Page 45 of The Wolf Queen

The stranger had an audience on either side of the road, unbeknownst to him. I saw our soldiers’ eyes shine in the shadows, but he didn’t. He wasn’t seeing much of anything—his horse plodding placidly along home as the man swayed in the saddle.

“Drunk,” Gael muttered and I nodded sharply, right before we heard something else.

A far-off howl, loud enough to make the horse snort, then stop, its hooves pawing at the road. Its big haunches bunched, quivered, ready to launch itself forward, but it waited for direction from its rider. He just leaned further forward in the saddle, mumbling something in the slurring language of drunkards, the horse whinnying, then stamping its feet, trying to get a response. Another howl and another, louder. They were getting closer at a dizzying speed. My eyes flicked to the end of the road, then the horse, then the man, then back at the road, before I made a decision.

“Darcy!” Dane hissed as I moved out of cover and onto the road. The man might not be able to spur the horse to action, but I could. I ran over to the horse, making no attempt to settle it. Instead, I slapped my hand down on its rump to get it going.

The horse let out a loud cry, rearing up, nearly unseating the rider, but with some innate sense of self-preservation, he snapped back awake and gripped the reins, just in time for the horse to bolt. It went veering off through the trees, leaping over the heads of some knights before disappearing into the undergrowth.

I didn’t go back to my hiding place.

“They’re coming,” I said, feeling very small and very vulnerable, standing on that road by myself. But this was the plan. My heart beat too hard, too fast, drowning out anyone else’s response but then I heard it, felt it.

It wasn’t just my heartbeat I could hear but others, too. First my mates, then the Maidens, then Higgins and his fellow believers, then my grandfather and his knights. All of them beat way too fast, creating a sense of urgency.

All but his.

I dared to take my eyes off the road for a moment to find him. Bryson’s gaze met mine with little effort, the gold of his irises starting to glow. I stared at them, wondering. Why? How? Then I heard the growl. My sword was out and in my hand without a thought, my focus back on the road, because the first Reaver had appeared.

With more behind him. As the beasts’ fangs flashed, they slowed their pace instinctively, their entire focus trained on me. The Reavers hadn’t tried for subterfuge; to creep up on the people of Bayard. Callum wasn’t at their head to direct their movements. They’d been unleashed like dogs, sent running from the capital all day and all night, to arrive here.

“Looking for me?” I asked, throwing my arms wide. “Have you the sense to work out who I am?” I smiled, feeling a wild moment of glee, one that was entirely at odds with the situation. “I bet you don’t, stupid things, but I’m the girl your master has been looking for.”

Their wolfish heads jerked up and their red eyes gleamed in the growing darkness.

“He sent an unfortunate messenger to declare his intentions,” I said. “They told me he wants me to become his queen.”

They were coming closer, but painfully slow now, like wolves slinking through the undergrowth, tracking prey.

“Of course, I just laughed in the face of his ‘generous offer’,” I said. “Nothing could force me to take up a position by his side. You’re ruled by a corpse, one that hasn’t the good sense to stay dead. He’s the king of nothing, of no one but ravening beasts!”

My voice echoed through the trees, ensuring every one of them heard my words.

“Well? Are you just going to just stand there slavering like mindless idiots? Or are you going to come and get me?”

I needed this even if the men we’d brought with us didn’t. I needed to feel like I could throw my fear of failure back in the teeth of these Reavers and let them choke on it. I turned tail and ran, legs pumping, arms slicing through the air, the flames of the sword fluttering with each swing. And if I’d had any doubts about the Reavers falling into the trap, I needn’t have. I heard their collective howl and knew what it was.

Like wolves on the hunt, no longer caring about sneaking up on their prey when they had their quarry right in front of them, they launched themselves forward, right into our trap.

When the bulk of them were within the planned ambush area, my men rose up from the undergrowth, stepping out onto the road on either side, to smash the Reavers between them, and coming around at the back to make sure none escaped. That funnelled all of them towards me. But not before swords were torn free and plunged into Reaver flesh.

I transitioned from running to whirl around, my feet lifting off the earth with the momentum, but I landed back down lightly and raised my sword just in time to meet the first Reaver’s claws. He thought he had me as that clawed hand reached out; I could tell from the gleam of his red eyes, the snarl on his face. But his wolfish face went slack as I sliced at that hand off.

We both looked at it as it turned from wolfish to human, looking so small on the cobblestones. War raged around us, but we couldn’t seem to look away. Then there was a high-pitched scream from my opponent.

Blood erupted from the stump, sluggish and black, spurting out draining away his life’s blood, even when he slapped his other hand on top of it.

“Morrigan, dread queen,” I said, with a smirk, my teeth feeling sharp and jagged. “Gift me strength of arm, so I might reap the souls of the unworthy in your honour.” I stepped closer then and raised the fiery Sword of Destiny. “May my sword cut through my enemies like a scythe does the wheat.”

And the sword did just that as I lopped off the Reaver’s head, then turned to the next, because where there was one Reaver, there were always many.

“Make me your vessel, death dealer, slayer.” I felt the truth in the words now for the very first time, because the other times I’d been motivated by a need to protect my country or to provide for it, but I felt none of that now. “Let me litter the battlefield with corpses as offering to your divine beak!”

I cut and I cut and I cut, slicing indiscriminately through Reaver after Reaver, the Granian men looking on in shock as a girl cleaved the massive beasts in two. I’d hear their bodies falling heavily to the ground, but I didn’t look as I stepped forward and met my next foe. I began to feel it, that thrum of battle fever rising, rising. The fever was something I tried every day to keep pressed down. But once it was out? It felt right, true. This was my purpose, a dealer of death. I would cut down each and every one of my enemies until…

I paused then, seeing each one of my party fighting, slicing and stabbing, striking over and over again, often in small groups, in the case of the knights. At seeing my troops struggling here and there, I felt the fever abate a little. Flesh was cut open, men fell back with a scream, only for their companions to surge forward to protect them. And I realised that just because I was walking through this without injury, it didn’t mean others weren’t.

I saw armoured plate crumple and leather armour get sliced through. And then my focus zeroed in on a familiar set of dark brows and flashing blue eyes in the midst of the mêlée. A set of claws drew back, ready to rake over Dane’s face. His sword went up and blocked the blow, but another was coming and I knew I was too far away to get there in time. Regardless, I moved anyway. But just as I did, I felt a whoosh beside me, something moving like a blur to get between me and my mate, not to harm either of us, but to stop those blows.

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