‘Kill him,’ Tennyson said quietly.
Almost immediately, he heard the slap-whizz of the two crossbows and two bolts streaked across the field to bury themselves in the man’s back. He threw up his hands, gave a choked cry and fell face down in the grass. His wife uttered a scream and dropped to her knees beside him, speaking to him, trying to rouse him. But Tennyson knew from the way the man had fallen that he was dead when he hit the ground. It took a minute or so for the woman to come to the same realisation. When she did, she came to her feet, screamed what was obviously a curse at them and turned to run. She had gone three paces when Bacari, who had reloaded, shot again and sent her sprawling face down, a few metres from her husband.

Halt's Peril, Chapter 9