"Lord Suleiman, you... you really have never practiced archery before?"
Patrick Mallister's voice trembled slightly as he handed Suleiman another arrow, his fingers stiff.
The muscles in his twelve-year-old face had tightened with shock.
Suleiman took the arrow and gave a small nod, his movements so fluid he seemed to have practiced a thousand times.
Patrick Mallister's throat went dry.
Father! You lied to me!
Jason Mallister had told him more than once that a marksman capable of hitting a target at a hundred paces needed years, even decades, of dull practice to hone his skill.
Yet the man before him hadn't even known how to brace a bowstring yesterday. His stance had been so clumsy that even Patrick, still a boy, couldn't help laughing.
That was exactly why he'd plucked up the courage. It seemed he'd finally found something he could show off to Suleiman, so he'd proudly volunteered to teach him.
Now, his arrogance from the day before burned his cheeks like a red-hot brand.
One hundred and fifty paces.
Suleiman took aim with barely a thought. The bowstring gave a crisp twang, and the arrow vanished into the distance.
A tiny black dot appeared in the center of the wooden target.
Patrick Mallister's heart gave a heavy thump.
A genius.
The kind of genius found only in books and the songs of minstrels stood alive before him.
He was mortified by his own foolish behavior the day before.
Suleiman paid no attention to the boy's inner turmoil. He handed the longbow to Bryn beside him.
His gaze passed over Patrick Mallister and swept across the ruins below, a place utterly consumed by the fires of war.
Seaguard Town, an outlying settlement of Seaguard.
Blackened beams and collapsed stone walls. The air was thick with lingering smoke and