The arrow left the string before the sentry finished turning. Four hundred yards. Through the gap where the shoulder plate met the collar. The man dropped without sound, and Daiten was already nocking the second shaft. Wind from the northeast, six knots. He adjusted. The second sentry folded over the parapet railing and slid into the courtyard below. Forty arrows in the quiver. Thirty-eight now. He pressed his back against the cedar trunk and counted the remaining patrols. Mathematics. That was all it ever was. He did not look at the amber necklace resting against his collarbone. He did not need to. Its weight had not changed since the day he pulled it from her body.