'It's possible they may change their attitudes once they realize the extent of the problem they've created,' had been his exact words to Yseult. Put a handful of Riftwatch members in the roadway with every appearance of being prepared to act reasonably. Emphasize it with the presence of a Division Head. It's not beyond belief that the contingent holding Marcus Rowntree would consider making concessions in that light.

But in case not, they've kept two mages and a bowman posted in the sparse midsummer shrubbery of the offing. 'Aim to incapacitate if you're able,' Flint had instructed the trio as they'd waited for the heavily armored convoy to come rattling to meet them. 'Though if it comes to a fight, better to come clear of it than not. Julius, Tsenka—make use of whatever surprise can be mustered. Edgard, aim for their horses.'

Operating in good faith is one thing. Acting needlessly naive would be another matter entirely.

So: The hot crackle of bolts deflecting from the barrier pops loud in the ear. And while the flinch back from the aborted velocity is instinctive, so too is the disparaging thought of how stupid it is for the Templars to have fired their full volley at once. Even the best trained arbalist takes time to reload. That's plenty of time for Flint to spit out the sharp whistle that serves as their own signal.