Daryl, no longer stuck holding the door and with Sirius just aiming the bow without firing, had the advantage of being able to move around more effectively than the others.

"Don't talk to 'em," Daryl growled at Sirius, "Just shoot 'em."

If he'd had a silvered knife, he'd have already thrown it through the guy's head. But he didn't. What he did have, however, were a good seven hunting and skinning knives strapped to himself. Mostly at the waist, but a couple at the boots. When he heard the request from down below, he pulled one and gave a sharp whistle to draw attention his way. Then held it out at arms length where he hoped it'd be visible past the turn in the stairs if he leaned just a little.