Page 89 of The Wolf Queen

My body became a machine, plucking rag wrapped arrows from the buckets beside us, dipping them in pitch, setting them alight and then drawing my bow to shoot them into the fields. We repeated the process over and over until all of the fields were set alight. It turned the Reavers into silhouettes when they appeared, dark shadowy figures. They seemed to pay no heed to the fire, not until it started to nip at their heels, the sounds of their screams as they patted at their fur, then floundered, some sense of self-preservation finally kicking in.

But it was too late.

You want sacrifices, dread lady? I said, her silence somewhat discomfiting, but I felt the Sword of Destiny pulse at my hip, the power within it flowing through me as I drew the bow I had set aside for just this purpose.

To use fire arrows a bow string must be relatively slack, so as to not extinguish the fire on the tip as the arrow passed rapidly through the air. But the bow I picked up now had no such allowance. It felt good in my hands, because Nordred himself had formed it, just like the bow I’d used that morning on the moors.

I kissed the string, staring out into the chaos before us but finding those Reavers that floundered with ease. I loosed my arrow, watching it sail through the air and into the chest of the closest. But unlike that morning, there was a short pulse the moment it struck home, something that turned a screaming Reaver into a man. One that fell naked and floundering, weak hands gripping at the bolt buried in his chest, right before I went back for another and another.

Cheers went up below, urging us on, but I didn’t need it. Never did I feel like I was fulfilling my life’s purpose than when I had a weapon in my hand. I loosed arrow after arrow, my fellows doing the same, our collective might somehow become greater than the sum of our parts. But my focus was on them, my eyes keen as a hawk’s, as a wolf seeking its prey, as I scanned the masses, then picked off Reaver after Reaver until I found him.

Callum didn’t look dismayed by the battlefield conditions. Rather his eyes glowed with a hectic light. My heart pounded hard and fast in my ears, even as my aim was rock steady.

Morrigan, dread queen.

My prayer was silent, secret, but no less sincere, because if she gave me this? Then the war would be over.

Gift me strength of arm, so I might reap the souls of the unworthy in your honour.

Because Callum wasn’t worthy, I’d decided. A monster motivated by revenge, he destroyed his own people far more comprehensively than any Granian had managed to. No invader had managed to infiltrate Snowmere and in his careless cruelty, he’d razed it to the ground.

Make me your vessel, death dealer, slayer.

That part of the prayer was the most fervent as I found the middle of Callum’s chest in my line of sight, seeing the point of my arrow line up with it. I wanted to become just like Bryson, every part of me a destroyer, an obliterator of that which was not worthy.

Let me grace this battlefield with his filthy corpse, food for your divine beak.

But I heard her chuckle low in my ear as I loosed the arrow.

Chapter51

Why do you pray to me?she replied.You have everything you need.

The Morrigan didn’t queer my aim. The arrow flew true, streaking through the air like a raven in flight. My eyes followed its path up, up, into the thin, smoke filled air, something I sucked deep into my lungs, then down again as it stooped like a hunting hawk, seeking its prey. And Callum? His head jerked up, his eyes and smile widening as he saw the arrow come for him. Not to dodge away, but to throw his arms out wide. Because while I shot true, just as I had with the stag, and the arrow buried itself deep in his chest, a small trickle of black blood making clear I’d injured him.

But not killed Callum.

He jerked the arrow out of his chest, then tossed it aside with as much care one might yesterday’s news sheets, roaring out his orders, pointing his finger imperiously at the keep, right before his Reavers started to run.

Fuck.

“Keep firing!” I ordered, nodding to the officer who had been stationed here to take over. “Shoot and keep on shooting those bloody bastards down!” But I tossed my bow aside, wrenching out my sword.

“Darcy!”

Del stepped into my path, eyes wide.

“I need you to stay here, son,” I told him in low urgent tones. He was going to argue with me, I knew that, so I reached behind me and grabbed my bow. “Nordred made this bow.” I pressed it into his hands. “Honour him, honour me, by staying here and shooting at the enemy.”

Keeping him away from the front line, that was what I needed. I couldn’t go into this fight if I didn’t know he was safe, but I couldn’t tell him that. But Del just nodded, running a covetous hand up and down the bow stave, making me question if he’d even be able to pull it, right before he stepped into my old position.

Gods, watching him grab an arrow and nock it, then wrestle the bow back to aim the arrow. I watched his whole body fight to do it, but he did, then loosed the arrow. I followed its path, hearing his cry and that on my lips as it struck true.

“Just like that, Del.” I squeezed his shoulder once, then pulled away. “Just like that.”

I couldn’t stay to see how he fared further because I had another job to do. I sprinted down the parapets towards the keep gates to meet the fire crew.

“Ready?” I barked.

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