When Vrath estimated the distance between his racing chariot and the oncoming chariot of Jarsun to be seven hundred yards, he raised his bow and loosed his first volley. The arrows he used were bunched tightly together in a packed sheaf, each long arrow segmented. The full sheaf of 108 arrows rose into the sky. As they reached the zenith of their arc, the 108 split into ten times that number, each yard-and-a-half-long arrow separating into ten darts with pointed metal tips. As they fell, the natural force of the easterly blowing wind and the angle and trajectory used by Vrath caused them to spread in an umbrella-like formation. Except, of course, an umbrella was supposed to protect those beneath its shade; this umbrella consisted of 1,080 pointed metal-tipped darts of six inches each, each now falling with a velocity and force sufficient to punch through metal armor and bone and pierce the vital organs of the human body. The formation was so precisely aimed that no two darts were more than a few inches apart. The entire umbrella had a diameter of three hundred yards, with Jarsun’s chariot precisely at its center at the time of groundfall.
Both armies and their leaders saw the volley and drew in breath. Those who had enjoyed the privilege of witnessing Vrath deploy this same missile in the past knew that such a volley was capable of bringing an entire company of a thousand foot soldiers to a painful halt, killing a tenth of them instantly, wounding most of the others.
The person for whom the volley was intended did not even look up at the descending umbrella of death. Instead, he pointed a finger at Vrath and grinned, displaying his divided teeth. Even across the six hundred yards that now separated them, that skullhead grin was easily visible to all the thousands of watchers.
Then Jarsun disappeared from sight.
The volley made groundfall with a metal shirring. Darts embedded themselves into the hard-packed dirt of the field, the shafts almost disappearing into the ground from the force of impact; they embedded themselves into the wood and metal parts of Jarsun’s chariot; they pierced the flesh of Jarsun’s unfortunate horses, penetrating the innocent hearts of those unfortunate beasts. The horses stumbled, broke their forelegs, and collapsed in a cloud of dust, the chariot upending and somersaulting over their broken, dart-pierced bodies to crash and tumble over and over on the field, coming to rest almost a hundred yards further on. During this chaos, of Jarsun himself there was no sign.
Only Vrath’s demigod eyes saw what actually happened.
At the moment when he raised his finger to point at Vrath, Jarsun split himself into two.
His two halves separated as precisely as a wood chip cut by the sharpest axe and stood independently for barely a fraction of a kshana.
Then, in a movement so fast it was a blur to the mortal observers, the Reygistani divided himself again—and again—and yet again. A hundredfold.
Each segment of himself was so thin, it was barely a sliver. Yet every portion of his body, organs, hair, skin, bone, vein, blood, bodily fluid, remained perfectly intact and functional. Each sliver of his body existed and survived independently, an organism unto itself.
As the volley of darts fell, the slivers easily avoided being struck—not a single dart so much as nicked any part of Jarsun.
As the horses died and the chariot upended, the hundred slivers of Jarsun flew up into the air, as slender as gossamer wings. In midair they conjoined once more, assembling themselves into a perfect whole. To the watching mortals, it seemed Jarsun had disappeared a moment before the volley struck, then reappeared in midair, miraculously; only Vrath knew the truth.
Jarsun landed on bent knees, lithe and easy, his slender, axe-like face still retaining the same grin, his finger still outstretched, his eyes winking at Vrath . . . who was now less than five hundred yards away and bearing down fast.
The watchers gasped in astonishment.
Never had anyone present seen an assault by Vrath so successfully thwarted. Even without knowing how Jarsun had survived the volley, what was clear was that he had indeed survived it.
Vrath pursed his lips and acknowledged his enemy’s hardiness. So Jarsun was every bit as difficult to kill as legend claimed. Very well, then. He would use harsher tactics. It was a long time since the son of Jeel had faced an adversary with supermortal abilities. But it would take a lot more than such tricks to survive Vrath.
He raised his bow to loose his next assault.
But before he could attack again, Jarsun made his move.