"Duel?" Rorelan's eyes boggled. "I am no bladesinger, and I've accepted no duel."
"And I have none of the advantages of a bladesinger," Miro said. "I'm using a bow only for the second time in my life, and the first time was days ago, for minutes only. I'm lightly armoured, which is an advantage, but a sword like yours can cut through stone, so it isn't much of one. The arrows I carry use no lore; they are as they appear."
"I'm telling you. I have accepted no duel," Rorelan said.
"True, High Lord," Miro said. "Let us think of it then as a contest. Your weapon," he gestured to Rorelan's enchanted sword, "against mine. I've seen you in battle, High Lord, and I know you can fight. In fact, with your training you're more skilled than the legionnaires we're fighting. It's a fair contest, is it not?"
Miro withdrew an arrow from the quiver at his back and nocked it to the string.
Rorelan's eyes blazed, and without warning he spoke some words.
Miro pulled the arrow to his ear and hoped what he was doing would work. He'd intentionally provoked the High Lord to fight him — nothing else would convince the stubborn noble — and now he could well be in danger of his life.
Miro had been telling the truth when he'd said this was only the second time he'd used a bow. As he watched the sword light up in Rorelan's hands, he tried to ignore the distraction of the flaring blade and recall the instruction he'd been given.
"Sight along the arrow," Master Goss had said. "But remember it's the bow, not the arrow, we have enchanted, so keep your arms strong but limber. You naturally hold the bow with your left arm and the arrow with your right, so now look at this spot here, just above where your left hand holds the grip. Keep holding the string at full extension — I know it's difficult, but this bow has been made for a man of your strength. See the ringed hole in the wood of the bow, at the nock, where the point of the arrow rests against the wood? Look along the arrow and through that hole. Speak the words to activate the bow. Call the target to you."
As he remembered Master Goss's instructions, Miro's arms burned with the effort of holding the strung arrow at full extension. He sighted along the arrow; it was long and thin, made of dark polished wood, with a razor-sharp steel tip at one end and a flight of emerald-green feathers at the other. The bow itself was fashioned in layers of a lighter-coloured wood with the timeless knowledge of the Dunfolk, strong, yet flexible, creaking with pent-up power. Runes ran up and down the length of the bow, silver symbols that would light up at Miro's command. Next to the nock was a tiny hole, so small Miro could barely see through it.
Standing on the Lord's Bridge, Miro opened his mouth and spoke the words.
The symbols at the centre of the bow's length lit up first, glowing with gold and silver, before the fire travelled up and down the bow, spreading away from the centre. The hole was suddenly a white ring, and as Miro looked down the length of the arrow, his gaze running to the point, he looked through the hole, almost stunned by what he could see.
Somehow, the rail-bow was asking him for a target. Miro's vision swam as his attention was drawn to the window of a building, far across the river, and then a bird in a tree, farther still. Miro called his sight forward, closer, until he was looking at the wooden surface of the Lord's Bridge. High Lord Rorelan's form came to him in stark detail; Miro could see the flaring of his nostrils, the frown-lines in his forehead, even though he was fifty paces away.
"Come no closer, High Lord," Miro said.
Miro called the target to him, and he released.
The arrow sped away, shooting out of the bow and flying through the air faster than the eye could see, with nothing but a whistling sound to mark its passage.
The arrow buried itself deep into the Lord's Bridge, only half its length still visible. Rorelan looked down at his foot. The arrow's point had sliced a small nick from his boot, and its shaft was touching his foot.
"Lord of the Sky, you're mad," Rorelan said.
Another arrow landed next to his other foot, and the High Lord cried out.
Miro was now growing more confident. He knew he should end this now; the demonstration was almost complete.
"Enchanted swords have been known to knock prismatic orbs out of the air, High Lord," Miro said. "Perhaps a sword can also take out an arrow?"
Rorelan looked up at him, grim-faced, the pulsing sword gripped tightly in his hands.
In one smooth motion Miro fitted another arrow and pulled on the string. He spoke the activation sequence that would allow him to call forth his target. "Reilan-sula. Tuva-uran-surnam."
The arrow smashed into the cross guard of Rorelan's sword, hitting it with all the strength Miro could give it, having drawn the string as far as he possibly could.
Rorelan yelped and dropped his sword, falling backwards onto his hands. He looked up to see Miro advancing towards him, another arrow fitted to the bow, his arms tensed and muscles rippling.