Lyan inhaled, tasting pine resin and the metallic edge of imminent violence. He felt Wilhelmina straighten, Alicia's magic shiver at his back, Josephine's cavalry gather like wound springs.
His knuckles whitened on the glaive. "Engage. No pursuit," Lyan ordered, his tone sharp.
Xena's arrow sang, a high, keening note that cut through the hush like a violin string snapping. Even before the shaft found its mark, Lyan saw the way her shoulders dipped to ride out the recoil and how the bow-limbs quivered like startled birds. The first scout barely had time to widen his eyes; the arrow punched through the hollow beneath his jaw and lodged in the pine trunk behind him with a dull thuck. A wet hiss escaped his lips as he crumpled into the underbrush.
