All things archery were Aeker Murdock’s life; history, practise, building, and acquiring. He also retained a smart attire, in an attempt to bring the long-lost air of a civil demeanour back into the craft.

His black hair was short and unkempt, with dark eyes glowing, and matching his dark, ruddy skin. He had been told more than once that he had ‘sad eyes’, though refuted this. However, a hard, thin nose and sharp corners to his thin lips contrasted well enough against this.

He sat alongside Esther Jabrion, dark brown hair smouldering into amber against pale skin and abyssal blue eyes, with a broad jawline, hard mouth, and small nose. As a Maytoni Summiteer she preferred a low profile, especially given her speciality and role within this elite organisation, as a counterfeiter.

Whilst Esther was an incredible archer, as all Summiteers were, her expertise was more singular, replicating convincing fakes of dangerous bows, arrows, and other archery equipment. This kept the real thing from falling into dubious hands; if someone thought they already had it, then no one would go looking for where it might be, and any fighting to obtain the item would be redirected towards bad people.

Prior to washing up on the shores of Oakthei, Aeker had never met a Maytoni. Now, many years later, they were a constant in life. Payment was satisfactory, and they were far from malevolent, though the rub was that they were a theocracy. And like anyone who thinks themselves vessels for gods, had an annoying habit of sounding so sure about everything. Danger came from how often they meddled in the affairs of the maniacal, and sometimes, foreign nations, whilst ensuring complete anonymity.

And Aeker, having thrown himself into archery, making bows and arrows and learning every known practice and studying its history, was more than useful to a person like Esther. Thus, he was often enlisted in helping to build convincing forgeries.

He enjoyed pulling one over on malicious persons, but he enjoyed it better, hundreds of miles away – not sitting in stands as their latest mark hoisted a so-called Siege Breaker in his small, crabby hands.

Such a bow wasn’t anything new; the idea of manufacturing the power of an entire army into a bow had to be inspiration for would-be conquerors not long after discovering weapons and magic went together like fire and pitch.

The Maytoni claimed to have had one, wielded by a prophet, or King or someone important. When faced with a mountain range between them and where they would eventually build their capital, this significant figure used it to carve out a valley to move through.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Esther was sounding confident, and Aeker looked at her with perplexity. “Don’t look so worried, they’ll suspect something.” She hissed and Aeker broke eye contact, before practising his best board-face.

“I get it. We don’t often get to see the apotheosis of our work, but this is cutting a fine path along a sheer cliff,” Aeker muttered, looking off into the distance, with tension filling the sigh that followed.

They were within the Republic of Reywher, in its northern region known as the High Right Republic. Around them a crowd of a few thousand gathered to watch the Premier test this mighty weapon, a weapon to put the fear of their god into the Progressivist Republic, the second form of government in the south – each side involved in a perpetual cold war.

Everyone was armed with some form of arquebus, or pistol, wearing these like ladies of high society would a new fur garment. Periodically a sharp crack would rise above the tumult as someone took aim at the sky. It was primordial. Reywher not just a step backwards in civilisation, but a great big running-start-jump.

It was a surprise to Aeker to hear that the Premier of the NRR wanted a Siege Breaker, given their unhealthy and petulant obsession with black powder ballistics – they even had a cult who thought the knowledge of such weapons had been given to them directly by their god.

But it was power at the end of the day, Esther had told Aeker. For all the canons and guns the Reywherns had, and continued to develop, nothing could knock down a castle in a single blow like a Siege Breaker. No one could recreate the magic to apply it to a bow, never mind forge it into molten metals, or work the magic and stabilise it against the unpredictably explosive processes of black-powder ballistics.

To ensure the man, and the warmongering nation he represented, did not acquire such a weapon, Esther was tasked to develop a fake, and under a cover identity, sell it on. The twist was that the bow had to fail, thus making the Premier look weak. Embarrassment and social awkwardness were terminal illnesses in politics, and this would hopefully set the New Right Republic’s assembly back, significantly.

The trouble was, Aeker had to stick around for the display because Esther couldn’t help herself. Naturally the hand-off had been through intermediaries, so Aeker and Esther were strangers, with no connection to the events about to happen.

To function as an example to the power of the bow, was a colossal wooden mock-up of the opposition leader, with comically embellished features. The Premier stood twenty yards away, his own personal guard in garish orange makeup standing around, attempting a tough looking visage. The mob was howling all manner of nonsensical praise, the Premier soaking up the frighteningly frenzied cries like a sponge dropped in a latrine.

It was insufferable.

Finally, the Premier raised the bow, attempting to draw the string, as if the basic motion baffled him. Shoulders were arched, squeezing into his head as the Premier’s face seemed to fold in on itself from the strain of having to do something more than lift a tankard. With a face like a boil about to burst, the Premier managed to get the string back to his ear, and instantly plucked it.

Out of the lash from the release, the Premier plumed violently into a cloud of red, the bow hanging still in the air. Silence fell heavily. The bow dropped onto its lower limb tip as the gristle, fluids, and pulverised innards slapped to the ground, with the Premier’s wig wafting pathetically to settle on top of the offal.

It was well Esther spoke first, as Aeker did not know what to say. “Somewhere during the building process, we’ve misread something…” She was agape. “The bow’s strength was to fail and twang uselessly, like an ill-tuned lute before reverberating harshly enough for the Premier to drop the bow, waving his hand about like he’d just grasped a bushel of nettles.”

Aeker then manged to find some words. “It’s just as well we go so far to ensure our cover. Otherwise Maytoni has just assassinated a Reywhern Premier.

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