The Black Ledger entered the Scholars Archive before the marksman left his Shackles. Archivists carried the volume into a secured vault under Castle Rust, where its pages were separated, examined, and copied. Alarich remained beside them, though he was never left alone with the book. Two Guards stood close to the door, and an Archivist watched whenever he handled a page.
The Brotherhood did not accept the Ledger simply because it accused the Teutonic Order. Alarich had served as an Ordersschreiber. He had created official records, copied the commands of Teutonic officers, and defended the same campaign he now condemned. His knowledge made him useful, but it also gave the Archivists reason to question every word he offered.
His copies were compared against captured Teutonic orders, reports brought back by LAB patrols, and the testimony of civilians who had fled the settlements named within the Ledger. Where a Teutonic account described an Assassin stronghold, Archivists searched for earlier reports showing what had stood there before the Order arrived. Where prisoners were listed among battlefield dead, they sought witnesses who had seen them taken alive.
The marksman’s knowledge was also required. He knew which orders had reached the Skirmishers, which settlements had been described as Levantine positions, and which commanders had decided where ranged forces would be placed. He could explain the signs, abbreviations, and military language used throughout the records.
The Ledger was recognised as valuable evidence, but it was not treated as unquestionable truth. Every page was tested against another source where possible. Alarich accepted the scrutiny.
He asked only that his own part be recorded beside the crimes he had later exposed. He had copied false accounts, preserved the decisions of commanders, and helped place the authority of the Father behind them. His resistance did not remove the years in which he had served willingly. The Archivists wrote both.
While Alarich remained with the Ledger, the marksman was taken into another chamber. The room contained a wooden table, several chairs, and no window. Two Guards stood behind him. A Warden remained beside the door, while an Archivist sat opposite with a collection of written questions. Representatives from the Blades and Rangers waited along the walls.
The Guards treated him as a threat. The Blades wanted information concerning Teutonic positions, Watchmen routes, and the formations used by Skirmishers during an attack. The Rangers wanted to know which of their members had fallen beneath his bolts. The marksman’s Shackles remained closed.
The Archivist opened the questioning with his service in the Order. He asked when the marksman had joined, where he had trained, and how many campaigns he had taken part in. The marksman answered where he could and admitted when he could not remember.
Then the Archivist placed a report upon the table. It concerned the eastern ridge. The marksman recognised it before the Archivist finished reading the location.
“Why did you fire upon our people?”
“Because I was ordered to.”
“Then the bolt belonged to your commander. Not to you.”
“No.”
The Archivist looked up from the report.
“That is the lie from which your Order was built.”
The marksman looked towards the Rangers waiting against the wall. One of them was the man who had recognised his hair upon the path to Castle Rust.
“The bolts were mine.”
“Yet you began by saying you were ordered.”
“I was.”
“Were your hands bound?”
“No.”
“Was your weapon forced against your shoulder?”
“No.”
“Then why mention the order?”
“Because I believed it made the shot righteous.”
The Archivist placed the report aside.
“You believed the people upon that ridge deserved to die?”
“I believed those above me had judged them to be enemies.”
“That was not my question.”
“I did not know them.”
“You did not need to know them to kill them.”
“No.”
“Did you believe the command?”
“Yes.”
The Ranger stepped away from the wall.
“Three members of my unit died before we reached the trees.”
“I remember.”
“You remember them now?”
“I remember the distance, the wind, and where they fell.”
“Do you remember their names?”
“No.”
The Ranger placed both hands upon the table.
“I do.”
He spoke the name of the first. Then the second. The third had survived the bolt but died before reaching Castle Rust. The marksman listened to each name.
“I did not know them.”
“That did not stop you.”
“No.”
“Do Alarich’s records make them less dead?”
“No.”
“Does discovering that your commanders lied make you innocent?”
“No.”
The Archivist continued recording. The marksman explained what he had believed during his service. He had believed that obedience protected soldiers from acting through anger or pride. He had believed that commanders saw more of the battlefield and that the Order understood more of the war. He had believed the Father gave purpose to commands that an ordinary soldier could not fully understand.
He no longer offered those beliefs as an excuse. The Archivist asked how many Levantines he had killed. The marksman could not give an exact number. He remembered bolts released, figures struck, and bodies seen falling from distant positions. Some had disappeared behind walls or trees before he could confirm whether they lived. Others had been struck during attacks involving several Skirmishers.
He gave the closest number he could. Several people in the chamber reacted. The marksman did not lower it. When the questioning moved to Alarich’s escape, he described the order given by the Komtur, the civilians below the ridge, and the deliberate miss. He described the lantern, the explosion, and the two Teutonic soldiers injured by his decision. The Archivist did not call the miss redemption.
He recorded it as the first command the marksman had openly refused.
Alarich was brought into the chamber after the first questioning ended. He stood next to the table without restraints, though Guards remained close to him.
The Archivist asked whether the marksman had served the Order willingly.
“Yes.”
“Did he believe about its mission?”
“Yes.”
“Did he kill members of the Brotherhood?”
“Yes.”
“Did he question every order given to him?”
“No.”
The marksman looked towards Alarich. The priest did not look away.
“He obeyed,” Alarich continued. “He was praised for it. His commanders placed him where his skill would serve them best, and he released the bolts they asked him to release.”
One of the Rangers spoke from the wall.
“Then why are you defending him?”
“I am not defending what he did.”
“You asked that his testimony be preserved.”
“Yes.”
“You stopped the courier from killing him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Alarich looked towards the marksman.
“Because he was given every reason to obey, and finally chose to answer for his own hand.”
The Ranger’s expression did not change.
“That does not return the dead.”
“No,” Alarich said. “Neither does the Black Ledger.”
The interrogation lasted several days. The marksman was questioned separately by Scholars, Blades, Guards, and Rangers. He drew Teutonic formations upon maps, marked the ridges Skirmishers would favour, and explained how Watchmen directed forces from above. He described the Komtur’s pursuit methods and identified several positions from which the Order might watch the approaches to Fallow Mire.
The Brotherhood used the information. It did not trust him because of it.
When the questioning ended, the marksman was not accepted as an Assassin. He was not offered a position among the Rangers or permitted to leave Castle Rust without supervision.
The Wardens removed his Shackles only after a decision was made to keep him under conditional guard. He was given a room within a watched part of the stronghold and denied access to the armouries, command chambers, and restricted sections of the Archive. His Vallistra remained in Brotherhood custody.
During the first months, his work took place under observation. He translated Skirmisher signals, identified Teutonic formations, and marked likely ranged positions upon maps prepared by the Blades. He catalogued captured Vallistras and explained the differences between equipment used by ordinary Teutonic soldiers and the specialist ranged forces.
He also assisted Scholars with the military language found throughout the Black Ledger. Some phrases appeared harmless when read alone but carried another meaning within Teutonic orders. He showed the Archivists which words indicated an execution, a forced relocation, or the destruction of a position without stating those actions openly. Alarich worked nearby as a restricted witness.
He was not accepted immediately into the Brotherhood either. Archivists consulted him when examining Teutonic records, but others checked his work. His knowledge was valuable because he understood how the Order changed its accounts and which offices had authority over each seal. The marksman and Alarich did not speak often during those first months.
They worked within the same chambers and were questioned about many of the same reports, but neither mistook shared guilt for friendship.
The marksman was eventually permitted to train with a Shortbow. A Ranger inspected the weapon before each session and collected it when the training ended. The marksman was never left alone with ammunition, and a Warden accompanied him whenever he left the secured parts of Castle Rust. His ability was clear from the first practice.
The Shortbow lacked the range and weight of the weapons he had used as a Skirmisher, but he adapted quickly. He learned how the arrows moved, how much they fell across distance, and how rapidly he could release another. He rarely missed. That did not make the Rangers trust him.
Several refused to train beside him. Others left the practice ground when he arrived. The Ranger from the eastern ridge remained, though he watched every shot. One afternoon, the marksman struck a distant target three times in the same place.
The Ranger walked towards it, removed the arrows, and returned with them in one hand.
“You remember the valley?”
“Yes.”
“You remember where we entered it?”
“From the southern road.”
“And where you were?”
“Upon the eastern ridge.”
“You said you saw four bolts strike.”
“I did.”
“One of them killed the man whose name I gave you.”
The Ranger placed the arrows upon the ground between them.
“He had trained beside me for six years.”
“I cannot change what happened.”
“No.”
“I will not ask you to forgive it.”
“Good.”
The Ranger picked up the Shortbow and held it towards him.
“Then shoot again.”
The marksman trained. He also began writing down names. At first, the list contained only those given during his interrogation. He added the names from the eastern ridge and others mentioned by Rangers who recognised him. When he could not identify the person struck, he recorded the place, the date, and what he remembered of the shot.
Alarich found him writing late one night.
“You have begun your own Ledger.”
“It is not the same.”
“No.”
“Your Ledger proves what the Order did.”
“It records part of what the Order did.”
“This proves nothing.”
“Then why write it?”
“Because I remembered the shots and not the people.”
Alarich looked over the unfinished list.
“Will knowing their names change what you did?”
“No.”
“Will it make the Rangers forgive you?”
“No.”
“Then keep writing.”
The marksman did.
His orange hair remained a visible sign of his past. Visitors to Castle Rust recognised him from warnings given during the invasion. Several demanded that he be returned to the Shackles. Others believed he should have been executed upon arrival. The Brotherhood did not agree upon what should be done with him.
Some Blades valued his intelligence. Some Guards believed allowing him to move freely created an unnecessary danger. Some Scholars argued that his testimony was part of the same record as the Black Ledger. The Rangers remained divided. His skill became useful long before his presence became welcome.
When patrols returned with reports of Teutonic movement, the marksman identified likely Skirmisher positions. When Watchmen appeared near the mire, he explained which movements meant they had seen something and which were intended to draw attention away from ground forces.
He was occasionally taken outside Castle Rust beneath Warden and Ranger supervision. He carried a Shortbow only when authorised and returned it at the end of each patrol. His knowledge prevented ambushes. It also created new problems.
The marksman gave instructions as though he still was standing among Teutonic soldiers. He expected others to follow immediately and offered little explanation. During one patrol, he ordered two younger Rangers away from a ridge without telling them that a reflection upon the opposite stone suggested a hidden Skirmisher position. They obeyed because of his certainty.
They resented him because he had not trusted them with the reason.
After the patrol, the Ranger responsible for his training confronted him.
“You moved them without explanation.”
“There was no time.”
“There was enough time to give the order twice.”
“If they had delayed, they would have entered the Skirmisher’s view.”
“They obeyed you.”
“Then the order worked.”
“No. Fear worked.”
The Ranger came closer.
“Fear can produce accurate volleys. It cannot produce a Brotherhood.”
“They needed to move.”
“They needed to understand.”
“Understanding takes time.”
“Then learn to speak faster.”
The marksman looked away. The Ranger did not allow him to end the conversation.
“Do you believe their obedience makes their actions yours?”
“No.”
“Then why deny them the knowledge needed to choose?”
“Because the threat was immediate.”
“And the next time?”
“I will explain.”
“Before or after?”
“Before.”
The younger Rangers began questioning him openly after that. At first, the marksman treated every challenge as resistance. He had devoted years within a structure where a soldier’s place was to obey, and a commander’s place was to decide. The Rangers did not work that way.
They asked why one ridge was safer than another. They questioned whether a target had been confirmed. They argued when they believed another route offered better cover. The marksman found their discussions slow and undisciplined. Then he began to notice what the questions revealed.
One Ranger saw movement he had missed. Another recognised that civilians used a road the marksman had marked for obstruction. A younger scout identified a second Watchman situated beneath the path of the first. Their questions did not weaken the group. They gave more people responsibility for what followed.
The marksman learned to explain what he saw. He admitted when he was uncertain and began asking the Rangers what they had noticed before giving his own conclusion. He still expected discipline, but he no longer treated obedience as proof of loyalty.
Several months elapsed before the Brotherhood allowed him to accompany a Ranger force beyond the ordinary patrol routes. Teutonic forces had gathered near an old crossing east of the mire. The bridge spanned a narrow ravine and offered one of the few stable routes through the surrounding stone. Reports suggested the Komtur intended to move supplies and Skirmishers across it.
The Rangers were ordered to observe the position and prevent the Teutonics from using the crossing. The marksman travelled with them under supervision. He carried a Shortbow and a limited number of arrows. They reached the overlooking ridge before sunrise. Below them, Teutonic soldiers had taken positions around the bridge. Several were visible along the road, while others waited behind low stone walls on the opposite side.
Then the marksman saw the Komtur. His former commander stood upon an exposed platform near the far end of the bridge. He wore the black cross openly and remained where anyone watching from the ridge could see him.
The Ranger from the eastern ridge noticed the marksman’s attention.
“There.”
The marksman kept watching.
“You know him?”
“He gave the order to kill Alarich.”
“Can you reach him?”
“Yes.”
Another Ranger moved beside them.
“Then take the shot.”
The marksman raised the Shortbow but did not draw. The Komtur was positioned at a distance the marksman had struck many times before. The wind moved gently across the ravine, and nothing blocked the path between them. It was a clear shot. It was too clear. The marksman studied the bridge instead.
Fresh rope had been fixed beneath the central supports. The lines ran through iron loops towards a covered mechanism near the far bank. Several of the wooden pegs had been cut almost through, leaving only enough material to hold the crossing in place. The bridge had been prepared to collapse.
The Teutonics expected the Rangers to see the Komtur, advance towards him, and cross the bridge in pursuit. Once enough of them were upon it, the hidden mechanism would pull the weakened fastenings free. The marksman looked towards the low stone walls. Small movements appeared behind them. Skirmishers waited there with loaded Vallistras. The Komtur was not the target. He was the invitation.
“Take the shot,” the Ranger repeated.
“No.”
“You said you could reach him.”
“I can.”
“Then fire.”
The marksman pointed towards the bridge.
“The support pegs have been cut. There is a release line beneath the far side.”
“Where?”
“Behind the covered frame. The Skirmishers are waiting behind the wall.”
The Ranger narrowed his eyes towards the crossing.
“I cannot see them.”
“That is why they chose the position.”
“And the Komtur?”
“Bait.”
The Komtur remained exposed. The marksman drew the Shortbow. For a moment, the arrow rested in line with his former commander. The shot could have crossed the ravine and ended the pursuit that had begun upon the ridge. He lowered the aim. The arrow struck the release line beneath the bridge.
The rope split near the iron loop. The loose end fell into the ravine, leaving the hidden mechanism unable to pull the weakened pegs free. The Teutonics reacted immediately. A signal was raised from behind the wall, and the concealed Skirmishers stood to fire. They had expected the bridge to collapse beneath advancing Rangers. Instead, the Rangers remained upon the ridge with the ambush exposed.
“Positions!” the Ranger shouted. Arrows crossed the ravine. The marksman fired at the signal frame next, breaking the fastening that held its coloured panels in place. The signal dropped, leaving the Watchmen above devoid of clear direction.
The Rangers moved along the ridge and fired into the revealed Skirmisher positions. Guards approaching from the southern path reached the bridge before the Teutonics could repair the release line. The Komtur withdrew from the platform. The marksman saw him disappear behind the stone wall.
When the fighting ended, the bridge remained standing. Several Teutonic soldiers had retreated, while others were taken by the Guards arriving from below.
The Ranger from the eastern ridge looked towards the marksman.
“You could not make the shot?”
The marksman lowered the Shortbow.
“I could make it.”
The Ranger looked towards the severed line beneath the bridge.
For the first time, he did not answer with suspicion.
The Brotherhood did not declare the marksman forgiven after the battle. The Rangers did keep in mind the eastern ridge or the people he had killed before his defection. His decision at the bridge did not erase the decisions that came before it. It proved something else.
When given the opportunity to satisfy his own anger, he had chosen the shot required by those beside him. He had recognised the difference between the visible target and the true danger.
The Rangers formally accepted him into their ranks. The Longbow was presented to him several days later.
The Ranger from the eastern ridge carried it to the practice ground. He held the weapon across both hands but did not offer it immediately.
“This is not a reward.”
“I know.”
“It is not proof that we have forgotten.”
“I know.”
“And it does not belong to the Rangers once the arrow leaves it.”
The marksman looked towards him.
“Whose arrow is it?”
The marksman took the Longbow.
“Mine.”
The weapon was heavier than the Shortbow and slower to draw. Its range exceeded the Vallistra he had carried through the Teutonic campaign, though it demanded patience and control. He learned it as he had learned every weapon before it. What changed was what he taught others about using it.
The first year among the Rangers was spent proving that the decision at the bridge had not been an exception. He accompanied patrols, covered advancing Brotherhood forces, and identified Teutonic traps before others entered them. He refused wasteful shots.
When uncertain, he waited. When civilians stood near a target, he changed position or allowed the opportunity to pass. When a commander lacked enough information, he said so openly. Not every decision was correct. He occasionally waited too long. At other times, he treated younger Rangers with the same hardness he had learned within the Order. He still struggled to explain doubt without making it sound like weakness.
The Rangers challenged him. He learned. By the second year, he was trusted to lead small patrols. He explained what he saw before giving an order and allowed those beside him to question the decision. When time did not allow discussion, he accepted responsibility for making the choice and later explained why it had been necessary. He never told Rangers that obedience removed their burden. He told them the opposite.
Years passed. The orange hair that had formerly warned Levantines of an enemy upon the ridge became familiar among the Rangers. New members heard stories of his skill before they learned why some older Assassins remained silent when he entered a room.
He became an instructor, then a field strategist. His knowledge of Teutonic formations helped the Brotherhood survive attacks that once would have driven them from exposed ground. Some Levantines never trusted him completely. Others never forgave him. He did not ask them to.
He continued recording names whenever the past returned to him. Alarich preserved the Black Ledger beside the Archivists, translating further records captured during the invasion and making sure his own part remained within the account. The two men spoke more easily with time, though neither called the other innocent.
When younger Rangers asked the marksman how to judge a difficult shot, he gave them the lesson his own commanders had never taught him.
“There are three parts to every shot. Seeing the target. Understanding what stands before you. Accepting everything that follows.”
He did not teach them as every command should be rejected. A Ranger depended upon coordination, trust, and discipline as much as any soldier. He taught that no command could remove the archer’s responsibility. A Mentor might advise the hand. A commander might choose the objective. A Creed might shape the reason, and a Father might be invoked to justify it. None could claim ownership of the arrow after it was released.
The former Komtur appeared again years later. The Teutonic Order had prepared an attack against a settlement used to shelter civilians displaced by the continuing war. Watchmen moved above the surrounding ridges while Skirmishers occupied the high ground. The Komtur stood openly upon a timeworn stone platform overlooking the approach.
Rangers around the marksman recognised him from the account of the bridge. Several expected the marksman to take the shot he had refused years earlier. He raised the Longbow and studied the platform. The Komtur remained visible. Once again, he wanted to be seen.
Beyond him, a Watchman operated a signal frame used to direct the Skirmishers and ground forces. Coloured panels marked the civilians’ route through the settlement and indicated where the Teutonics should close around them. The marksman followed the direction of those signals.
A heavy barrier had been suspended above the narrow road used for evacuation. Once the civilians entered the passage, the Teutonics intended to release it behind them and cut them off from the Rangers. The Komtur was still not the true target. The marksman drew the Longbow. The commander stood within range. The marksman moved his aim beyond him.
The arrow crossed the settlement and struck the fastening holding the signal frame together. The coloured panels collapsed and fell from the platform. Before the Watchman could repair them, the marksman released another arrow towards the suspended barrier. It struck the side brace, forcing the mechanism out of alignment prior to it could be released. The barrier remained raised.
Without the signals, Teutonic forces moved at different times. Skirmishers fired too early, revealing their positions, while the ground forces advanced before the evacuation route had been closed. The Rangers led the civilians away. The Komtur turned towards the ridge from which the arrows had come. For a moment, the marksman saw him clearly through the Longbow’s sight. The commander understood.
The marksman could have killed him. He chose not to make the man more important than the lives moving below. The Rangers countered the exposed Skirmishers, while Guards reached the settlement and secured the evacuation route. The Teutonic assault failed, and the Komtur withdrew with those still able to follow him. The marksman did not pursue.
The Teutonics remembered the colour of his hair and named it treason.
The Levantines remembered the Assassins who once had fallen beneath his aim and named it suspicion.
The Rangers remembered arrows which crossed valleys, shattered mechanisms and found enemies concealed behind stone.
He remembered only two shots.
The first was the shot he deliberately missed.
The second was the shot everyone expected him to take.
Both had been called treason.
Both had saved lives.
Neither had been guided by a Father, commander or master.
The arrow belonged to the archer.
At last, so did the man.