Lightning dawdled. He picked an arrow, loosed it, looked in its direction, chose another and turned it over, fitted it to string.

There was a great hiss of indrawn breath from the crowd. We rose to our feet, staring at him. Tern touched my shoulder. ‘What is he doing? Why is he doing that?’

‘I don’t know.’

When the minute was up, Cyan had shot fourteen arrows and Lightning had shot ten. Cyan was panting, then she looked at Lightning’s target and her eyes and mouth went wide.

There was silence, then a sudden uproar as everyone turned to their neighbours and started asking what it meant. The reeve was looking, concerned and frightened, at his master but Lightning wasn’t meeting anybody’s eye. He turned to Cyan and said, ‘The heft of that bow of yours warps left at a distance. See, your arrows are tending left on the target? You should shoot a little right for the next round.’

He came over to us and took a drink of water. I said, ‘What are you playing at? You lost! Deliberately. Obviously deliberately!’

He smiled at me and the ladies. ‘Don’t worry. I needed to give Cyan some sop to her pride. There’s one round left.’

‘You’re playing with your life!’ Tern shrieked.

‘I just don’t want to show my daughter up too much. I know what I’m doing. I’m unbeatable at accuracy.’ He didn’t say it as a boast, it was a plain fact.

Lightning gave me the compound bow and took his customary longbow from the rock. He carried it as fluidly as if it was part of him, an extension of his body. An accuracy target was set up at two hundred metres’ distance-a black ring on the outside, then, white, blue and gold in the centre.

Lightning announced. ‘We have five arrows each. Whoever scores most highly on the target will remain-I mean, gain-the title of Lightning. Cyan Peregrine will shoot first.’

Cyan came forward to stand on a stone slab set into the grass. She felt for the reassuring ends of the arrows in her quiver, selected one composedly. She sighted and loosed. The arrow appeared in the middle of the cross in the gold, the target’s exact centre. She stepped aside and looked at her father defiantly.

Lightning stood on the flagstone. He was the target archer absolute. He made it seem so effortless. He faced the butt with a calm expression, confident and determined. His whole attitude was of command and power over the bow, the arrows and the target. He placed his feet apart with the weight equally on them, in a firm but springy stance. He was balanced and relaxed-a finger above the nock on the string, and two below. He used no marker, he knew it so well. He drew, and loosed sharply, the string free in an instant, and the arrow flew straight and sure.

There was a crack of wood. Lightning’s longer arrow had split Cyan’s in two. Its blue flights stood out from her white ones.

A roar from the audience. The reeves and servants sitting on the bales jumped up to applaud. Lightning acknowledged them but the noise seemed to daunt Cyan. She wasn’t experienced enough to have expected it. She said nothing, just looking out to the target and down to her own gear. She pulled the string and extended her left arm in one movement, and the arrow point came up. She looked directly to the target.

Her arrow hit the edge of the gold. It was Lightning’s turn to shoot. His arms were firm and unwavering, his attention never relaxed. Again he split Cyan’s arrow perfectly.

The crowd’s applause ceased immediately.

‘What is he doing?’ I said. ‘He could have won then!’

Eleonora murmured, ‘By god, he’s brave.’

‘What?’

‘One day, immortal, in the far future you’ll be able to say you saw this, and the rest of the world will look on you with awe. You will be able to say you were there at the beginning.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Just watch.’

Tern edged closer to me and put her arm around my waist.

Cyan shot again, and again Lightning hit her arrow directly, splitting it in half.

She raised her arm and wiped her face on her sleeve. She was desperate, but she stood with an elasticity to resist the force and recoil of her twangy little bow. She was the timeless picture of grace as she drew it with a beautiful movement until it filled her whole frame. She hit the gold above the arrows-they were as snug together as a fistful of sticks, their flights entangled.

Lightning split her arrow.

This was the last one. Cyan was aware of every factor that might make a difference. She shrugged her waistcoat tighter, she adjusted her bracer. She dug a thumb behind her belt buckle. Her little movements were like the wriggles of a worm on a hook.

She raised her bow and shot. The arrow snicked in next to the others on the gold cross.

Lightning’s turn: he drew. He loosed.

His arrow went wide-into the black outer ring.

Everyone in the stands was on their feet. He had lost.

He trembled as he lowered his bow. He gulped as if with a dry throat and tears came to his eyes, but with absolute mastery of himself, they weren’t shed.

Cyan was walking in a small circle with an expression of confusion. He stopped her, and made her look at him. He kissed her and said something softly. Cyan blinked.

Louder, he added, ‘Now I am out, and you are in. Enjoy it.’

He placed the end of his bow against the inside of his shoe, and unstrung it. He wound the string around his hand and slipped it in his pocket. Then he began to walk, past the stands and the dumbstruck audience, leaving Cyan behind. ‘But…’ she said. ‘But who’s going to look after me?’

We stared, motionless. My head felt like it was full of cotton wool. I couldn’t think: my mind wasn’t allowing me to form any thoughts. There was nothing in my head but a wondering space. I felt light on my feet and nauseous, as if my body wasn’t real. Black shadows began to gather at the periphery of my vision-I was about to faint. Everything was blurred. San only knows what Lightning must be feeling.

Tern sat down heavily. Her speech stumbled: ‘W-What has he done?’

‘I don’t know.’ I answered too quickly.

‘Deliberately. He did it deliberately.’

The Queen’s voice quivered at a higher pitch as she made an effort to control it. ‘What a way to teach Cyan a lesson.’

There was a scuffle at the end of the stands and Rayne rushed out. She grabbed the back of Lightning’s shirt and sank to her knees. She was hysterical; the ends of her open mouth were down in her jowls. Tears were running from her eyes channelled into the crevices between her cheeks and the sides of her nose. ‘Saker!’ Lightning tried to raise her to her feet but she had no strength; she just sank back.

‘Saker, what have you done? Why? Tell me you won’ leave! There’s no need t’ leave t’ Circle! You aren’, are you? Tell me you’re jus’ playing t’ system. Tell me i’s jus’ a trick. You’ll Challenge Cyan in a year’s time and bea’ her. Won’ you? Or you’ll bea’ t’ next man who’s sure to bea’ her…Tell me tha’s true! Or…or you’ll Challenge Wrenn and bea’ him, and be t’ next Swordsman. Oh yes, tha’ must be i’-so you can be together wi’ Cyan…’

Lightning supported her at arm’s length, his hands on her upper arms. Rayne kept screaming, ‘Where will you end up? I’s horrible t’ be old. I know-i’s terrible! You don’ want i’! Don’ let i’ happen! Don’ le’ time pass, Saker, you’re a’ your best! A few years and you’ll never have security again! You’ll die!…After all this time, why? Why? I can’ bear t’ be alone. Don’ leave me!’ She collapsed to her knees, sobbing, and as she did so she pulled his shirt out of his belt. She pressed his shirt tails to her cheek.

‘Come with me into the house, Ella.’

‘You were my friend!’ Her voice was ugly with distortion.

He turned her towards the palace and, speaking to her quietly, led her up the avenue towards the terrace.