they will drive the Khnauronts before them.”
    â€œBold words,” observed Thea dryly.
    â€œMaybe. That harven -kin of mine is reckless enough to earn a hero’s