Maylen was nodding over her needle and the shawl she was making when she was shaken awake by her stepmother.

"Get up!" Aunt Amelia hissed as she bustled across the bedroom to close the curtains. "Get your bow and hurry up to the roof with your uncle!"

"Why?" Maylen asked. She put her sewing things aside and went to one of the pallets in the room that she shared with her three little sisters.

Her aunt nodded impatiently as she went to hover by the door. "I was getting to that! Two horsemen are entering the village from the north, and all of our archers are gathering on the rooftops, awaiting Trevor's signal. Hurry, and stay hidden!"

Due to the sudden oddly frequent visits to Daret by Empire soldiers and rogue urgals, all the villagers, even women, wore knifes, swords or rapiers belted to their waists. Aunt Amelia's knife bounced against her hip as she walked briskly out of the girl's room and into the kitchen.

Maylen pulled her bow and quiver of arrows out from under the mattress and placed them on top of it. She quickly strung her bow and pulled the strap of the quiver over her shoulder, so it rested diagonally across her back. Then she grabbed a floppy, worn out farmer's hat from under her pillow, and, twisting her long, ebony hair into a untidy bun, pulled the hat over her hair.

Maylen heard a few quiet thumps as her uncle climbed up onto the roof to take his place, and hurried to pull the men's tunic (that she kept in her wardrobe for hunting) over the torso of her dress. If the horsemen were from the Empire, they would laugh that Daret used women as archers. Hopefully they wouldn't happen to glance in her direction and notice her skirts if she had to stand.

Finally ready, Maylen rushed out of the room with her bow and quiver.

As she ascended the attic staircase, Maylen heard her family's dog, Mart, utter a low growl, presumably as he saw the horsemen. She instinctively shushed the dog with her mind, reaching out with her thoughts until she felt the usual tickle that represented a dog's conscience. Visions that weren't hers flashed across her minds eye, and she soothed Mart with calming thoughts and images. The dog moaned and fell silent. Maylen withdrew back into her own mind with a quiet gasp and continued through her house to the messy backyard. Being outside of her own body was always a disturbing feeling, like leaning over a cliff.

The space behind her house was as disorganized as any other backyard in Daret; broken wagon wheels, fractured cutlery, and rusted pans littered the yard. Maylen placed a foot on the rim of a cart wheel leaning against the house and hoisted herself up onto the roof.

As quietly as possible, Maylen crept up next to her uncle, who was crouched behind the peak of the roof. He gave her a brisk nod and shifted slightly, flexing the fingers that stiffly gripped his bow and the arrow he had notched there. He turned away from her, gazing straight through the thatched roof. Maylen knew he was straining his ears for the sound of the horsemen, and, as she slowly drew an arrow, Maylen listened too.

Uncle Theodore had hoped for years for a son to have as an apprentice, to teach him to hunt to help the family business with the butcher shop. But after his fourth daughter was born, and the oldest was nine, Maylen's uncle gave up his hope and instead coached Maylen in archery. He was a harsh but thorough teacher, and by the time Maylen was ten she could shoot a wild deer as accurately as any other Daret archer.

Maylen's hands tightened on her bow as she heard the distant clip-clop of horse hooves plodding down the road. Her nervousness beat its flimsy wings against the inside of her ribcage. The sound of hooves on crusty dirt slowed down, and Maylen heard a low conference between the two riders. Then the sound of horse hooves picking up the pace; they were galloping away.

"Halt!" Trevor suddenly cried, "Put your weapons down! You are surrounded by sixty archers; they will shoot you if you move."

Sixty-one archers, actually, Maylen thought, as she rose in unison with the other archers, credit to hours of rehearsal with Trevor in the days before. Very few people in Daret knew that Maylen helped her father with the butcher shop; even fewer knew that she was a proficient archer. Those that did had been forced to swear they would not tell anyone. Maylen couldn't and wouldn't put up with the jeers and jokes the Daret boys would make.

Maylen raised herself just high enough so she could brace her knee against the ridge of the roof. She aimed at the two horsemen, pulling the string back to her cheek and clutching the shaft of the arrow tightly.

There was a boy, about Maylen's age, and an old man. The boy rode a giddy chestnut gelding that pranced a little when surprised by Trevor, but the boy soothed it. Maylen's eyes widened when she realized he had spoken no words. The thought flashed across her mind: Are there others who can speak to animals with their thoughts? The boy lowered his bow at Trevor's words, as did the man his sword. The old man sat astride a proud, gorgeous white stallion that also seemed to calm by no spoken word. The man looked coolly surprised as he was confronted by Trevor.

The two men talked. The boy was looking around restlessly; Maylen watched his eyes move from Trevor to the old man to the archers on the roofs. Maylen studied him; the sun-tanned skin, the wiry muscles, and the tussled brown hair. She saw the sheathed sword at his waist and raised her brows; that hilt looked far too ornamental to be purchased by a poor traveler. Or had he bought it?

The ruby in the pommel of the sword winked at her in the sunlight.