[Malazan book of the fallen, Deadhouse Gates: big spoiler](#s "The man’s bow, even strung, was as tall as he was. His forearms as he drew the string back were like hemp ropes, bundled and twisted and taut. The string brushed his stubbled jawline as he completed the draw, then locked it in place with a slow, even exhalation.
Duiker saw the man tremble suddenly, and his eyes widened, revealing themselves for the first time – black, small marbles in red-streaked nests.
Raw fear edged Blistig’s voice. ‘Squint—’
‘That’s got to be Coltaine, sir!’ the old man gasped. ‘You want me to kill Coltaine—’
‘Squint!’
Nether raised her head and reached out one bloody hand in supplication. ‘Release him. Please.’
The old man studied her a moment. Tears streamed down his face. The trembling stilled – the bow itself had not moved an inch.
‘Hood’s breath!’ Duiker hissed. He’s weeping. He can’t aim – the bastard can’t aim—
The bowstring thrummed. The long shaft cut through the sky.
‘Oh, gods!’ Squint moaned. ‘Too high – too high!’
It rose, swept through the massed crows untouched and unwavering, began arcing down.
Duiker could have sworn that Coltaine looked up then, lifted his gaze to greet that gift, as the iron head impacted his forehead, shattered the bone, sank deep into his brain and killed him instantly. His head snapped back between the spars of wood, then the arrow was through.
The warriors on the barrow’s slopes flinched back.
The crows shook the air with their eerie cries and plunged down towards the sagging figure on the cross, sweeping over the warriors crowding the slopes. The sorcery that battered at them was shunted aside, scattered by whatever force – Coltaine’s soul? – now rose to join the birds.
The cloud descended on Coltaine, swallowing him entire and covering the cross itself – at that distance they were to Duiker like flies swarming a piece of flesh.
And when they rose, exploding skyward, the warleader of the Crow Clan was gone.
Duiker staggered, leaned hard against the stone wall. Nether slipped down through his motionless arms, her blood-matted hair hiding her face as she curled around his feet. ‘I killed him,’ Squint moaned. ‘I killed Coltaine. Who took that man’s life? A broken old soldier of the High Fist’s army – he killed Coltaine … Oh, Beru, have mercy on my soul…’
Duiker wrapped the old man in his arms and held him fiercely. The bow clattered on the platform’s wooden slats. The historian felt the man crumpling against him as if his bones had turned to dust, as if centuries stole into him with each ragged breath.
Commander Blistig gripped the bowman by the back of the collar and yanked him upright. ‘Before the day’s through, you bastard,’ he hissed, ‘ten thousand soldiers will be voicing your name.’ The words shook. ‘Like a prayer, Squint, like a Hood-damned prayer.’")