Trail of Fate by Michael Spradlin

words.
    â€œDone,” said Maryam.
    I looked at her with eyes wide.
    â€œNo. Absolutely not. Maryam, I won’t let you sacrifice your most prized possessions. And Robard, you told me your bow belonged to your father! Both of you stop this foolishness,” I demanded.
    â€œIt did belong to my father. And his father before him. But I don’t intend to miss.”
    â€œI’ve always wanted my own bow,” Maryam said mischievously.
    Robard pulled an arrow from the wallet at his back. He looked at it, sighting along its length to make sure it was straight and true.
    â€œTristan, what do you think, will she recognize my arrow?” he asked. I shrugged and stared up at the castle again, thinking hard. What would Celia think? If I sent her some type of message, would she know it was from me? Or would she expect a trick? Then I decided. If we could get close enough to the walls without being captured by the High Counsel, maybe she would be able to hear or recognize us. It was not a perfect plan, but it would have to do. The rest depended on Robard.
    With a sigh, I removed Sir Thomas’Templar ring from my satchel. Robard nodded, and slid the ring over the point of the arrow along the shaft until it reached the feathers. I found a loose black thread on the edge of Maryam’s tunic and pulled it from the cloth, and with it Robard wrapped the ring tightly to the arrow. He tested the weight and balance of the arrow in his hand until he was satisfied.
    â€œI’m going to move out of the trees. I want to get a feel for the wind. Let’s just hope no one spots me.”
    Robard trotted forward, bent at the waist. Within a few yards he had cleared the forest. He moved stealthily along, keeping his eyes on the fortress. There were no shouts of warning from the woods or calls of alarm. So far, so good.
    A Templar ring, an English arrow and a thread from an Assassin’s tunic. I offered up a silent prayer, begging God to guide the arrow. For good measure, I rubbed the satchel on the spot where the Grail lay in its secret compartment. I strained to hear the humming sound I’d heard before whenever I needed a miracle. If ever I needed one, it was now. But the Grail remained silent.
    First, Robard needed to make the shot. Then someone needed to find the arrow and take it to Celia. Then she would need to discern its meaning. I had to trust she would know what to do when the time was right. That was the plan. Flimsy, with a great deal of luck needed for it to even have the remotest chance of working. But it was all I had.
    Robard found a spot that suited him and squatted behind a large boulder, still intently studying the fortress above. He reached down and grasped a small handful of dirt, tossing it in the air, watching to see how the breeze moved it.
    He waited, thirty yards away from us, and I silently bade him to hurry. We could be seen at any time. Finally, he stood and tested the pull of the bow a few times. Then he took his stance, feet slightly more than shoulder width apart, left arm straight and still, with the guard of the bow clutched firmly in his left hand. His right hand held the nock of the arrow gently between his fingers, and then he pulled back and I heard the familiar creak of wood and sinew.
    â€œMaryam, no offense, but I hope you lose your bet,” I murmured to her quietly.
    And we watched in silent wonder as the arrow moved upward toward the heavens, flying at first as if it would not stop until it hit the sun. Then it arched over ever so gently and began its return to earth. I worried the arrow might hit someone inside the fortress and hurt, or even kill them. But then I thought the odds of a single random arrow finding flesh inside a mountain fortress were slim.
    So I prayed harder and held my breath as the arrow picked up speed on its downward descent.
    And it vanished behind the walls of Montségur.

15
    R obard threw his arms up in the air and Maryam brought her hands