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.