Page 45 of The Arrow and the Alder

Seph was about to call out to Marks when her gaze settled on a gargoyle perched upon one of the many broken turrets. It struck her as odd since a gargoyle would never have been placed upon the jagged ledge of a broken wall. She crept forward to get a better vantage just as it pushed off the ledge.

Depraved!

Seph cursed as the creature spread its wings and dove.

For Marks.

He didn’t notice. It seemed he could see nothing of the world outside his grief.

Instinct took over, and she drew back the arrow and gazed down the smooth shaft. Her burn pulled taut, but it didn’t interfere. Not enough. She traced the depraved’s trajectory with the shining white arrowhead while it dove determinedly for its distracted prey.

Seph didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

She released.

String snapped, reverberating through the bow and her arm. The arrow soared, white feathers rippling while its shaft quivered behind a deadly sharp and resolute head. The depraved was nearly on top of Marks when the arrow lodged into its shoulder.

It wasn’t a perfect hit, and Seph blamed her injury for it, but she set another arrow as the depraved shrieked and flapped erratically to regain height, struggling to stay aloft.

Thwick.

Seph’s second arrow raced toward the demon and landed in its back, piercing it through.

The creature screamed and dropped from the sky to crash beside Marks, who had jumped to his feet, bow in hand.

Marks’s piercing gaze landed on Seph’s—held it.

And the sky came alive with shrieking.

Seph strung another arrow and fired at the first depraved that dove. Her arrow sank into its side, and it screamed and flapped and crashed into a building. Stone cracked and exploded, but she didn’t have time to celebrate, because another plunged into the courtyard.

And another.

And another.

Sacred saints in heaven, there were so many of them! Seph counted at least a dozen swirling overhead. She shot them down, one after another, her burn pulling with each shot, though every time she killed one, another seemed to take its place.

“To your right!” Marks yelled, and Seph finally noticed the depraved flying at her from the side.

She barely managed to roll out of the way before jumping back to her feet as yet another depraved bore down upon her. Seph whirled and fired upward. Her arrow struck, the depraved shrieked and—thankfully—crashed into the one that’d been rushing her on the ground, which gave her time to draw and nock another arrow. Again, she fired, and this arrow pierced the second depraved through its skull.

Seph glanced back.

Marks stood close by, shooting down the depraved, and he wasincredible. Draw after draw, arrow after arrow with deadly precision. He never missed a mark and hardly looked at his targets as he fired, leaping and bounding over the remains, using the rubble to shield himself from diving claws. His grief did not slow him. If anything, it was fuel to his resolve, and she was so transfixed watching him that she didn’t notice the two creatures flying down at her until they were nearly upon her.

But Marks had.

He settwoarrows upon his bow and fired before Seph could even draw one. Air whirred, silver arrows zinged, and the monsters screamed as they dropped from the sky. And then…

Silence.

Seph heaved, bow in hand, while Marks panted a few paces away, both of them scanning the cloud-covered sky. Dead depraved lay everywhere, littering the courtyard.

“Is that all of them?” Seph asked. The rain had reduced to a fine mist.

“I don’t know,” Marks replied, expression grim. “They’ve never penetrated this valley before.”

Seph wondered at his comment, but Marks lowered his bow, keeping an arrow in place as he took a step forward. He stopped beside the nearest depraved, pressed his boot to its wing, and shoved it over.

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