"I—"
Ashk raised her hand. "You want to help, I'll take the help. But give me the help I need."
Breanna blinked.
"Your gift is air, isn't it?" She waited for Breanna's nod. "We want the first lines to get past the middle of the field before we move, but that means all the men on our side of the rise will be stationary targets. Blind hits, true, but that won't matter if we lose too many men before the fight even begins."
"You want a hard wind their bowmen have to shoot against."
"Yes."
Breanna smiled. "I can summon a wind."
"Go on, then. Get in position."
Once Breanna and Falco were moving up the rise to their position, Ashk turned to Liam, who looked ready to explode. "Don't ask her to be less than she is, Liam."
"And what is she, besides a woman who's lost her mother and grandmother in the space of a few days?" he demanded.
"A Daughter of the House of Gaian."
He swallowed whatever he'd been about to say and left her, signaling to his men to take up their own position.
As she reached her horse, she heard Varden call her.
"You don't have to be here today," she told him.
"There aren't many of my men who felt they could face this field again, but those of us who can…" Varden shook his head. "We need to do this, Hunter. Now, there's not many of us, so I thought we'd join Baron Liam's men. Besides, fighting from the cover of the trees will be an advantage to our new warriors." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
Ashk stared at the Small Folk being helped off the Fae horses.
"They wanted to come. They've lost friends and family to the nighthunters, too. And they've assured me they're wicked accurate with a sling."
She walked over and studied the grim-faced men and women who were no taller than the length of her arm. All of them carried slings and had a bag bulging with stones hanging from their belts.
"All right," she said. "You go with Varden and Baron Liam. Varden, tell Liam we'll alternate between arrow and sling. When the enemy reaches the striking point, let the slings fire first. Once the first line drops, the bowmen will have a clear shot at the second line."
"Yes, Hunter."
Ashk hurried to her horse. How much time had passed? How far had the enemy advanced? Her eyes scanned the field. Gwynith and one other Lady of the Moon with a pack of shadow hounds was riding with her. The other two Ladies with their packs were with the Hunt coming up the road from the village. Her huntsmen were ready, the first waves of human companies were waiting for the order to move up the rise and descend into the field. Breanna and Falco had taken up position where she'd told them to. And Selena, dressed in white overdress and trousers, sat quietly on Mistrunner with Rhyann beside her, mounted on Fox.
They'd refused to explain what they'd meant by "dreams and will," but seeing the Sons and Daughters now gathered behind the Huntress, and remembering the Son who had asked her if she really wanted Wolfram made barren, she decided it was just as well they hadn't told her what they intended to do after the Black Coats and the barons who followed them were driven into the tumble of stones.
She felt the first gust of wind hit her back, watched men take a stagger-step to keep their balance, saw the trees bend with the force of it. And saw the first enemy arrows hit that wind and dance skyward, tumbling back the way they'd come like twigs driven by a storm.
It was time.
She unhooked her hunting horn from her belt, raised it to her lips, and sounded the call for the Wild Hunt. Lords of the Woods picked up the call, the notes from their horns flying on the wind. Finally she heard the call of a distant horn. After hooking her horn back on her belt, she nocked an arrow in her bow, and, using leg and knee commands, signaled her horse to canter up the rise.
Adolfo kept his horse at a walk as he moved into the field. Excitement filled him as he watched the lines of men marching toward the rise. Hungry lust bit at him, making it hard not to grab one of the men marching past him and begin the feast. But he waited, knowing that soon he would be able to gorge on the spirits locked helplessly to their dead bodies. And once he had destroyed the witches, he would take some of the prettier women from the village and slake another kind of lust.
Then he heard the horns. And something in him too primitive to listen to reason wanted to run, to hide, to get away from whatever was coming behind those horns.
He wouldn't run. Curse whatever shivered through him, he wouldn't run. But. . .
Almost without thought, driven by something he could barely control, he cut between two companies of men and rode toward the tumble of stones.
They came down the rise in terrifying silence. Silent horses, silent hounds. That was the way of the Wild Hunt. Only the horn gave the warning that the Fae were out riding to hunt.
They came down the rise with their bows drawn, but the first line of men who froze when they caught sight of them fell before the first arrow was loosed, clutching their heads or throats, dropping weapons as stones shot from slings broke hands or wrists. The second line fell from arrows flying out from the trees.
Then she was down amongst the enemy, letting her bow sing Death's song, turning her horse to cut a straight path toward the tumble of stones while the shadow hounds pulled men down, ripping open a leg or tearing out a throat before racing on to the next prey.
Men scattered, ran toward the shelter of the trees and were met with arrows and stones.
Ashk glanced to her right and saw the V of the other Wild Hunt—and saw several men fall before an arrow could touch them. Good. Morphia had joined the hunt. Yesterday, the Sleep Sister had worked with the healers to ease the suffering of the wounded. Today, she would use her gift to put some of the enemy to sleep, making it easier for the huntsmen to deal with the others.
The human companies poured down from the center of the rise, keeping the Hunt from being surrounded as it continued toward the stones.
Then an arrow struck her horse in the chest. It was more luck than skill that she managed to land on her feet when she threw herself out of the saddle.
"Hunter!" One of the huntsmen slowed, reached out a hand for her.
"Go on!" she yelled.
They flowed around her, giving her a breathing space. She reached back—and touched her last arrow. Unbuckling the harness, she dropped bow and quiver beside her dead horse, then crouched, waiting for the last of the huntsmen to pass by her.
When she could see again, she cursed viciously to herself. Mother's tits, Liam! Don't you ever listen?
He was in the field, fighting with a short sword now, outmatched by the guard captain, who had a longer sword and the benefit of training. Liam took a wrong step, lost his footing. As he went down, the guard captain raised his sword for a killing blow—and was struck by an arrow in the throat.
Well done, Varden, Ashk thought as she looked back toward the rise. But it wasn't Varden nocking another arrow, it was Breanna taking aim at the next man who came near her brother while a hawk, a vixen, and a whoo-it owl did their best to protect her back.
She understood Falco going into the field with Breanna, but she was going to have a talk with the Bard and the Muse when this was over. What did they think a fox and a whoo-it owl could do in the middle of a battle? The two of them had more courage—or more compassion—than sense.
She half rose from her crouch, then froze at the sight of more companies of men running out of the trees at the far end of the field. She glanced back at the rise, but there were no more fresh companies of men coming over the top to join the battle, no more Fae. Mother's mercy, how many more men did the Witch's Hammer have?